The Happy Haven, James Gerard [best electronic book reader TXT] 📗

and a couple of wads of cash into the the other.  The phone was slipped into the shirt pocket and the wallet into a back pocket.  A sigh of relief sounded after closing the front door as he had successfully escaped without temptation capturing him anew.

 

On the elevator ride down to the parking basement, the nausea returned.  He realized he should have at least thrown back a glass of milk before leaving, but the mood to go forward kept the elevator descending to the bottom.

 

The early morning traffic was light.  In no particular hurry, the Maserati started coasting down the street to the destination.  Minutes passed before Bill pressed rapidly on the horn and began honking at the other drivers’ slow and steady pace.  The car suddenly went screaming past slow and cumbersome delivery trucks.  He thumbed a nose at the clunky and rackety garbage trucks stopping in the middle of the lane just to obstruct his path, and cursed the traffic lights.  Bill wondered what fool had rigged them to turn red when there was no traffic coming from either lane of the cross street.  With the coffee lounge in sight, the car sped ahead.  With the lounge coming up to the right, the car veered abruptly to the curb and came screeching to a halt.

 

“Great,” he mumbled, noticing the coffee lounge was bustling with morning customers.  With arms crossed tightly against the chest, a foot steadily tapped the floor while waiting in line.

 

The note was yanked from the pocket.  A longwinded groan accompanied the sight of the sources he had scribbled onto the paper in order to ascertain which one would likely provide the quickest answer.   Eyeing the list, he saw it would not be that easy.

 

Bill supposed there had to be volumes written about the topic with a wealth of information that would answer the question, but he suspected the answer would not be laid out so neat and orderly.

 

After placing an order for of a glass of whole milk and plain bagel, Bill stood there fumbling around with the smart phone and accessed a list of websites offering any number of books written by authors claiming to have all the answers.

 

“Here you are sir,” the young woman interrupted.

 

Bill slipped the phone into the shirt pocket and flashed a smile, then handed the worker a twenty dollar bill.

 

The light breakfast was carried over to one of the few remaining open booths.  After a bite of bagel and gulp of milk, the phone was taken out and the list revealed.

 

He figured it would be a waste of time to scroll through the list of books and promptly opened the first one on the list.  A thumb turned the electronic pages until the table of contents appeared. 

 

With the hopes of an aptly entitled chapter standing out from the rest, eyes scanned the list but nothing captured the attention.  A keyword to their question was thought of and the index opened, but there were too many citations to the word that it proved to be no better.   Going back to the first page, the pages were skimmed through looking for key words, but Bill found most of what was being read boring.

 

After gulping down the rest of the milk after finishing the bagel, Bill took the time to go through each and every book found on the site.  With an analytical mind, he discovered that every author’s so-called expertise in the matter proved no better than the first.   Each came at the desired subject with the same authoritative convictions, but with the tendency to either intentionally or unintentionally counter proofs and claims of other experts.

 

He could find no agreement concerning an exact date and time, just a mix of generalizations based on historical records, certain historical documents, and the slant of each separate author.   And as he lived and learned in the field of science, whenever conflict arose concerning one’s claim of their reliability of data, the truth of any claim based on such information was viewed as suspect and invalid.

 

The glass of milk and bagel had settled the stomach, but the frustrating search transferred the ache to thehead.  Eyes stared at a specific book that had been scribbled down on the list, but to have to refer to it was agonizing.  By logic, he knew it should provide the answer, however the enthusiasm to do so was lacking.  Bill took one more look at the note, this time paying attention to the other people and the places that were jotted down. Still, the enthusiasm to confront such sources waned.

 

Having found himself lost in the search, he suddenly looked up to see that the lounge was near empty.  A look at the watch showed nine o’clock fast approaching.  Casually, he arose and strolled out the door.

 

With a few minutes to waste, Bill turned to the right and headed to the pedestrian crosswalk at the corner. While waiting for the light to turn green he looked around for those that may have been watching too closely but none were spotted.

 

Safely reaching the opposite corner, he turned left and casually strolled to the magazine stand.  Without a word, the attention focused on the aisle then the slot in the rack in hopes of seeing the upturned magazine waiting, but there had been no special delivery.

 

A silent retreat signaled the disappointment as he left the magazine stand.  Fatigue set in while standing on the sidewalk.  Bill rubbed his eyes hoping to refresh the reluctant resolve to come up with an answer. 

 

After mustering up the strength, he dashed across the street and spread his arms across the hood of the car.  Partially obstructing the busy lane, Bill ignored the horns blasting and drivers shouting out obscenities as he came to the realization that Scott was the least painful, best, and last source.

 

Secured behind the wheel, the smart phone was slipped out of the shirt pocket and the secret dossier concerning Scott was brought forth.  As Bill searched for the current analysis concerning his prevailing attitude on life and attitude towards his former passion for science, the remembrance of the current choice of an occupation gave mixed signals as to whether or not he could be swayed to provide an answer.

 

In the section of the report analyzing Scott’s new profession, he found the occupation somewhat centered on science yet tended to cater to the clientele’s base needs. From what he read, it was apparent that what was at the heart of the lucrative enterprise was the product’s ability to deliver the desired result and nothing else.

 

Scrolling further down, the section sought came into focus.  The labels “agitator” and “rebel” were mentioned in terms of what they believed to be his current social attitude, yet the phrases “of no threat” and “for the time being” kept Scott temporarily safe from the dirty dealings that would be employed if he needed to be silenced.

 

The only interesting note that spoke of his current beliefs and social morals was labeled as “potentially a problem.”  And while Bill found all of the details intriguing, there were no details as to whether or not he might relish the opportunity to provide an answer or simply scoff at the question.  He very well could dismiss it as a subject not worthy of a response.  But the little personal and intimate information Bill had known and his short-lived experiences with the idolized boy wonder, he was confident that at least a succinct answer would be given either way.

 

But then again, considered Bill, the confidentiality clause of the contract could come into play if Scott demanded to know the details of the project before answering.  If those specifics were revealed, then the risk of losing all that had been promised would be taken away and worse, punishment for the indiscretion would be doled out harshly.  The hope, however, was that he would just oblige without succumbing to curiosity and treat it as favor from one old child prodigy to another and out of fondness for a former friend and colleague. 

 

As the Masarati was fired up, Bill began to question the motivation of Kevin, Kenny, and Paul, why they could not come up with the answer themselves.  The very idea that they had tested the machine without any ramifications, yet were reluctant to risk, even in the jubilation of the success, to seek out the answer right there and then—it didn’t make sense.

 

But then again, Bill understood that like himself they too never had a hunger to explore the possibility of what was viewed as the ramblings of a madman, for each of their views on science was set on a solid base which served as a platform for explaining the mysteries of the universe and ultimately life.  With the focus straight ahead, Bill threw the vehicle in first gear and slammed the accelerator ready to confront his former acquaintance with the query. 

 

Cruising down the road with the flow of traffic, Bill activated the GPS display and through voice activated commands uttered the name of the bar.  After a couple more utterances sounding out the state and city, the artificial voice began issuing the verbal instructions to reach the destination.

 

Bill began to turn left as directed, but instead turned right.  A finger tapped the screen and cut off the voice that was issuing new directions after the misguided course change.

 

Fatigue was shutting down the enthusiasm.  The thought of having to persevere for a few more hours just to find the answer to the question would have to wait.

 

The Maserati raced back to the apartment building with sleep in mind.  Riding up the elevator, he hoped the two ladies were still asleep.  Unfortunately, while they should have been too exhausted to arise and play, they both jumped up when he entered the suite and rushed to him.

 

“Wait,” he calmly said to the women greeting him in a highly seductive manner, “Not today girls.  I’m just too tired.”

 

The bedroom door closed shutting off the objections and the pleas of the two sultry sirens.  He plopped onto the bed, closed the eyes, and in seconds was fast asleep.

The Happy Haven Bar

Bill softly closed the door and tiptoed to the elevator.  On the ride down to the basement, a notion suddenly produced an uneasy feeling about driving the Maserati down to a neighborhood that was vaguely familiar yet could be a snare for trouble.   Although the car was much appreciated and thoroughly enjoyed, the feeling was that such an expensive ride could bring out the ire of the idle working class that once eked out a living in a neighborhood devastated by a bad economy.

 

The card tapped the electronic pad and the command to override the basement and stop on the floor of the main lobby were inputted.  The doors swished open.   Bill was somewhat surprised to see a man sitting at a station by the main doors looking half-asleep.  With a loud and purposeful clearing of the throat rumbling through the lobby, the man awoke and jumped to his feet.

 

“My apologies sir,” he offered.  The man quickly ran from behind the station and held the door wide open.

 

Emerging outside in the bright sunshine, the surrounding area looked quite different.  Of course, he concluded, that much of what had been seen was from a low vantage point with the attention focused on the traffic cruising along