A Matter of Relevance

A Matter of Relevance



“James Bond no longer has any balls.” Jason stood there with rain dripping off of his trench coat and matching fedora.

Mel paused with a handful of fries and looked up at his friend. “That’s got to suck. Nice hat, looks like you’re taking his place.”

“Funny. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s raining.”

“I like the look, classic with a dash of retro,” Stuart chimed in, not looking up from his Blackberry.

“Thanks, Stu,” Jason said and hung his coat and hat on a chair before sitting down.

“I thought you and the wife were going to the new Bond flick tonight,” Mel said.

“We had a fight. Remember the last one, Casino Royale? They cut the bottom out of a chair and whaled away at his nads, right? Somehow, Beth has it in her head that now, Bond is nutless. I guess she thinks they knocked them off or something!”

Mel laughed so hard that he choked on his beer. Stuart even smiled as he continued thumbing his electronic device. Jason failed to see the humor and felt his face going hot. What he needed was a stiff drink and then a long walk in the rain. He told the waitress to bring a bottle.

“Sorry man, you’re right,” Mel shoved his fries away and reached for a napkin. “James Bond can’t be without the old jewels. I mean, what would you call him, Double O Zero? Jane Bond?”

“Screw you.”

Stuart put down his Blackberry. “Look, James Bond isn’t real. Does it really matter that Beth thinks he has no balls? Fine, you can think what you want.”

“Yeah, give him a nice big hairy set,” Mel chimed in.

Jason glared at his friends. The waitress arrived with Bourbon and glasses. He poured and downed two shots, poured another and stared at it.

“Remember in high school when you told me my afro looked like a thorn bush after a hurricane?” Stuart asked. “You were keeping it real, that’s how we’ve always been with each other.”

“So?”

“You’re not James Bond,” Stuart adjusted his glasses, a habit he’d had since seventh grade. “You’ve acted a little weird since taking that security guard position at the electronics plant.”

“A lot weird, if you ask me,” Mel said. “The British accent ain’t working, either.”

Stuart and Jason stared at him. Nobody was smiling.

“What? I’m just keeping it real,” Mel threw up his hands.

“Yeah and what you lack in tact is made up with ignorance,” Stuart countered.

Jason smiled. “Are you two ever going to grow up?”

“What fun would that be?” Mel said.

“He’s right, fun stopped after high school,” Stuart said and poured a drink.

“Tell me about it. At least you don’t have to wear a stupid uniform with polyester tie and carry a whistle. Can you believe it? A goddamned whistle!” Jason glared at his friends. “I stand around for eight hours, checking I.D. badges and telling people how to find the bathroom. So, pardon me if I fantasize a little in order to feel the slightest bit… relevant.”

“Relevant to what?”

“To life, Mr. Brainiac.”

“You are,” Stuart countered. “A lot of engineers are out of work. Still sending out resumes?”

Jason waved away his question. “Sure. In the mean time, I promise to keep it real. Don’t worry about me.”

“That’s the time to worry, when you say not to,” Mel stared at his drink.

Before the night was over, his statement proved to be prophetic. Jason downed his last shot, left the bottle with his friends and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The rain had eased to a heavy mist and he decided to walk a few blocks before going home. Turning left, he found himself staring into the eyes of a man, leaning against a newsstand. The guy was wearing a beige raincoat and a short brimmed hat. With his hunched shoulders and long wide sideburns, he could have passed for Peter Falk’s character, Colombo. Jason nodded at him and started walking.

After five blocks, he stopped in front of a coffee shop. The stranger with the sideburns stepped up beside him, staring at a menu that was taped to the window. He didn’t look up as he spoke.

“I have a business proposition for you.”

“Excuse me?”

“Intec has a new capacitor that is ready to go into production. I’ll pay five thousand for the spec sheet.”

Jason stared at him. “What? You can’t be serious! Who are you?”

“Call me Mr. X and I am serious, Jason. If you’re interested, meet me tomorrow at midnight. There’s a park behind City Hall. Use the rear entrance, turn right on the walking path and go to the third bench on the right. I’ll verify the document and you get paid.”

Jason stared at the stranger as he walked away. What the hell was going on? The guy knew his name and where he worked! It was too weird to be real. Maybe Mel and Stuart were playing a joke. It wouldn’t be the first time. Fumbling for his cell phone, Jason made a call.

His friends had already left the bar and were on the way home. Within fifteen minutes, they pulled up in front of the coffee shop. Jason slipped into the car and related the meeting with Mr. X. His friends denied any involvement. Stuart removed his glasses and voiced his own idea.

“Industrial espionage. It’s a nasty, dangerous business that can put you in prison.”

“Or dead,” Mel said. “You don’t want to mess with it. Call your boss. Now.”

“Dicky Hurst? Don’t make me laugh,” Jason said. “The guy is young enough to think that the Allman Brothers make candy bars. He got the job because his Uncle owns the company. The whistles were his idea.”

“He hates the guy because he has a whistle,” Mel looked at Stuart.

“No, I hate him because he’s short and always tries to compensate by reminding everyone that he’s the boss.”

“Okay, go over his head and contact the Uncle,” Stuart suggested.

Jason stared at him.

“Don’t give me that look, I know what you’re thinking,” Stuart said. “Need I remind you that you’re not James Bond?”

Jason smiled, “But we can do this thing!”

“We?” Stuart and Mel spoke in perfect unison.

Stuart was pissed and wouldn’t hear of it. Completely out of character, he pulled a u-turn and sped up the street, taking Jason to his car. Three guys shouldn’t have any trouble taking down one man, Jason reasoned with his friends. Besides, it was his duty as security man to handle it. Stuart was tense over the wheel and wouldn’t acknowledge him while Mel sat there looking miserable. Fine, Jason said and vowed to go it alone.

Mel caved in. There was no argument that the guy was what they called, homely. He had a pin head, jug ears and no chin. However, when it came to loyalty to friends, he was King among men. He did have a problem with having to shoot anyone. He couldn’t bear the thought of getting raped in prison for the rest of his life. Stuart remained mute and stopped long enough for Jason to get out before spinning off in a spray of gravel. Jason watched the tail lights disappear before going home to get some sleep.

That wasn’t going to happen. He tossed and turned all night. After Beth woke up fussing, he got up and went into the living room. Sitting in the dark, he thought about Mr.X. The guy didn’t appear to be the dangerous sort and the amount of money involved, minimal. In Jason’s mind, the combination had the feel of a small time shop owner, trying to compete with large corporations. Maybe so but at least consider all the possibilities. What if Mr. X was a hardened pro with a silenced pistol in his pocket? Did Jason have the right to risk the safety of his friends not to mention what it would do to he and Beth should things go wrong? Of course not. But….there had to be more to life than standing in the lobby of Intec, dressed up like a circus monkey with a whistle.

He retrieved a piece of blank paper to create the document for Mr. X. With black felt pen, he drew a large smiley face.

Quite right, old man, Jason said softly, affecting the rolling Scottish burr of favorite, Sean Connery. Bloody well right!

Mel was banging on his door by nine a.m. Beth had already left for the Saturday morning yard sales and they had the house to themselves. Jason stuck a mug of coffee in his friend’s hand and sat down to plan the caper. Fifteen minutes later, Stuart showed up. Apparently, he hadn’t slept much, either. The bags under his eyes were large enough to pack for vacation. He held up a pudgy forefinger.

“No guns.”

Mel thought that they would be too vulnerable but Stuart wouldn’t budge. Jason really needed both of his friends and offered an alternative.

“Agreed, no firearms but Mel can bring his ball bat. Anything else?”

There was. Stuart theorized that Mr. X might have backup. He and Mel would have to monitor the front and rear entrance while Jason conducted the meet. The intent of the exchange, money for information, would have to be clearly captured on tape. Then, Jason was to signal his friends to come in for the take down. If anything got screwy at any point, signal and run like hell, aborting the mission.

“How do I signal, with my cell phone?” Jason asked.

Stuart smiled, “No, use your whistle. It’s quick, efficient and no buttons to push. Any questions?”

“One thing,” Jason said. “How do you guys feel about getting fitted for tuxedos?”

Once explained, even Stuart admitted that the idea had some merit. He and Mel would assume the characters of Nigel and Clive, British super agents. The ruse as International heavyweights might prove useful in disarming Mr. X.

“Bloody well done, old man,” Stuart pronounced. “Shall we have a go at matching cummerbunds, then?”

Jason was impressed with Stu’s mimicry. His cultured and smooth accent was a dead ringer for Roger Moore. Everything was falling into place and it looked like they might just pull it off.

The fun ended at an hour till midnight. Entering the grounds of City Hall, Jason left the safety of his friends to find the designated meeting place. The night was cloudy and cool with a lively breeze that played through the trees and bushes. Ominous shadows reached out as Jason moved along the walking path. He tried to look everywhere at once but it was hopeless. You could have hidden a hundred Mr. X’s among the trees and scrubs. With pounding heart, he looked ahead into the dim light and walked to the third bench.

Mr. X proved to be punctual. At five minutes till twelve, he came slouching up the walkway. Jason turned on the pocket recorder and planted himself square in the pathway, taking a deep breath. One hand held a manila envelope and the other, a whistle. For better or worse, it was show time.

“Did you bring the information?” X asked, puffing slightly from his walk.

“If you’re referring to the secure documents from Intec, yes. As agreed, you’re to give me five thousand for said information. Right?”

“What are you, a lawyer?” X growled. “Hand it over, sonny.”

Jason turned over the document and watched X produce a pen light to inspect the contents.

“What the hell is this?”

“That is a smiley face and this is my whistle,” Jason said and blew it, long and hard.

The sudden shrill sound startled them both. Mr. X jumped back and dropped his pen light.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He hissed, scooped up the light and advanced on Jason.

Jason retreated a step. “It’s over, X. Don’t make it any worse than it is.”

“Yeah? And what are you going to do?”

“Stand down you scurvy bloke!” Stuart said and stepped into view.

“Who are you?”

“Nigel Worth with British intelligence. This is Clive, my trusted and loyal assistant. I must say, the Queen takes a dim view of industrial espionage, considers it ghastly, just ghastly mind you. A matter of relevance, if you will.”

“What?”

Jason stepped in. “We’re turning you over to the authorities, that’s what.”

“You guys got it wrong,” X said and slumped as if giving up.

Everyone relaxed and X whirled, throwing a wild punch. The blow caught Stuart on the side of the head, knocking him to the ground. Mel jumped in with the bat and connected several times. X went down, screaming and trying to cover himself. Jason grabbed Mel and pulled him off.

“I’m just an actor,” X groaned and grabbed his shoulder.

“What did you say?” Jason knelt and shined the light on the man.

“Hurst hired me, I’m just an actor. This ain’t real.”

“As sure as Bond has balls it’s real. Why did Dicky hire you?”

X groaned and Mel prodded him with his bat.

“He…he’s been dicking around with a girl from accounting. They’re into the company till, if you know what I mean. He needs a fall guy.”

“Which would be me,” Jason said.

“Shall we turn Clive loose to finish the job?” Stuart asked, brushing dirt from his tuxedo.

“How about it, X? Are you willing to testify to the police?” Jason asked.

X nodded and hung his head. Satisfied, Jason stood and switched off the recorder. He was still holding the whistle in his right hand and slipped it into a pocket. Stuart adjusted his glasses and nudged Mel.

“I say, Clive, tis the magic whistle. Quite the job, what?”

Mel cleared his throat. “Quite right, old sod. As you would say, tis a matter of relevance.”

“Quite.”