by Kevin M. Watson
Three minutes earlier, Harrison Collins had been supervising the loading of a 5-ton extrusion screw onto a flatbed truck. The crane operator had responded to his hand signals, maneuvering it slowly into position, lowering it to within a few feet of the empty bed. Then the crane cable snapped like a rotten rubber band, sending the gigantic screw crashing through the floor of the truck, smashing the entire bed beyond repair. Harrison stood frozen while every wall of his 50,000 square foot shop echoed with the sound of breaking glass. That's what woke him from the dream-turned-nightmare not the shriek of crushing, twisting metal and splintering wood, but breaking glass.
That was three minutes earlier, behind the confines of his sleeping eyes. Now, three minutes later and wide awake, Harrison stood frozen again. Only this time he was staring down the barrel of a revolver.
After waking, Harrison took a minute to gather his thoughts and listened intently from the edge of his bed. His wife Connie, usually a light sleeper, had simply rolled over and mumbled something about the cat, so he was considering going back to sleep. Then he heard a desk drawer snap shut in his study downstairs.
After throwing on his robe and slipping into his houseshoes, he stumbled out of the bedroom and into the hall. From the upstairs balcony overlooking the front entry, Harrison saw the dim light leaking out from under the door of his study. More than likely from the lamp on his desk, he figured. More than likely, it was Eric, his 16 year-old son, whose bedroom door was ajar and who had a habit of reading on sleepless nights in the plush comfort of the brown leather chair that sat behind the desk in the study.
Harrison realized he had figured incorrectly the second he opened the door to his study.
Staring back at him from the business end of a revolver were the panic stricken eyes of a young man no more than twenty years of age the same look he had seen on a daily basis years earlier in Vietnam. Experience told him to stay calm and to try and get the kid to do the same.
The kid introduced himself by saying, "I'll blow you away, man."
"What do you want?" asked Harrison, studying the kid's anxious manner, the sweat seeping down his young face, the fear pouring from his eyes.
"The money, man. Where is it?" The kid held the gun steady with both hands while he quickly wiped his eyes on each shoulder of his dirty, faded jean jacket.
"The top right hand drawer," said Harrison, calmly nodding toward his desk. "It's all I have on hand. Ten thousand dollars and thirty-seven cents."
The kid's eyes widened and he licked his lips. Stepping aside, the kid motioned with the gun and said, "Get it. Now! And don't try nothin', cause, man, I swear, I'll blow you away."
Harrison walked to his desk and pulled open the top drawer. One by one he tossed out a nickel, a dime, a nickel, a penny, a penny, a nickel, a dime and a gold MasterCard.
The kid narrowed his eyes, focusing on the spare change and the credit card. "What's this?" he snapped, pointing.
"It's all the money I have available to me at this time," said Harrison as he tightened the belt on his white terry-cloth robe. "There's nothing on the card. I only use it for emergencies."
The kid hissed, "I don't have time for no games!" He nervously scanned the study then took a step toward Harrison. "I need cash. Get it, or... you're dead!"
Harrison took a deep breath and shrugged. The kid stepped back cautiously. "I don't keep money in the house," said Harrison. "It's not safe, as you've just proven. Every dollar I own is in the bank or invested."
"Well you better come up with something. You have a stash in your bedroom?"
Harrison turned around slowly, ignoring the kid's question and removed a book from the shelf. Turning back toward the kid, he laid the book on his desk, and said, "Here, it's worth five hundred dollars. Take it and sell it."
"A book?" said the kid, running his free hand nervously through his stringy hair. "I need money, man! Money!" He slammed the butt of his gun down hard on the book, tearing the dust jacket and gouging the canvas cover.
"It will easily convert to cash," said Harrison, struggling to maintain his composure. "Only now I'm afraid it's only worth about a hundred dollars."
The kid held his breath and shook his head slightly, threatening to explode. "No!" he yelled. "That's not good enough!" Raising the gun, he added, "You better come up with something good, man, and I mean quick."
Harrison raised his hands in surrender. "Tell me what you want and I'll help you get it."
Gritting his teeth and shaking the gun at Harrison, the kid said, "You know what I want. Money!"
"I mean, what do you really want... more than anything?"
"What," smirked the kid, half laughing, half angry, "you a genie and I get three wishes? You gonna grant me three wishes, man?"
"Something like that," said Harrison, seriously.
The kid's eyes darted from side to side, while the gun bounced up and down with the rhythm of his thoughts. Then, laughing, he said, "I know. You're gonna say something like my old man about busting my butt, working for some stinking, lousy paycheck or something."
"Look at my hands," said Harrison, extending his palms toward the kid. "See any callouses?"
The kid stared at Harrison's hands briefly, then into his eyes.
"See any signs of manual labor?"
"No," said the kid.
"Well, how do you think I acquired all this?" said Harrison, lowering his hands while his eyes swept the room. "If I didn't break my back to get all of this, how do you think I got it?"
"You a banker or something? A lawyer?"
"I'm a thinker," said Harrison, "an Industrialist. My ideas provide over two hundred people in this city with the means to make a living. They work for me and turn my ideas into products. Then I trade my products for money with people who value them. I then trade the money for things I value, like this house... and this book. I didn't bust my butt the way you mean it or... hold a gun on someone."
"I don't know nothing about industrial stuff," said the kid, "so forget it. Just get me the money."
"Why money," said Harrison, crossing his arms, "when you can have the world? The only thing you need to know is what you like... what it is you value. Tell me that and I'll tell you how to get anything you want."
The kid cocked an eye. "Anything?"
"Yes," said Harrison, "but first, why don't you point that gun somewhere else besides my head."
"Too bad, man," laughed the kid.
"Look," said Harrison, "you're pointing that gun at the one thing that made all of this possible, and maybe the only thing in this whole world that can help you my head!"
The kid appeared to be thinking and lowered the gun to Harrison's chest.
Harrison raised an eyebrow in protest of the new target.
The kid moved the gun up and down and side to side, searching for another target. He finally settled on Harrison's knee. "Talk!" he said, anxiously.
Harrison slowly walked around the desk to a smaller chair facing the broken window the kid had gained entry through and sat down. Crossing his legs, he said, "Pull up a chair and relax."
The kid panicked. "Look," he said, "I don't got time to sit down and have no chat. Just tell me what the deal is."
"First," said Harrison, "you have to tell me what you want."
The kid thought, his eyes rushing from the gun to Harrison. "Ten million bucks," he finally said, as if to demand it.
Harrison shook his head. "How sad."
"What?" said the kid, "What's sad?"
Harrison didn't answer.
"What's so sad?" ordered the kid.
"I offer you the world, and all you want is money."
"So!" said the kid, raising the gun as if to scare off the words that might come next, as if the words might somehow disarm him and leave him defenseless.
"Money," said Harrison, "is a tool of exchange. You can't eat it or wear it, you can't do anything with it but exchange it for things... things you value. What do you value? What do you want?" "No!" The kid raised the gun to Harrison's head again. "You're jacking with me. I'm not gonna let you "
"Look," said Harrison, "all you have to do is tell me what it is you value. What things you want that will enrich your life and ensure your survival."
"Ten million bucks!"
Harrison studied the kid calmly. "If I gave you ten million dollars, inside of six months, you'd put that gun to your own head and pull the trigger."
The kid swallowed hard.
"I've been there myself," said Harrison.
"Yeah, right," said the kid, lowering the gun, almost as an apology.
"1968," said Harrison, "in Vietnam, I was pinned down for three days with three of my buddies. Charlie... I mean, the enemy... had us surrounded and could have finished us off easily, but they were bored and decided to play cat and mouse with our minds. 'Tonight, Joe,' " said Harrison, imitating Vietnamese broken English, " 'tonight, when you sleep, Joe, we gonna slit you throat. We gonna pull out you guts. Goodnight, Joe. Sweet dream, Joe.' "
"Was John Wayne there, too?" laughed the kid.
"Bobby didn't make it," continued Harrison, ignoring the kid's comment, "he blew his brains out. Ralph and Darren and myself, we screamed like wild men, cussing Bobby for checking out... and at Charlie for torturing us. All Charlie did was laugh."
The kid took a couple of nervous steps over to the broken window and looked out.
"They laughed like they were having the time of their lives, watching four young kids from America break down and put their own guns to their own heads and pull the trigger. But I didn't do it. You know why?"
The kid wiped his brow with the palm of his hand and turned his attention to Harrison.
"I wanted to," said Harrison, "after sitting there for three days in the mud, up to my waist in leeches and down to my waist in mosquitoes. I even said my good-byes to my girl back home, the Chicago Cubs, hotdogs, and everything else I loved. I couldn't take it anymore. So I was staring down the barrel of my own gun saying good-bye."
"I can't believe you don't have no alarm system," said the kid, glancing nervously at the frame around the broken window," I mean, big house like this "
"If I had an alarm," said Harrison, as he moved up to the edge of his seat, "and I'm never going to hear the end of it from my insurance broker, then you would have seen it, smart kid like yourself. Don't see any wires on the windows, do you?"
"No," said the kid, taking another look.
"Then just relax and let me finish my story," said Harrison.
"What's this stupid story got to do with me getting what I want?"
"Everything," said Harrison.
"Well, hurry up then," ordered the kid, "I don't got all night."
"Then I said good-bye to my car," said Harrison.
"What?" said the kid.
"You know," said Harrison, placing his index finger to his temple, "before I ..."
"Oh," said the kid. "Oh, yeah."
"Man, was she beautiful."
"Who?"
"Not who," said Harrison, "what! My car. Candy Apple Red, '65 Mustang." He shook his head and smiled. "I went over every inch of the engine one last time in my mind, just like I had so many times before. And that's when I saw it."
"What?" asked the kid, before he glanced out the window.
"The stabilizer bar," said Harrison, "it was wrong. The design was weak. So I redesigned it right there in the mud. A couple of hours later I had everything in the world to live for. The only thing that mattered to me after that was building that stabilizer bar, putting it on my car, picking up my girl, going to see the Cubs, and eating a couple of hotdogs."
The kid stared at Harrison. "Get to the point. How you gonna help me?"
"I'm getting to that," said Harrison, "I'm about to make a very important point. You see, after I designed that stabilizer bar, I wasn't fighting for God, or my country, or anything else anymore. I was fighting for the only thing that made everything I missed valuable to me in the first place my life!"
"So what's your point," spat the kid, obviously getting more nervous, rotating his eyes from Harrison to the world beyond the broken window.
"The point being," said Harrison, "that I have values because I value my life. But you, you can't even name one thing you really care about because, as far as you're concerned, your life isn't worth any more than a healthy pile of ant dung."
The kid jerked his head toward Harrison and raised the gun. "What do you know?"
"I know that's why you don't have any values... other than money, of course. Ten million bucks, is it?"
"You don't know nothing about me," growled the kid.
"Maybe not," said Harrison, rising from his chair. "But I'll tell you what I do know. I know you're scared, and I know you're headed for a hard, short life unless you decide to use your head instead of that gun."
"Shut up," said the kid, throwing back his shoulders and raising his chin, "or I swear, man, I'll blow you away."
"I also know," said Harrison, "that you're not going to blow me away, because your gun's not loaded."
"Try me and find out," snarled the kid.
"A bluff like that," said Harrison, as he took another step, "requires an automatic, not a revolver with huge, gaping, empty cylinders."
The kid's face grew concerned and he quickly looked down the barrel of the revolver. His eyes and mouth popped open. His hands immediately started searching his pockets for ammunition, but he came up empty.
Harrison shook his head, somewhat amused. "I'm not surprised," he said, "smart kid like yourself."
"Shut up!" cried the kid, shaking the gun at Harrison, as if the shaking might make the bullets suddenly appear.
"Look," said Harrison, catching a glimpse of a police officer sneaking up to the side of the window, "you might as well give yourself up. The police are right outside that window."
"Liar!" screamed the kid, frantically turning and looking outside. "You don't have an alarm. You said so."
"I was as honest as your actions," said Harrison.
The kid panicked and started to throw the empty gun at Harrison, but decided against it and took it with him as he lunged outside through the broken window. As soon as he hit the ground, two policemen restrained him.
"Let go of me," yelled the kid. "You said you'd help me. I trusted you!"
"Which brings me to my final point," said Harrison, leaning out the window as the policemen jerked the handcuffed kid to his feet. "There are two things you can't obtain with a gun... the truth is one of them."
The kid didn't say anything, he just kicked at the ground.
"Are you okay, Mr. Collins," asked Officer Greene, the older of the two policemen.
"I'm fine," said Harrison. "I'll be down to press charges as soon as I board up this window."
"Take your time," said Officer Greene. "This mental midget isn't going anywhere."
As Officer Greene turned to lead the kid away, his partner stopped and said, "If you don't mind me asking, sir, what's the other thing you can't get with a gun?"
Harrison nodded at the kid, and said, "What he's looking for."
Copyright 1994 The Reality Check. All rights reserved.