THE CONTRACT

by Nick Mammano

Ronald Whitney remembered how soft the man's voice was over the phone. He appreciated that because his own nerves were frayed almost to the breaking point.

It was then that he told his wife Ruth that he was close to calling the whole deal off.

“At least talk to the man first.” she said.

And he knew she was right.

So here he was, waiting in his apartment on Tuesday at 9AM—waiting for Mr.
Black.

The apartment was the man's idea. Ronald thought it an odd choice; he was sure the meet would be in some dimly lit bar, or some down and out coffee shop down by the piers. But the man did come recommended -- really Ruth's idea from the start when he thought about it. She had been seriously unhinged by the situation--Ronald's situation-- but after a while she calmed down and looked at him in that way of hers and said: Something's got to be done. That's what she said…” Something's got to be done” … and it was the way she said it, and the way she stared at him when she said it that Ronald knew right away what she meant . I know someone who can help…someone who…who knows people…people who can help us. Turns out there was this black-sheep uncle of hers who knew somebody named Vincent. And Vincent knew the man called Black.

And that's why he was here waiting in his apartment. Waiting for the man. Waiting for Mr. Black.

It was strange being at home at 9AM on a weekday with the winter morning sun slanting so unfamiliarly through the window blinds. It was a nice feeling really, reminding him of those days when he was a boy at home and sick with the flu --how safe and comfortable he felt then, with his mother fussing over him and tending to his every need. Another time, another place. Now 30 years later, as he surveyed his own large apartment, their apartment really, with its beautiful living room, a room that Ruth had furnished, the same comfortable feeling flowed over him.

Then the doorbell rang and he remembered why he was here.

Ronald lifted himself from the sofa and walked to the entrance door, and opened it. He was shorter and older than Ronald--maybe 55, with dark, thinning hair and sharp eyes . Italian, maybe Sicilian…Jesus what am I getting myself into?

“Mr. Black? “ he asked.

“Yes. Good morning, Mr. Whitney.”

That same soft voice that he remembered over the phone. He smiled when he saw Ronald, who was tall and lean--but not very muscular, and hardly physically threatening. Black was neatly dressed – dark suit and tie and well-polished shoes, and an overcoat that he must have removed before ringing the buzzer, and which he now carried on his arm.

“Come in, please…have a seat. Coffee?”

“Thank you I will.”

Mr. Black eased onto one of the wing chairs around the coffee table, draping his coat over one of its arms. He casually scanned the room while Ronald escaped to the kitchen, returning shortly with a tray with two cups of coffee.

“You come highly recommended by Mr. Vincent”, said Ronald, and then

thinking, too late, that it was a pretty dumb thing to say considering the circumstances.

“Mr. Vincent?” said Mr. Black, narrowing his eyes.

“You know the guy who…actually I don't know him personally...the guy who was called…the guy who spoke to you about…”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Vincent.”

It was at that moment that Ronald knew there was no Mr. Vincent -- at least not a guy with that name. He even doubted Ruth knew his real name . Just as well.

R onald sat on an adjacent chair, calmed a bit by Black's cool manner and speech and he thought that the guy probably wasn't American born. Black seemed in no hurry to begin, just sitting there calmly sipping his coffee, saying nothing, his eyes almost lazily looking over the room.

“Coffee OK?” asked Ronald, breaking the silence.

“Fine, Mr. Whitney”, looking now at Ronald.

“Why not just call me Ronald?”

”If that is agreeable with you, then that is how it shall be, Ronald.”

“OK, then, I'll get started. The man who…” , he paused, looking at Black, hoping he'd pick up the thread.

“Mr. Vincent?” he said, smiling.

“No…the other man”, said Ronald. The man we…”

“The other man, yes.”

“Yes. Except I don't quite know where to start…I'm not used to…”

“I would not think so,” said Black, smiling. “But we must begin somewhere.”

“Well…I'm not quite sure why…” said Ronald.

“Why I am here this morning…at your apartment?”

“Yes. Why here… my apartment…and why do you…isn't a name and address enough? I thought you were just …I thought what you needed was only a name and an address.”

“Partially correct…but there are some details, loose ends we might say, that still need to be settled beforehand…”

“I have the money, if that's the problem,” he stammered.

“Not at all“, said Mr. Black, “The money is important of course but not the only consideration.”

“And then later…”

“Yes, Ronald. And then later we shall see.”

Ronald regretted suggesting that Mr. Black address him as Ronald. He felt that the conversation was slipping away from him. Am I supposed to address him as “Mr. Black”, while he calls me “Ronald”?

“I'm not sure how to begin. It's not like I do this everyday.”

“Of course, Ronald. I know that his is an unusual…and stressful time for you. Let's just say we are two friends, two old friends, who are simply having a cup of coffee one morning. Perhaps one of us has something on his mind…and is undecided whether it would be appropriate to bring it up with his friend.”

Black's tone had changed…still cordial…but Ron couldn't decide whether it was more sympathetic or…maybe a bit condescending.

“Two friends…OK…let's go with that” said Ronald.

“This imaginary conversation does not have to be serious at first. We are friends having coffee…talking about football…baseball…perhaps discussing the beautiful wife of a friend…and, agreeing how undeserving this friend is…to…to possess such a beautiful woman. These are not serious issues, of course. Just passing the time, until one of us has decided it is time to begin…to break the ice.”

Ronald was warming to Mr. Black. He seemed to know what things were about…a man who Ron could feel comfortable with, a man who could help him.

“I hope you will have confidence in me when we begin talking about serious things…things in which we both have an interest…making plans, perhaps discussing men who do foolish things. Not very different from many conversations you have had with your own friends.”

“Yeah, I've been there.”

“Yes” said Black.

“Mr. Black…your name…do you have a first name?”

“A first name? Yes. Of course. We should be on a first name basis. Of course. My name is John, Ronald.”

“John?”

“John Black.”

“John.”

“Yes.”

“And I'll bet Mr. Vincent's first name is also John?”

Black smiled.
“Yes, I believe it is”, said Mr. Black. “We are friends” he continued,,,but if we were not friends, perhaps there might be a disagreement…over money…or a woman…we might be deceiving each other, taking each other's measure, you know.”

“Not a pleasant conversation…” said Ron.

“Unpleasant? No. Not necessarily. Not if you are in a position of strength…if you have the advantage…do you understand what I mean…?”

“Sure.” said Ronald.

“Then this imaginary conversation with this person who is not really your friend…someone whose interests are in conflict with your own…then the discussion is a bit “insincere”, and filled with statements that are untrue…things that you both know are untrue. Such a discussion is not necessarily unpleasant.”

“I think I'm being sincere with you...” said Ron.

“I would never ask so much of you, Ronald.”

“I don't understand…you would not ask me to be honest?”

“Yes, of course. But…let me put it another way. Can you imagine you and I having a discussion sometime in the future…perhaps even tomorrow… about what transpired during today's conversation ...this same conversation we are engaged in at this very moment? I do not anticipate that happening, but I assure you we would not agree on what exactly was said…on what exactly we thought we heard…or even what we ourselves said…or meant.”

“On what is the truth.”

“Exactly” said Mr. Black. “Honesty has very little to do with it. You have understood me perfectly. I'm glad we have had this little conversation…this little…what is the word…diversion?”

“A digression?”

“Yes, a digression. How useful, how instructive, these digressions can be.”

Both men were quiet for a few moments. Ronald was moved, even fascinated, by the way the conversation was going.

“You do understand why I am here this morning? We have some serious things to talk about, do we not, Ronald, here in your apartment…over coffee…this morning?”

“Yes.” said Ronald. “But what is it that you need to know? “Haven't you…?”

“Yes” said Black. “But there are some things I need to know, before we….”

“Other things?” said Ronald.

“Yes…but Ronald…let me ask you….does anyone else know of our conversation this morning?”

“Well my wife, of course, but no…no one else. She suggested it would be a good idea to…”

“Yes” said Mr. Black.

“Her idea, yes” said Ronald. “It was her idea. Her uncle…some relative…I forgot which, told her that…that he could help us…”

“Which led to me,” said Mr. Black.

“Which led to you, yes”

“Tell me Ronald, why do you believe you need the services of a man like myself.”

“Well uh, it's a bit of a complicated story you know…and uh…I'm not sure where to…how to begin, you know?”

“Why don't you begin…at the beginning so to speak. Explain why you need my…my services.”

“OK…let's do it that way. I'm a lawyer. And there's this young guy… couple of years younger than I am. He's a colleague of mine at my firm, a junior partner like me. He's discovered some…some irregularities…some…indiscretions… indiscretions in the way certain funds were handled…handled by me. Do you follow?”

“Of course,” said Mr. Black.

“Indiscretions for which I admit I'm responsible…completely responsible. He discovered these about a year ago, but only brought them to my attention somewhat later…several months later.”

“So this young man, this young man who interprets his duties more broadly than you might have wished, kept this information to himself – for several months?” asked Mr. Black.

“Three…four months… yes.”

“These indiscretions for which you tell me you were responsible.”

“Yes.”

“This is a…a disagreeable individual…this young man we are discussing,” said Mr. Black.

“Well. I' m responsible” said Ron quietly.”

“Yes, yes of course, you are responsible. I agree…entirely responsible…for this…this situation … but still this young man is unpleasant…I can see immediately that I do not like him.”

“You can?” said Ronald, and Mr. Black smiled at Ronald.

“Yes, of course. It is perfectly obvious. You are…as I can see…an estimable man, a man who has made an unfortunate mistake…and for which you stated you are entirely responsible. It is perfectly obvious. We have talked only a few minutes and it is perfectly obvious to me.”

“I appreciate what you're saying, you know. That you understand how this guy…”

“This unpleasant young man…”

“Has threatened to…”

“Yes, yes…of course. To reveal your indiscretions.”

“Yes.”

“That he waited some time to inform you…to gather the evidence…to threaten you… tells us something about this young man. It tells us he is either very clever, therefore dangerous…or a coward…also dangerous, but less so. Tell me Ronald…in what manner did he bring them to your attention…these indiscretions?”

“A letter.”

“A letter…yes, of course…with the details…”

“Yes…with the details…photocopies of…you know…the documents…the works. He must have done a hell of a lot of digging. The documents go back several years…to the beginning…”

Mr. Black paused and then asked: “How large are these indiscretions Ronald?”

“We're talking about three hundred twenty thousand dollars.”

“A trivial amount!” said Black. “How disagreeable this young man must seem to you…how unpleasant…over such a trivial sum.”

“Well, if you put it that way…”

“And this money was for…?”

“For a woman…a woman who…”

“Ah yes, of course a woman…not this young man's wife?”

“No, not his wife.”

“The wife of another man?”

Ronald, clearly uncomfortable, paused a bit before answering.

“Unfortunately the…uh…the wife of a senior partner…actually the founder… of my firm.”

“Ah Renaldo…the wife of another man…who is also your boss! How wonderful. She was beautiful, of course?”

“She is very beautiful, yes. And smart and funny and…”

“Yes, yes, of course. And the relationship with this woman…is over?”

“Yes.”

“Because of …?”

“My wife…I had to tell her about…the money…and…”

“And about the woman…of course. And your wife…she has forgiven you?”

“Well…we're working on it… you know?”

“Working on it…yes, of course.”

“She was more upset over…over Linda…that's the…the…”

“Yes. The boss's wife. And less so about your financial…”

“Yes”

“Yes, that is understandable. But we are digressing.” And he smiled at Ronald when he said that. “That is exactly why I am here. We were discussing a young man…a young man who is threatening to inform your boss that you have stolen his money…and that his wife has been sharing divine afternoons with you…and that you have spent his money doing it.”

“I never thought of it that way…”

“Perhaps you have, Renaldo…perhaps you have.”

“What do you mean” asked Ronald, somewhat confused and also wondering… when did he start calling me Renaldo?

“You know Renaldo, you have much to be thankful for…even though things may not have gone as you hoped.”

“Thankful? This guy has my ass over a barrel!”

“I'm thinking of memories…your memories of those sweet afternoons with…” he paused…”they were afternoons?”

“With Linda. Yes, we…”

“Ah Renaldo.” he interrupted. “I too have memories of sweet afternoons…and I too am grateful. There are days when I thank profusely the man who unknowingly

provided his wife for those afternoons.”

Ronald had to laugh at this. Mr. Black was obviously enjoying this conversation.

“And your boss is a man who would not take this information calmly…that a trusted employee and his wife have been...?”

“Shit no.”

“But you see that is another thing for which you might be grateful.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Well then…let me put it this way…while you were screwing this beautiful woman…you were also screwing your boss.”

Ron smiled again. “Yeah, I see what you mean.”

“What an exquisite pleasure that must be …something to be grateful for…wouldn't you agree?”

“Well, I wouldn't quite … but I see your point.”

“And this disagreeable young man threatens you over these indiscretions…denies you these memories. Isn't he aware of the expenses? An apartment of course?” he added.

“What?”

“You had an apartment…for those…afternoons?”

“Yes, but why are you…”

“Yes, of course, of course. An apartment is absolutely necessary. After all one cannot expect a respectable woman to slink deceitfully into some hotel…or worse. her own marital bed…or God forbid… outdoors . An apartment is essential. And clothes, gifts, dinners…perhaps a weekend somewhere—money is essential for all these things to be done properly…do you agree?”

“Well, yes, since you put it that way.”

“What this young man is attempting to do is contemptible. If it were a simple matter of…discussing these things with him you know… informing and persuading him to end these threats to you…”

“Which is why I…”

“Why we are talking today. Why I am here…yes?”

“Yes.”

“And this money you speak of is trivial. Everything is so expensive these days. And the woman…so beautiful…you must describe her to me some time.”

“Yes…I guess I could…”

“Yes…but now the business of this disagreeable young man must be successfully resolved. Tell me Renaldo, does this beautiful woman…the wife of your boss, does she know of these threats?”

“No. I've kept her out of it.”

“Only your wife knows…and her uncle, did you say?”

“And her uncle, I guess…yeah…I think that's who it was, her uncle. And the guy

who…”

“Yes, of course…and then your life comes crashing down…your career, your marriage, perhaps even your freedom…when this unpleasant young man hands you this letter….”

“Yes.”

“And is demanding money.”

“Fifty thousand. I gave it to him… and it was a hell of a job coming up with…finding that kind of money, you know…and Ruth…at that time…didn't know…”

“Yes…not until later…your wife didn't know…”

“No…and then he approached me again later…a couple of months later…asking for another fifty thousand and then… I had to tell Ruth . I'm worried…I knew then that this guy would continue to…”

“It will never end, Renaldo. No doubt he will ask for more. This young man …do you believe him to be a fool?”

“ A fool? No. not a fool. He has documented all of his evidence, photocopies, transcripts…”

“That is not what I mean, Renaldo”. No doubt he is clever and thorough but he

may still be a fool.”

“Why do you say that? What makes you think he is a fool? His evidence was in the letter he gave me…all there in black and white.”

“He is a fool because he did not understand you…did not understand that you might come to me...to a man like me…to find a resolution… a final resolution…one different from…one he surely never expected.”

“Yes. I see what you mean.”

Black's words stirred Ronald in a strange way…a new way. He was breathing heavily and his anger and frustration toward the blackmailer came rushing to the surface--and his face reddened with fury. That little s.o.b. tried to blackmail me. I'll nail his ass to the wall!

His fists were clenched and his knuckles white with tension.

“My services will cost you fifteen thousand dollars…cash. You were requested to have that amount in hand…in hand today.”

“I have it…just like we agreed.”

“I believe that settles the matter…the matter of money...”

“And the man's address…his name and address?”

“Ronald, I'm afraid I will need the agreed upon sum now.”

“Yes, of course.”

Ronald walks over to a desk in the living room, wondering: Why is he calling me Ronald again? He removes an envelope with the cash in it and writes a name and address on a separate slip of paper and hands both to Mr. Black, who is now standing.

Black quickly flips through the cash, folds the slip of paper into the wad, and places both in his jacket pocket, and then looks up at Ronald.

“When will you…?”

”Your wife wants the situation to be resolved as soon as possible.”

“My wife? Ruth?”

“Your wife, yes…” said Mr. Black.

“But when did you talk to my wife…I thought Mr. Vincent…”

“Mr. Vincent is a fiction, Ronald.”

“I kind of figured that out but how did Ruth… am I missing something here?”

“Ronald, this young man we are talking about is no doubt a scoundrel, and a fool…but you…do you understand what I am saying…?”

“What are you…what are you talking about? I don't understand…”

Mr. Black then picks up his overcoat from the chair and removes from it a large revolver, equipped with what Ronald recognized as a silencer on its barrel, and points it at Ronald's chest, who staggers back and collapses onto the sofa, staring at the gun.

“Do you understand now why I am here?”

“Ruth!” gasped Ronald.

Ronald Whitney's life ended at that moment, or more precisely, at 9:21 AM Tuesday morning, a moment after Mr. Black emptied two chambers of the revolver into Ronald Whitney's heart. Turning away from Ronald, Black picks up the phone on the desk, dials a number and waits.

“It's done”, he says.

He returns the phone to its cradle and walks to the entrance door pausing for a moment to look back at Ronald Whitney, sprawled motionless and very dead on the couch, and quietly exits the apartment…an apartment now owned solely by Ruth Whitney.