‘Dad!’ the boy yelled. ‘Look! I’m killing the bad guys!’
The boy’s father was arguing in a low, tight voice with a woman Daniel assumed was the boy’s mother. They continued the argument without looking up.
‘Hey!’ Daniel yelled at them. They and most of the other diners looked up, startled.
Daniel didn’t care. He was going to be himself. He pointed at their son on the pony. ‘Your son is killing the bad guys.’
The mother turned without really looking and called over her shoulder, ‘Good for you, Billy.’ The father, a stocky, crew-cut guy not much older than Daniel, turned and shot him a challenging stare.
Daniel almost said Attention is the key to the vault, Dad, but thought better of it. He didn’t know anything about being a father. He shifted his gaze back to the cowpoke blasting away from the back of his swift steed, dropping one grubby bad guy after another until time ran out and the pony shimmied to a stop. The boy dismounted with panache. His father was saying, his voice tight and mean, ‘Read my lips, Mary: We don’t got the fuckin’ money for a new dryer.’
As the little boy passed, Daniel said, ‘Looks like you rid the world of some pretty nasty guys.’
‘Yup,’ the boy said, slowing but not stopping. ‘That Snake sure is a good horse.’
‘Well, you handle him real fine, too.’
The boy gave him a sidelong smile as he passed, a smile of deep and secret pleasure. ‘Thanks, pardner.’
‘Hey, you, pal,’ the kid’s father called, ‘you got some kinda problem with my boy?’
‘Not at all,’ Daniel smiled. ‘I was merely complimenting him on his imagination. You’ve got a fine son there.’ Daniel wasn’t feigning his smile; he was wondering how the jerk would like getting his liver pulverized by a Reverse Heel-Whip out of the Drowsing Crane position.
The father let this go, sliding over on the bench for his boy to sit down.
By the time Daniel finished another slice, the golden palomino had a new rider. He wasn’t as trigger-happy as the first, but he dropped his share.
And then a whole birthday party of children, accompanied by four harried mothers, came rabbling through the door. Carl-the-Counter- Rabbit already had a slice of pizza with a birthday candle ready for each of them, and one of the mothers produced a roll of quarters for the pony.
The boys, to a man, rode fast and hard with some fancy tricks thrown in, like hanging on the side and shooting across the saddle. The boys were full of bravado and purpose. Daniel loved them. But he loved the little girls even more. They rode with a quiet and stately abandon, eyes closed, the wind blowing their hair out behind them, taking on the power of the golden palomino but not confusing it with their own. He wondered what the little girls imagined as they rode, where they were going, how far away. He wanted to gather them all, boys and girls together, gather them all into his arms and carry them somewhere safe from the slaughter of time and change.
When the birthday party left, Daniel felt his depression ooze forward again. He wanted to vanish into the children’s minds, into some moment he could barely remember, before you were cornered by the lines you drew or trapped by someone else’s. He sat with his hands folded on the table, watching flecks of foam thin to scum and dry inside the empty pitcher. The pizza and beer, his first food since the Two Moons, left him feeling bloated and half-drunk. The last tatters of his energy fled to his stomach to aid digestion. Energy to make energy, and with each transformation a tiny bit lost to entropy. Running down to nothing. Those kids, so innocent. You couldn’t truly appreciate innocence until it was lost, and then you couldn’t get it back. Run down to nothing. The mind is a golden palomino. Hang on, children; it’s the ride of your life. Don’t be afraid. You’re safe with me but I’m not with myself, that’s our problem. There’s time, time, time. All the time in the world. Eat when you’re hungry, sleep when you’re tired.
Carl-the-Counter-Rabbit’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it’s ten o’clock, Jackrabbit Pizza’s closing time.’ Daniel, who wasn’t aware he’d been drowsing, leaped wildly to his feet, spinning around to check the room. Carl was being tactful. Daniel was the only one left.
He left the Diamond and money under the table and walked up front, taking the empty pitcher and glass with him. Carl was in the kitchen wiping down a prep table. He came out immediately, looking nervous. ‘Hate to hurry you, sir, but the boss’ll be here to cash out in about five minutes, and he gets really pissed if the place ain’t cleared – you know, on account of robbers and all.’
Daniel said, ‘Carl, you should explore the spiritual life. You must be a mind-reader, because I was just going to ask you if the boss was coming in tonight. When he gets here, would you inform him that I would like to see him for a moment at my table. My name is Nova Rajneesh. I have a business proposition for him.’
Carl was backing away. ‘Oh no, now, come on, mister, please. I shouldn’t of said nothing.’
‘I’m not a robber,’ Daniel assured him. ‘I want to do business.’
‘Well geez, do you think you could call him in the morning?’
‘Unfortunately, I’m forced to leave town tonight. And let me assure you that he’ll find my business proposition so enjoyable he’ll likely give you a bonus that will make my recent tip seem meager. Now, if you’d be kind enough to lend me a pen and one of those empty pizza boxes, I’ll let you return to your work.’
Carl reluctantly unclipped the pen from his velveteen smock and handed it and a pizza box across the counter. ‘You sure this won’t get me in trouble?’
‘You’re covered,’ Daniel said. ‘I promise.’
Daniel began writing rapidly on the pizza box. When he had finished, he opened the briefcase and counted the money: nineteen thousand dollars. He doled out four grand and zipped it in the day pack. When he looked up, a red-faced man, forty pounds overweight and bald, was bearing down on him. Daniel rose to greet him.
Before he could, the man bellowed, ‘My name’s Max Robbins, I own this place, and I’d like to know what the fuck you think you’re doing here after closing time? Carl, one of my fucking cretin employees, said you want to talk business. I don’t wanna talk business. I want your ass outa here.’
Daniel lifted the case’s lid and turned it so that Mr Robbins received the full effect of the neatly bound sheaves. Daniel offered his hand. ‘Mr Robbins, my name is Nova Rajneesh. I am what the media fondly refer to as an “eccentric millionaire.” Actually, I’m an impulsive multimillionaire, but why quibble.’ They shook hands, then Daniel continued, ‘I haven’t much time, so excuse me for jumping to the point. I’m the Supreme Chairman of the Nova Rajneesh Philanthropy Fund, a perfectly legal tax dodge, the intricacies of which need only concern my attorneys. The substance of my proposition is contained in this hastily drawn contract.’
Daniel picked up the pizza box. ‘You’ll note, Max, there are actually two contracts, but they’re identical. One will be my copy. If you’ll allow me to read: