Page 125 - Psychoceramics and the Test of Fire

EtheRealization

gratis, as I had done with other eccentrics committed to their
unpopular notions about the world. Al Magnus paid me handsomely
to carry out this task; he remained behind the scenes, a financier of
frivolities and fantasies (in my opinion) determined to compensate
for the raw deal he felt his father had received. If only Magnus Senior
had been given the chance to realize his dream, said his son in our
only meeting, then the old man’s fate would not have been so tragic.
But Junior had made it big using his father’s theory in an unexpected
arena: junk food. That led to the expiation now paying my bills. As if
in confirmation of the stigma applied to crackpots, he could not risk
his own position by contacting his list of worthy intellectual outcasts:
he needed a front man, me.
I felt uneasy dealing with someone whose socially-acceptable work
depended on deception and whose avocation might also involve
hypnosis and illusion. How could Magnus know this guy wasn’t a con
artist, a chronic or even pathological deceiver at every level?
Ultimately it wasn’t my problem, and I had to admit that the others
to whom I had transferred funds had all used them to implement
their schemes rather than decamp for a tropical isle. So I was
determined to get in and out of that bar as quickly as I could with my
mission accomplished, pocket unpicked and mind unread. Toward
that end I chose four o’clock on a week-day afternoon to make my
call, hoping those who drank their lunch had moved on and the
bargain-hunters of happy hour were still in abeyance.
I took a stool at the other end of the bar from the only other
patron. Knox put down the glass he was wiping and came over. He
was not a tall man, but his hands were large. I decided not to look at
them as long as he was on the other side of the plank.
“Afternoon, sir,” said he, uncontroversially. “What can I get you?”
“A light beer; draft, please. And a few minutes of your time, Mr.
Knox.”
His eyebrows ascended to their limit. “Certainly, Mr., ah…”
“Jellico.” I handed him a card. “Evan Jellico. No, we haven’t met,
and I am here specifically to speak with you. Perhaps you give most
customers a bit of conversation, and I am willing to buy drinks at the
rate of one every five minutes until we are finished. I assure you that
the topic will be of great interest to you. Is that acceptable?”
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