Cheating the Cheaters

"Another strange thing happened to me today on my lunch hour," Herby said, taking off his Haden Lincoln/Mercury hat and admiring the Budweiser wagon that was displayed on the wall behind the bar.

"Tell me about it, honey," replied Susy, brushed a wisp of blonde hair from her face.

"Well, st," Herby said as he made a sucking noise with his teeth and thought about the customer he had left standing in the parts department before he left his job, "I was sitting at a traffic signal, st, and I noticed a little ole lady walking down the alley with a sack of groceries. She had a purse hanging from her arm, and behind her were two young thugs. I could tell what they were about to do, st, but I was powerless because I was stuck in traffic. About the time they made their move, I wished like hell they would trip over each others feet and fall down. At precisely the time that I wished that . . . "

"It happened, right? Just like you wanted it to."

"Yeah, st, it did, but I refuse to believe that I had anything to do with it."

"Why not? This isn't the first time these types of things have happened to you. Everything that happens doesn't always have logical explanations, Herby."

"I think they do," Herby said, taking a drink of his long-neck bottle of Coors. "It's just that, st, we're not able to figure out what they are, that's all."

"So, you think what's been happening to you are mere coincidences, huh?" Susy asked, delicately sipping her margarita and brushing away a wisp of her hair.

"Well, it ain't magic or supernaturalism. That type of thinking is ridiculous."

"Have it your way then. Coincidence."

"Whatever. Thanks for listening, anyway. You're the only one I trust enough to tell who won't think I've gone over the deep end."

"I have to go, Herby. My dad wants me to help him at the sports book. There's a heavyweight championship fight tonight, and my dad expects a flood of people coming in to make bets."

"I've never asked, what do you do at your dad's bookie joint?"

"Take people's money. They can't find enough ways to throw it away."

"I suppose you're right. Anyway, I gotta get home, too. I wanted to vent this weird stuff, instead of carrying it around with me."

Meandering out of the bar and over to Susy's car, Herby jingled the keys in his left hand, rubbed his full beard with his right hand and said, "I'll meet you here tomorrow after work, st, and then I'll take you to a movie, and then I'll take you to my house and make love to you, okay?"

Susy got into her car and closed the door. Herby bent over and gave her a kiss, then she smiled and replied, "Okay, see you then." They went their separate directions.

Herby stood watching the little red MG drive away, enjoying the beautiful Las Vegas weather. The springtime yielded ideal temperatures as long as the wind wasn't blowing--not too cold, not too hot.

Herby reached down to start his car, but something that was going on outside of the entrance to the bar attracted his attention. An apparently drunk man had a woman by the hair, dragging her toward a car. Judging by the yelling and arguing going on between them, it was obvious that they were having a domestic problem. Herby didn't like what he saw, so he wished real hard that a flock of birds would attack the violent man. About twenty birds came swooping down pecking the drunken man all over his body and head. Suddenly dumbfounded and realizing what was actually happening, the woman broke free and ran back into the bar. Herby smiled, started his car and dove away, leaving the man yelling and screaming and flailing his arms and legs like a mad man.

When Susy arrived at the sports book she found her father in his office. Plaza Sport Book was located on the Las Vegas Strip. From their front window they could see the bright lights of the casinos. They could smell the exhaust of the heavy traffic that congested the intersection. "Hi Daddy."

"Hi Babe." George Cain bellowed with his low, rough (as though he had a frog in his throat) voice.

Susy took a seat opposite her, overweight and balding, father at his desk and said, "Daddy," pushing away that annoying wisp of hair again, "remember the things I've been telling you about what's been happening to my boyfriend?"

"Yeah, Babe," George replied with his throaty voice, acting as though he wasn't really interested, and blowing a cloud of cigar smoke in the air. "Did something else happen?"

Susy explained to her father what Herby had explained to her, and when she was done he casually replied, "Don't you think you're putting a little too much on that stuff, Babe?"

"I guess so. Maybe you're right."

"Frank," George called to his counter man after Susy left, "hold all my calls, and if anybody comes in asking for me, tell em I'm not here, okay?"

"Okay, Boss."

When Mr. Cain returned to his office he made a phone call.

The voice on the other end said, "Windy City Medical Supply, Rich speaking."

"Hello Rich, this is George in Las Vegas."

"Well! How are you, ole buddy?"

"Can't complain. Is the all mighty hawk still kicking up back there?"

"You know damn well it is, George. You didn't call me all the way from Vegas to talk about the wind in Chicago. So, what's cookin?"

"Remember what I was telling you about that twenty-five year old kid that goes with my Susy?"

"Yeah, the one you think is Anthropomorphic?"

"Well, Susy told me another interesting story."

"Is that right," said Rich, more as a statement than a question. "Do you want me to make an arrangement with that shrink in Vegas?"

"Yeah, I do. Sorry to bother you, but I don't know the man," said George while putting out his cigar.

"Don't worry about it, I'll call you back when it's set up?"

"Thanks. Be talkin to ya, eh." George hung up the phone and thought about hiring a couple guys to do something for him.

The information George had come by concerning Anthropomorphic Ascriptions came from a reliable source. This wasn't gossip, theory, or mythology. This was reality: Anthropomorphic Ascriptions have the supernatural ability to influence human behavior (or any living organism) with no direct contact--simply by thinking. George believed that he had discovered a way to manipulate it. He could become a very important figure in the underworld if he was successful.

Jody Allen and Don Paul were in their early thirties and partners in a construction sub contracting business. Each of them had families. They also had some extravagant drug and drinking habits which forced them to take part in criminal activity to supplement their incomes.

Jody was home watching T.V. when the telephone rang. "Hello," he said, with a voice characteristic of one holding his nose.

"Is this Mr. Allen speaking?" Asked George, blowing out a puff of cigar smoke.

"Yes it is, Mr. Cain, I recognize your voice."

"Good, good. Say Kid, I was wondering if you and your partner could be available within the next week or so?"

"I think so."

"Well, I'm not exactly sure when, but I wanted to make sure you'd be around and available."

"Give me a call when you're ready, Sir."

"Okay, Kid, be talkin to ya, eh."

The only thing that was delaying George's plan was a phone call from Rich in Chicago.

A week later, Jody and Don were sitting at the Lazy Bar Saloon drinking Budweiser and smoking cigarettes. Don took a big gulp and asked, "Hell, how much is George going to pay us for risking a prison sentence?"

"That's a piss poor way of looking at it," replied Jody, sliding off the bar stool to reach for his cigarette lighter.

"Hell, it's true, isn't it?"

"I guess that depends on how careful we are."

"Anyway, how much is he paying us?" Don asked as Jody lit his unfiltered Pall Mall.

Suddenly the jukebox started playing Hey Jude, causing them to raise their voices. Nearly yelling, Jody replied, "he didn't say. What difference does it make, anyway? He's always been fair, hasn't he? You're sure sniveling a lot. Want me to get someone else to help me?"

"No, I'll do it. Hell, I need the money, but I don't like doin' shit like this."

"Neither do I."

"Well, hell," said Don as he finished off his beer and crushed the can, "let's go see where this Herbert guy lives. Hell, it'd be our luck he's got a gang of security guards and a pack of killer dogs surrounding his place."

"Wa wa wa," Jody said in mock sniveling. "let's go."

They left the bar with a six pack, got into Don's beat-up old red 1954 Dodge pickup with a camper shell, and started driving. Shifting gears with a broken gear shift knob, smoking a cigarette, drinking a beer, and arguing with Don got Jody primed for what might come next.

They arrived at their destination, parked and waited.

"Hell, I wonder how long we're going to have to sit here?" Complained Don, popping the top on another Bud.

"Quit whining, will you?"

They were there about twenty minutes when they saw a white 1960 Dodge Seneca pull up and park. Herby got out of his car, picked up some trash in his yard, checked his mail box, and went into his house.

"That's him," said Jody, "he fits the description that George gave me."

They didn't have to wait long. Herby came walking out to his car within minutes, and when he was unlocking it, Jody snuck up behind him, reached around his neck, and placed a wet rag over Herby's mouth. At first he naturally struggled, but he soon acquiesced when the ether on the rag took effect. When Herby went limp, Don was there to help get Herby into the truck. They placed him in the camper shell, working fast tieing and gagging him. Don said, "Hell, I'll stay back here. If he starts to stir, I'll put him out again."

"Okay," replied Jody, getting out of the camper shell. "I'll drive to a phone and call George."

"Is Mr. Cain there?"

"Who shall I say is calling?"

"Jody Allen."

"Just a minute, please," said Susy.

"Yeah Jody," bellowed George, "do you have something for me?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Give me the number that you're calling from and I'll call you back in a few minutes."

Jody gave him the number.

"Got it. Be talking to ya, eh."

As Jody explained to Don what was happening, there was another telephone conversation in progress.

"Hello." Doctor Goldstein grumbled into the telephone.

"Hi Doc. My name is George Cain. I believe you've been expecting a call from me."

"Yes Sir, I have. Do you have something for me?"

"Yes, I do Sir."

"Can you bring it to my office?"

"Yes, of course." Replied George, and the doctor gave George directions. "Okay Doc, be talkin to ya, eh."

Jody and Don were talking through the camper shell window when the pay phone started ringing. Jody ran over and answered it.

George explained to Jody where they were supposed to meet.

Their rendezvous was on a back street close to the doctor's office. Jody got out of the truck, ran over to George's big fancy Cadillac and asked, "Where do you want em?"

"Put him in my back seat and I'll take care of the rest."

Once Herby was in George's back seat, George started his car and said, "Come by the sports book anytime tomorrow, and I'll pay you. He stuck his head out of his window as he was pulling away, spit out the last of his stogie and said, "Be talkin to ya, eh."

George pulled up to the rear entrance of the doctor's office and turned off his lights and motor. As he opened his car door, the back entrance of the doctor's office opened, and a short man of about 65 years with gray hair and glasses stepped out. The older man approached George and said, "Richard Goldstein. Pleased to meet you, Sir."

George grabbed the scruffy dressed doctor's outreached hand and replied, "George Cain, it's my pleasure, Sir."

The doctor helped George get Herby inside. They positioned him comfortably on a sofa. "Make yourself comfortable Mr. Cain, but before we proceed, we need to establish our positions here."

"I like your style, Doc," George said with his rugged manner and hoarse voice. "No sense leaving any room for misunderstandings, right?"

"Exactly," the doctor replied as he adjusted his spectacles, "so I must insist on one thing before we go any further. My technique in hypnosis is my own and unknown to any other; therefore, when I put him under I cannot allow anybody to witness my procedure."

"I understand completely, Sir. So I'm sure you won't mind if I question him without anybody witnessing."

"That'll be fine," agreed the doctor. "Now, the first voice he'll hear will be yours; furthermore, the only voice that he will adhere to after that. When your voice addresses him by his first name, that's when he will be under your control. First though, I think I should offer you some suggestions on how best to manage him."

George remained silent and listened attentively.

"It is imperative to be polite, Sir." The doctor hesitated and held eye contact with George momentarily before continuing. "It appears to me that you're a naturally nice fella."

"It doesn't cost a thing to be nice, Doc."

"You're quite right, Sir. Now, I'm sure you've heard that when a person is under hypnosis he won't do anything asked of him that he wouldn't ordinarily do had he not been under the influence."

Herby started to stir. The doctor casually got up, went to a cupboard, prepared an injection and said, "a mild short-acting sedative," as if he were justifying his action.

"Anyway," continued Doctor Goldstein, "I hope you're familiar with manipulative psychological questioning such as indirect questioning, making statements in question form, and so on. You are aware of these questioning techniques, aren't you Mr. Cain?"

"Yes, I am. I know that my questioning will have to be treated delicately." George confirmed, starting to get annoyed with the doctor.

"My only real concern is that no harm comes to my patient. Although he is under your control and the focus of your endeavor, he is still my patient. Have I made myself clear, Mr. Cain?"

"Yes, of course."

The doctor administered another injection to Herby, and when he started coming to, the doctor nodded, indicating to George that it was time for him to begin his questioning.

"Herby? My name is George. I am going to ask you some questions. Do you have any objections?"

George looked at the doctor for approval and was awarded with a smile and a nod. The doctor left the room.

George took a seat on a stool next to where Herby was sitting, observing the medical equipment and noticing the odor which is characteristic of doctor's offices. "If I say anything to offend you, or that you disapprove of, feel free to say something, Okay Herby?"

"Okay."

"Our city is getting like other big cities around the country as far as thugs and hoodlums and drugs and things, isn't it, Herby?"

"Yes Sir, st, it is," Herby replied, making direct eye contact and smiling.

"It's not necessary that you address me as Sir, Herby. I'm a friend. Call me George, okay?"

"Okay, George." Still smiling.

"It would be great if there could be a way to rid our city of these thugs and things. Wouldn't you agree, Herby?"

"Of course," smiling again and appearing to be pleased with himself.

George was beginning to feel more confident now that Herby was relaxed and agreeing with him, but he wondered why Herby was smiling so much. Why had he appeared to be so pleased with himself when he answered that last question.

"You seemed pleased to respond to that last question, Herby. Is there any particular reason?"

"Yes."

George smiled and then asked, "Would you have any objection to telling me why you were so pleased to respond as you did to that question?"

"No."

That direct answer annoyed George, but he really didn't know why; however, after a moments thought, he realized that he should have phrased it differently. "Would you please explain why you were so pleased with that question?"

"It was an experience, st, I had the other day concerning some thugs."

"What was that experience, Herby?"

As with Herby's explanation to Susy, he again repeated it for George, and then smiled again as though he was pleased with himself.

"I see. Now I can see why you were so pleased by my question. So, how did you get those boys to fall down like that, Herby?"

"I didn't."

"Herby." George said with polite authority. "You just told me that you wanted the boys to fall down when they did. Now, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Why?" Asked George.

"Why what?"

"Why did you think you could make them fall down."

"I didn't." Replied Herby with a sly grin.

"You didn't what, Herby?" George was beginning to realize that his earlier satisfaction with Herby relaxing was premature.

"I didn't, st, think that I could make them fall down."

"Why not?"

Herby looked at George without answering.

George felt that he was spinning his wheels. "Well, it's been good chatting with you, Herby. Any time you hear my voice addressing you by your first name, I would appreciate it if you would give my request top priority, okay?"

"Okay."

"Stay here, Herby, I'll be right back."

Herby sat quietly with a slight smirk on his face that for some reason intimidated George. George thought to himself, I feel like grabbing the little bastard and choking the shit out of him, but George kept calm and returned to the doctor's office. As he entered, he drew a deep breath and said, "Doc, I'm finished for now. Will we need to meet again, Sir?"

"No, but I must insist on being notified when you're finished with him."

"Of course, Doc, that goes without saying."

"Here's one of my business cards, Mr. Cain. Please call me if there are any complications, or if there is anything else I can do for you."

Tired and wanting to get home, George asked, "Okay Doc, how should I go about returning him?"

"Take him somewhere like a cocktail lounge and buy him a drink. Then show him a clock or inform him of the time. Tell him that in exactly ten minutes or when he finishes his drink, whichever occurs first, he shall return home with no recollection of what occurred this evening."

George did what the doctor suggested.

Herby looked at the clock that was in front of him and it read two-twenty. He didn't know whether it was A.M. or P.M., because he was in a bar, and Las Vegas bars stay open twenty-four hours. He looked around, looking at the almost finished bottle of Coors that sat before him. He didn't remember ordering or drinking it. He looked at the bartender who walked up. "What's the matter with you, Pal?" said the young, tall, bearded bartender. "You look like you been wrestlin' the devil himself."

Nauseated by the odor of the bar, irritated by the noise of slot machines and unusually loud music, and feeling notably disoriented, Herby asked, "How long, st, have I been here?"

The bartender gave him a queer look and replied, "you mean you don't know?"

"Do you know or not?" Replied Herby with a wrinkled forehead, squinted eyes, and a tone of obvious irritability.

The bartender gave Herby a salty look. "About fifteen minutes, Pal."

"Did I come in here with anybody?"

The bartender looked at him as though he were crazy, and before he could answer Herby asked indignantly, "Did you hear me? I said . . . "

"I know what you said!" "You came in here alone, Pal." The bartender walked off giving Herby another salty look.

The asshole is lying, Herby thought as he rubbed his temples. I know where I am. I recognize this place--I'm in Friendly Fergies on Sahara. The last thing I re . . . Herby suddenly got off the bar stool and walked out of the bar. He thought to himself: fuck that ass-hole. I wonder where my car is?

Realizing that it was two o'clock in the morning he started walking. He thought about his car again: car . . . my car . . . that's the last thing I remember. I was unlocking it, and getting ready to leave, and . . . Shit! That's it, until a little while ago. It's as though I'd been asleep and just woke up.

Herby sat in his car for a while. When he got inside of his house, he put on some soothing music (Herby liked New Orleans style Dixieland Jazz), he lay down on the couch and thought: I wonder if this has anything to do with the things that's been happening to me?

The following morning George made a phone call.

"Hello."

"Big Head, my friend, how are you?"

"Hey, what's happenin', George?

"Need to talk to ya, my friend. As soon as possible."

"Can it wait till tomorrow? I was leaving."

"Tomorrow'll be fine. What time?"

"I'll be home all day."

"Okay, be talkin to ya, eh."

At noon the next day George took a short drive on the Boulder Hwy. to Big Head's house in Henderson, Nevada. George would periodically glance over to the mountain north of him. Sunrise Mountain is a familiar sight to the residents of the area; furthermore, it's known as a place where dead bodies are sometimes found; usually thought to be organized crime related.

When George knocked on the door, a big framed, blonde haired, blue eyed, man of middle age answered. "Come on in, man." George followed the big man back to a study where they took a seat on a sofa. "Now, what's happenin'?"

"I think I have discovered something about this Anthropomorphic business."

Big Head looked at George momentarily, scratched the back of his head and said, "Yeah, sure."

"Listen! I didn't come all the way over here to make fucking jokes, damnit."

"Kay man, calm down. Tell me about it."

"First of all, the fewer people involved the better."

"Okay man, spit it out. I never buy a pair a shoes til I tried em on."

"We need to find out if there is going to be any hits in this area soon. If so, we need to arrange to have it done in the presence of somebody."

"Why?"

"Because I think this person is Anthropomorphic."

Big head responded to George's last statement with guarded enthusiasm, and then said, "I hope you know that our people have been experimenting on manipulation and control of Ascriptions for years, and without success, man."

"I know that, but they haven't experimented with one that isn't aware of his gift."

Big Head's eyes widened, he rubbed his chin and said, "Ohhh. I see what you mean."

"Now can we talk business?"

"Yeah. So you think that by havin' this hit attempted with this person watching, he might use his gift unknowingly to prevent it, right?"

"Now you're getting the picture." George said. "What d'ya say?"

"I wanna see this myself."

"Me too. I've already got this kid under hypnotic suggestion. All I have to do is summon him on the telephone. When he hears my voice, he's under my control.

"All right. I'll do everything I can, man."

"Okay, be talkin to ya, eh."

A week after his experience with memory loss, Herby was working around his house. While trimming the edges of his lawn and fighting the gusty Las Vegas wind, he wished that Susy would call him. They couldn't keep their previous date, and he hadn't talked to her since they were in the cocktail lounge together, and he felt compelled to tell her what had happened to him. Herby wished for Susy to call, and a minute or so later she did.

"Hi Honey." Susy said. "Why haven't you called me?"

"I've been intending too. Something else has happened, st, but I wasn't sure I should bother you with it again."

"Herby, I don't mind at all. You should've called; especially since we missed our date last week."

"Actually, I might not have needed to call, be . . . "

"What?"

"Never mind." Herby started to explain what he considered another coincidence concerning the phone conversation they were having. "I guess I should've called. Anyway, st, what are you doing tonight?"

"Nothing. Why don't we meet at the Fireside Inn on Nellis Blvd., say at seven, okay?"

"Sounds good to me. See you then."

Herby sat in the parking lot of the cocktail lounge from 6:45 to seven o'clock listening to the oldies station before Susy pulled up. He was enjoying the Oak Ridge Boys when Susy pulled up beside him. They went inside and took a seat at a booth.

"Hi, could I take y'alls orda?" Said the short-skirted cocktail waitress.

"I'll have a long neck bottle of Coors, st, and she'll have a margarita."

"I think I have Alzheimer's disease, Susy," Herby said jokingly.

"Of course you do, and I have leprosy, too."

Herby explained his blackout experience, and when he was finished Susy brushed that bothersome wisp of hair out of her face and said jokingly, "Maybe you do have Alzheimer's disease."

They laughed. Herby gave her a kiss and replied, "I'd much rather joke about all this than to let it get to me."

About the same time the cocktail waitress brought their drinks, the jukebox started playing Tight Fittin' Jeans.

"I don't know how you keep from letting it get to you," said Susy with an elevated voice because of the juke box, "I'd be a certified basket case by now if all this was happening to me."

After about ten minutes of small talk the cocktail waitress sauntered up to their table again. "Ya'll want a couple mowah?"

Herby told her that they were leaving but thanks anyway, and as she walked away Herby's eyes followed.

--Smack--! A jealous smack on Herby's arm quickly got his attention.

Herby raised his eyebrows to Susy and said, "Where would you like to shack up for the night?"

Susy hesitated, then answered. "Shack up? That sounds so cheap. How about spending the night together?"

"Okay, you talked me into it, let's go."

They left the lounge and spent the night at Jim's house.

A week later George was sound asleep when his phone started ringing. It rang about three times before he answered it. "This better be good, Mother Fucker!"

"Hey man, would you like for me to call back next week?"

Recognizing Big Head's voice, George changed his tone. "If I knew it was you, I woulda baked a cake, my friend."

"Save it, man. Wake up cause we're in luck. I got some action on what we talked about."

"Good, good. I knew I could count on you."

"You see, when the Big Head say's he's gonna to do somethin', he does it, man."

"Oh shit. Now I can see why they call you Big Head."

Big Head laughed and said, "anyway, can you have this guy at the Las Vegas Zoo parkin' lot today at three o'clock?"

"Yeah."

"If I'm not there, wait for me. I won't be long. I wouldn't miss this for nothin'. I'll explain the deal then."

"Okay, be talkin to ya, eh."

A few minutes later George called Herby.

"Hello."

"Hi Herby. This is George. Would you please meet me at Joe's bar on the corner of 25th and Eastern at two-thirty today?"

Herby pulled into the parking lot of the bar and when he got out of his car he heard George yell, "over here, Herby!"

Herby turned in the direction of George's voice and waved at him. He locked his car and walked over to George.

"Hop in, Herby, we're going for a little ride if you don't mind."

As they cruised out of town on the Tonapah Highway toward Reno they were both silent. George had no reason to ask any more questions. George's radio was playing dixieland jazz which seemed to keep Herby pacified.

George pulled into the parking lot of the zoo and parked about three spaces from Big Head's car. As George was getting out of his car he said to Herby, "Sit tight, kid, I'll be right back." George went over and got into the car with Big Head. "What now, Boss?"

Big Head explained.

"Is that it?" Said George.

"Yep."

"Okay, my friend, be talkin to ya, eh."

George and Herby walked into the zoo. They spent twenty minutes walking around until it was about the right time. They came to a bench and sat.

"Herby, at five o'clock it will be time for you to go home. I'm telling you this in case we get separated. At that time, what has occurred today you will have no memory of."

George spotted the man who was supposed to be hit, "Herby, would like something to eat or drink?"

"No, st, thanks anyway."

"I do," replied George, trying not to appear any different or hurried. "I'll be right back then, sit tight."

George walked toward a concession stand. Big Head got his attention and waved him over.

"It's about to happen, huh? Where's the sniper at?"

Big Head showed him. It was only a matter of seconds. They watched the sniper take aim, and they could tell that Herby was, indeed, watching what was about to happen. Suddenly, the sniper walked to another position, took aim, and shot George and Big Head in the head. Pandemonium! People scrambling everywhere--screaming, panic. A crowd was gathering around the obviously dead men. Security guards running toward the crowd blowing whistles. The P.A. system blaring instructions in a futile attempt to calm the panic. Little kids yelling and asking questions. Elephant's screaming, the hyenas going berserk and the noise made by the rest of the animals, intensified the situation to the point of Chaos.

As for Herby? He had casually gotten up and walked away as though nothing happened at all--again with a smile on his face, and as though he were pleased with himself.