Chapter 1
Happiness.
Sometimes it doesn’t even matter whether it’s the real deal or an illusion. It’s one of the most sought-after feelings on earth. A feeling. Intangible. Fleeting. Immeasurable. With the capability to inspire nations. Happiness can be the birth of a child. It can be the realization of personal accomplishment. It can be the absence of pain. It can be many things.
For Steve Johnson, it was the drying ink on his first eight-figure deal in the cement business.
In a moderately nice restaurant at 10:05 p.m., Steve sat at the bar, cracking another crude joke with the bartender. Most of the diners had exited the establishment; he was able to be as loud and graphic as he desired.
“Rectum ‘em? Damn near killed ‘em!” Steve shouted with a laugh. The laugh started with a silent gasp and escalated to a belly-shaking roar, his mouth wide open for his audience to see the bright silver crowns on his molars. He was six drinks deep; the barkeep had already confiscated the keys to his Subaru wagon.
The cement sales business had been fantastic for Steve these last few years. His work even suited him appearance-wise. He was tall enough, with mousy brown hair, a slight pot belly, and a pale complexion that could have camouflaged him in the moonlight. People knew him as a guy always ready to share a joke and a business card.
His jovial attitude catapulted him up to Number One Sales Associate of the Year. Earlier that day at a company event, the president of Cementlex Inc. had honored him with a beautiful, well-deserved Breitling timepiece. For the first time in years, Steve’s pot belly warmed with the exotic spice of happiness.
Alas, it was time for Steve to make his way home. He wasn’t a heavy drinker. Six was his max. He tried pulling on his coat, and teetered a few steps before a kind waitress stopped him to turn the sleeves inside-out. He mumbled something to her, but his mind was on the condos. This Saturday, he’d made plans to check out a few in the area. It was time to make the leap in home ownership.
Walking on air, Steve stumbled out of the restaurant and squinted up at the angry orange glare of the street light. He fumbled in his pockets for his phone, sober enough to realize his need for a cab. The cellphone battery was dead. Little wonder; he had spent the better part of the afternoon gushing to his proud mother about the day’s events.
It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts.
He decided to walk. Certainly ten blocks would help burn off some of the evening’s steak and mashed potatoes. The last three margaritas wouldn’t leave his system as easily.
It was a beautiful evening. Stars pinned up the canvas of a sky faded and stained by the pastels of pollution, a far cry from the pure black of primitive days and rural lands. Smears of grays and mauves hovered above a cityscape that, hydra-like, reared its many ugly heads high and rectangular above the ground.
It wasn’t a bad place to walk, in the daytime and with bodyguards. The posh neighborhood in the industrial side of the city was beset by a slightly seedy section. Well-planned, manicured shopping centers gave way to sterile commercial office parks and automotive service businesses, and then to warehouses. These gave way to derelict commercial properties and open spaces and boarded-up homes that housed raccoons and crack dens.
Not the scary side of the city. Just the side one didn’t normally walk through alone, or leave an unlocked car.
Or a locked car.
Five blocks into the walk, Steve had regretted his decision. But only five blocks to go. He listened to the crunch of his feet on the gravel, as if his shoes were stepping on little bones on the ground. . Soon he’d be safe and warm in his cozy bed with its down comforter and pillow-topped mattress. He could eat an ice-cream sandwich or two or six. He could watch Sports Center.
