Evil Business

By John F. Nienstedt

What the hell, I thought, someone had just shaken me as I slept on my back. I lay there in the dark trying to figure out where I was. I put my left arm out for Helen before realizing she wasn't there. Of course, I thought, I'm in the Super Sleeper in Anthemopolis. I must have dreamed someone was shaking me.

I thought I heard a sound, nothing much. It was like someone was walking softly on the rug. There was a brief moment of fear before I thought, How silly. Just go back to sleep. I grabbed both of the extra-thick pillows that came with my king sized bed and pulled them both over my chest like I was hugging Helen. I was just starting to doze off when I felt pressure on my chest. Almost instantly there was a muffled 'pweeeee' sound, and the bottom pillow exploded in my arms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 4, 2007
• ISBN: 9780595864010

John F. Nienstedt

John F Nienstedt, is a former U.S. Navy captain and a graduate of Kansas University. He is the author of See The Monkey and Sanity Rising. Nienstedt resides in Surprise, Arizona, where he writes and produces management seminars for organizations.

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CHAPTER 1 

His comment was uncharacteristically callous. Construct a cart with one wheel, he growled, and it will forever travel in circles. As managing editor I have to tell you that your column is becoming staler than last week’s bagels.

Two days later I was sitting at my home computer trying to come up with an idea for next Sunday’s edition. At least that’s what I’d told myself. In reality, I was sulking. No, not just because of what Cliff had said, but also because I had really wanted to win; I mean, who wouldn’t? The Pulitzer Prize is to writers what the Super Bowl is to hulking athletes spending Sunday afternoons chasing capricious and anomalous bounces of a leather spheroid. Okay, so I mean football players, but when you’ve been nominated for the Pulitzer, you have a responsibility to communicate with greater verbosity and style. Yeah, well, enough of that.

Anyway, I’d been nominated for the most prestigious award in writing for my series on ‘Evil’s’ Commandments. I’m still not sure that I didn’t dream the whole episode. The doctor told me it was not unusual to hallucinate with the flu when you have a temperature of 104. In that case I could have imagined the whole incident during a delirium?

Damn it, dream or not, I should have won the prize! But hey, it’s an honor to have been nominated, right? Yeah, sure, that’s what we all say, especially before the winning announcement. All that specious humility oozing from the finalists is supposed to create the illusion of low expectations. Even though no one buys the act, it helps authenticate all those gracious comments we nearly choke on later.

The good news is that Norman Fuller is now a famous byline, and I am making a great deal more money. My column is syndicated in over two hundred papers. Then, there’s my book, See The Monkey, A Tale Of Two Evils. It’s doing okay, but I still should have won, damn it!

Crap, what am I doing? I asked myself. Stop stalling, and get back to Sunday’s column. But what ... what the hell am I going to write about? I’m caught up in the same old bull I was doing before last September. All I’ve got so far is Citizens Concerned Over Renovations To Central Park. Whoop de do! Oh, then, there’s, City Hall Accused Of Favoritism For Liquor Licenses. Not a hell of a lot better.

Now when a sincerely nice guy like my editor, tells that your work is getting stale, you know he’s probably right. But, what the hell should I do? Maybe I need a vacation. Maybe I need a head transplant. Maybe I need to talk to ‘The Voice’ again.

‘The Voice’—Was there ever a ‘Voice’?

I had asked myself that question a thousand times with nothing more than frustration for my efforts. Not this time, I thought; this time I’m going to think it through and make sense out of what happened that day. I’ve got to. I’ve got to figure out if I even deserved a shot at the prize. I closed my eyes and forced my thoughts back to the top floor of one of the world’s tallest buildings.

The office was very impressive, the kind the C.E.O. of a large organization might have. A gigantic, mahogany desk in the corner was surrounded on two sides by large windows overlooking the city below. The carpet was lush burgundy, and everywhere the walls were adorned with framed, inspirational sayings that executives are fond of using for motivation. Behind the desk was a typically large, high backed, leather executive chair facing the windows.

Come in and sit down, a ‘Voice’ from the chair said.

Nervously I answered, Thanks, uh, thank you.

Did you see it? ‘The Voice’ asked. Did you see that pitiful television interview on the network morning show yesterday?

I’m, I’m not sure I know what you mean. My voice was shaky. Oh, yeah, it was shaky, but why not? This idiot claims to be ‘The Voice of Evil’.

When I received the call inviting me to do an interview, the only identity ‘It’ gave was that ‘It’ was the personification of evil. Oh, sure, I figured it was a joke, but I like a good prank as much as anyone, so I played along.

Tell me, ‘Evil’, how’s business? I inquired.

You really don’t have to ask, was the cynical reply.

Well okay, smart ass. I replied tartly. I’m busy, so I’ve got to let you go now.

I wouldn’t, Mr. Fuller, if I were you, ‘It’ urged. I’ve got a once-in-a-lifetime scoop for you. I would think you’d want to hear it since you haven’t written a story yet for your Sunday column. Believe me, you won’t have to worry about story ideas for a long time.

I started to ask how ‘It’ knew I was struggling with my deadline, but suddenly, that didn’t seem significant. Something about ‘The Voice’ became irresistible, almost hypnotic. So, there I was, pad in hand, and ready to interview who knows what. I’d rationalized my decision with the notion that even a crank call in some weird way, might give me a story idea. Just to prove I wasn’t taking the visit seriously, I hadn’t brought along a photographer. Yeah, I was real casual.

Then there was the time issue. ‘The Voice’ had insisted on a six forty-five a.m. meeting. Since I usually don’t get to work until nine, I figured I didn’t have much to lose.

I know you saw them, ‘The Voice’ continued. The TV host was interviewing the author of a book about the 1998 terrorists attacks on the American embassies in Africa.

You can believe those attacks were a great bit of evil business. Oh, I didn’t do anything, but I was there just the same. I’m always there when people do bad things to others; that’s my job, you know.

Just who the hell are you? I asked in my most skeptical manner.

"Well, first of all, I’m not a who; I’m an entity. You know, a thing that just exists, a thing called ‘EVIL’. I told you that on the phone. Do you mind if I call you Norm? Mr. Fuller is awfully formal for old acquaintances.

I had barely answered, I guess so, and was starting to ask how we knew each other, when the chair turned around. I gasped! There was absolutely no one there! Whatever ‘The Voice’ came from must have seen my shock and amazement, because ‘It’ quickly added, ah hell, you can think of me as a ‘who’ if it helps you justify my existence. But, come on, Norm, you already know I exist, don’t you?

Where ... where are you? I asked, standing up. I looked on both sides of the desk and then underneath. There was nothing there, so I checked the ceiling for speakers. Still nothing. In frustration, I took off my summer weight, tan suit jacket and threw it over the back of my chair. I then rolled up the sleeves of my blue dress shirt as if I were getting ready for a fistfight. Okay, so it was a stupid gesture. I’d only had two fistfights in my whole life, and I lost them both. I’ve always been rather skinny and not exactly built for fighting, and besides, who was there to fight? After loosening my tie I nervously ran my fingers through my hair, confident that the obedient, blond lock would fall perfectly back into place. Feeling myself getting red in the face, I shouted, You’ve gone far enough with this scam. Just tell me where you are and what you’re trying to prove?

I’m right here, ‘The Voice’ said. Sit down and relax. The first thing you should understand is that you’re not crazy.

I started to protest, but instead I involuntarily sat down as it interrupted, You’re not the first person who’s heard me and you won’t be the last. I’m short on time this morning, so I’m going to use extraordinary means to help you adjust to my presence.

I shook my head vigorously and started to get up.

Sit down! ‘The Voice’ ordered And listen. I hesitated; there was a melodic buzzing inside my head. I went weak in the knees and fell back into the chair."

The normal reaction to my presence, ‘It’ said over the buzzing, "is to fret and fuss about one’s sanity. It was that way with Alexander, the so-called, Great and it was that way with William Shakespeare. They got over it.

You ... you talked to them? I asked.

I told you that you weren’t the first. ‘It’ answered. Who do you suppose assisted Alexander with his conquest of the Persian Empire?

You mean? I started to answer.

Would it be so hard to believe, ‘It’ interrupted, "that I had a part in the creation of the plays Hamlet, or Richard IIP. Hell, I’ve been involved in the business of a great many accomplished people. Some of them, like Alex and Wil, eventually accepted me and some didn’t."

I cocked my head and asked, Who are some of the ones who didn’t?

‘The Voice’ ignored my question and continued. "You could go to a psychiatrist, like some of my most notorious connections. You’d be medicated and she would dig into your childhood. It doesn’t work, but they’ve still tried.

My most obstinate protégés have gone through stages of denial, and some tried to escape in the bottle. Van Gogh comes to mind. You might try hiding out in seclusion like Thoreau, but in the end you’ll accepted my existence just like they did.

I thought, Wow! I’ve just been linked with Alexander the Great, Shakespeare, Thoreau, Van Gogh, and who knew what other famous people. It was pretty heady stuff and I can’t deny that the idea was deliciously appealing.

But, ‘It’ abruptly interrupted my thoughts, as I said, I don’t have time for the usual machinations. In some cases it took years to make my points. Something big is going to occur in just two hours and I’m making a direct intrusion into your interneurons. Your degree of acceptance will rise and fall, but be assured your mind is already absorbing the reality of my existence.

The talking ceased and after a few moments calm overcame me. Eventually the buzzing subsided and ‘The Voice’ continued. Now that your acceptance of my existence is settled, let’s get back to business. I’ve asked you here to give you a scoop. As I said, Evil is my name, and I am going to help you with an insightful series of articles to follow up on this morning’s pending disaster.

An invisible voice that calls itself Evil I retorted, remembering the figurine of three monkeys that my mother had kept on our living room bookshelves. The inscriptions below each monkey read, See No Evil, Hear No Evil, and Speak No Evil. I fervently repeated the inscriptions out loud before adding that she most certainly would not have been satisfied with only one of the three warnings. All you’ve left me, I snorted, is see no damned evil. And, what disaster is about to happen this morning?

‘The Voice’ commanded, Your mother isn’t here and I am. You’ll find out soon enough what’s going to happen. Now pay attention.

I reluctantly obeyed as the calm returned, and it seemed that I had no say in the matter. Out of habit I opened my pad to take notes. Then I thought, This is silly; there’s no one to interview. Nevertheless, I scribbled down the words, An Interview With ‘Evil’.

For a minute or so I thought I saw a faint outline in the chair. I couldn’t make out much of a shape. I couldn’t even tell if it was a man or a woman. Then it struck me, ‘The Voice’ had given no indication of gender, either. It wasn’t a man or woman’s voice; it was one of those utterances that gives no indication of sex. It was almost—but not exactly—like a computer voice.

Whatever ‘It’ was, ‘It’ must have noticed my distraction and the image faded. ‘The Voice’, however, was as present as ever.

Think about it, ‘It’ said. If humans weren’t so deluded, they’d realize that nobody’s innocent. You all follow my commandments.

Commandments, what commandments? I asked, staring at the chair that had begun slowly swiveling back and forth.

CHAPTER 2 

Aha! ‘The Voice’ proclaimed, as the chair stopped swiveling and tilted forward. That’s why you’re here. I could definitely hear a hint of enthusiasm as ‘It’ continued. "I’m going to let you in on my little secret. You’re going to see my ‘Evil’s Commandments’. Look around; they’re on the walls among those placards you’re so interested in.

What? ‘It’ asked, obviously noticing my surprise. Did you think that only religions had commandments? Okay, so mine didn’t come out on stone tablets, like those other ones you quote, but you don’t always follow. Hell, I could have engraved mine in stone, but why? I could see it wasn’t doing much good for the children of Abraham, so why should I? Matter of fact, the less you understand about my commandments, the more you follow them. Now isn’t that something!

Commandments for ‘Evil’, I thought out loud. Who would need them? Better yet, who would want them? If you are who you say you are, you don’t need us; you’re the one causing all the trouble.

And where do you think I come from? ‘The Voice’ asked. The chair tilted back. I bet you’d agree with a another writer named Norman, Norman Cohn, who suggested that I came from a subterranean world, where pathological fantasies disguised as ideas are churned out by crooks and half-educated fanatics for the benefit of the ignorant and superstitious."

Sounds reasonable, I grunted.

’The Voice’ laughed and replied, Your kind is so intriguing. You just don’t get it, do you? You substitute cleverness for wisdom, and then pathetically wonder, why did this or that tragedy happen?"

I sat there without saying a word. I wanted to say plenty; I wanted to protest and argue, but for some reason I couldn’t. Something inside me was urging, Shut up and listen. It was like when you slow down to look at a traffic accident, no matter how gruesome the sight. You don’t want to look, but you do.

My interest was definitely aroused, but there was a problem. ‘The Voice’ wasn’t saying anything either. I started to wonder if ‘Evil’, or whoever, was still there. I gazed around the room at the framed inspirational sayings and thought, How weird for something like that to hang such things.

I was thinking about getting up and reading some of them, when ‘The Voice’ continued with a considerable loss of enthusiasm. ‘It’ sounded almost sad as ‘It’ said, Have you ever been involved in something really spectacular, and no one knew it? I’m involved in spectacular things all the time, and no one really appreciates how they came about. Then with a perfect imitation of Rodney Dangerfield, ‘It’ added, I get no respect. My wife said she was gonna give me a break, so she broke my arm. ‘The Voice’ laughed and added, I decided to give you a break.

I flinched, before ‘It’ added, No, not that. I’m going to let you in on my commandments. I want you to write them down for your column.

Isn’t that going to blow the game? I mocked. You said that the less we know, the more we follow your commandments.

You’d think so, wouldn’t you? ‘The Voice’ answered. You’d think that seeing them in print would encourage enlightened people to avoid them like a plague. That’s why I know you’ll print them. But don’t get your hopes up, they won’t. Do you know why? ‘The Voice’ almost purred as ‘It’ answered ‘Its’ own question. Because mine are sooooooo easy. Those Ten Commandments you like to quote with such pious determination can be tough, but mine are a slam-dunk.

There was another short pause before ‘The Voice’ resumed more vigorously than ever. "My commandments are on the walls scattered among those amusingly tantalizing self-help quotes.

Yeah, I answered. That doesn’t make sense. Why would someone calling itself Evil collect good stuff?

Why do I collect them? ‘It’ answered. Because they’re like itches I can’t quite scratch. I guess they bug me more than they help you, because most humans only give them lip service. It’s much easier for you to blame me for the ills of the world than it is to change yourselves for the better. When anything challenges your cherished beliefs, your minds close like the beer concession at a Baptist picnic.

Oh, come on, I interrupted. Aren’t you being just a bit overcritical?

You think so? ‘The Voice’ answered. Well if you want to make people angry, just read them this observation by the physiologist, R. A. McConnel.

I suddenly noticed a typed sheet of paper on my side of the desk. I couldn’t imagine why I hadn’t seen it before. I picked it up and read it out loud:

With rare exceptions, all of us, in passing from adolescence to adulthood, achieve mental stability and dedication to purpose by closing our minds to value change. Our prejudices are those beliefs to which we give unlimited commitment, and our philosophy of life is the sum of our prejudices.

‘The Voice’ sighed before adding, Prejudices and closed minds are the basis for the success of my first commandment. There it is, hanging next to the calendar. There was soft, sardonic laughter before ‘It’ added, Check it out.

I was startled out of my thoughts by Helen’s knock on the door to the den. Norm, she said, your folks are here; it’s time to start the Bar-B-Q, Honey.

CHAPTER 3 

The next day was Monday. I still didn’t have anything good for my column, and I hadn’t decided whether ‘The Voice’ had been real or something out of my imagination.

At 9:15 in the morning I entered the New York office. Clair, one of the beat