seymoure

The Stupid Prisoner

“Where there is no style, there is in effect no point of view. There is, essentially, no anger, no conviction, no self. Style is opinion, hung washing, the calibre of a bullet, teething beads.... One's style holds one, thankfully, at bay from the enemies of it but not from the stupid crucifixions by those who must willfully misunderstand it.”

-Alexander Theroux

We didn’t bring in the police, since that would make just that many more possible leaks. Max and Len jumped into their cars and caught up to the good doctor as he was leaving his house with a suitcase that he had just finished packing. He was such an incompetent criminal that he hadn’t considered failure, and therefore hadn’t prepared for the possibility in advance.

We left him at a “Gentleman’s Club” we knew about. They were being paid $1000 an hour to make sure he stayed there, unhurt, until we called for him. It was in a neighborhood where he would not get a cab or a police car to respond and even he was not stupid enough to try and walk away. While he was there, I was going to do a quick interview by phone.

The doctor had taken the job when he received his deed (paid off), a new car and a promise of another $10,000. I didn’t tell him that anyone willing to spend that much would probably pay a lot more, and I would have spent much more than that. He was a supremely stupid individual. He would have made a great candidate for political office.

“They just wanted you to stop asking questions.”

“Who was it?” I insisted for the 5^th time.

“I don’t know, I tell you. They called me from a blocked number, in the middle of the night. They seemed to know everything about you, including that your name wasn’t Dan Grant. They traced you from when you landed in a private plane at an L.A. airport. They seem to be a big organization. They not only offered me money and a big paying job for a lifetime, but they held a lot of dirt over my head from early in my career. They knew I had made a few mistakes and they threatened to expose them if I didn’t hurt you. I didn’t have to kill you, just stop you from asking questions. I was planning to put drugs in your food, until all your men showed up and took over your food service. They wouldn’t even let you drink our water.”

We got all out of him over the phone that was possible, but we decided that Harry would put him in a trance and wade in the muddy pond of his memory in a while.

But first Chester and I were going to have to go under the swirling eye. Neither of us had been successfully hypnotized before (that we remembered).

Chester thought he might have had one of those experiences at parties where he may have ended up doing his impression of a chicken, but nothing serious.

I thought I might have been put under during one of those times when I had been captured and pumped for information, but I wasn’t sure. Either it was by command or by the vicissitudes of age. Neither way was a pleasant thing for my ego to consider. I hate any time I have given in to total loss of control, but that’s just me being a control freak. Often times, in this business, it is a good thing to be a control freak. It keeps you on top of the game. But in life it can make you hard to live with, work for, or get to laugh.

I hoped to have something to laugh about soon.

Back to the Beginning

Continue on to Chapter 23