Sergio De La Pava - A Naked Singularity

“It isn’t?”

“No.”

“So let me review. You agree that we could figure out how to steal this money. You also agree that we could steal this money.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t say the opposite and one, the good plan, strongly presumes the other. Yet despite this you’re not even going to try and steal the money?”

“Correct. Because I don’t want to try and steal it.”

“You don’t want fifteen million dollars?”

“I do, but I don’t want to get shot or go to jail.”

“So it is fear of failure that’s stopping you.”

“Among other things.”

“What other things? Because the fear of failure can be stifled through proper planning, the kind of planning that reduces the variables that can go wrong and ensures success.”

“There are other reasons.”

“Are you sure? Let me pose this hypo. Imagine I was in a position to guarantee you success, meaning no apprehension or physical harm and the successful acquisition of about twenty million dollars. Are you saying you still wouldn’t do it?”

“So I have a ring I can twist to become invisible, that it?”

“Very good, you’re familiar. What then?”

“I still wouldn’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it would be wrong.”

“Really? Really ? Wow, in this age and day. Anything else?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well we’ve discussed two possible impediments to this caper I’ve proposed. One is fear of failure. Since you’ve already agreed that we can devise a plan that would succeed if properly carried out, then this fear of failure can properly be categorized as the fear that we will fail to correctly execute this plan. The other impediment you’ve just identified seems to be a moral objection. Is there anything else stopping you besides those two things?”

“Guess not,” I said after a long pause during which I actually considered the question.

Neither of us said anything else after that and I didn’t see Dane again until after I’d summed up on Hurtado and was awaiting a verdict. When I talked to Dane that next day he spoke about his hypothetical perfect crime again and I listened. I had given up hope I would ever again sleep. Three sleepless nights and counting and I knew what it was doing to me. In college I would calculate my sleep cycles prior to going to sleep, then have my roommates wake me during the dreamy portions thus ensuring I would remember, in vivid detail, those bizarre narratives that played in my skull. And even though I fully expected to never sleep again, I did. After I finally got a verdict on Hurtado and almost punched Liszt I raced home and dropped straight into bed. My machine was blinking furiously, doubtlessly with questions about my hot dog-selling cousin Armando’s arrest, but I couldn’t deal right then. I closed my eyes for just a second.

“Go out there!”

“Are you nuts?

“People paid good money to see this! You owe it to them to get your ass out there and give it your best!”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m his trainer.”

“Whose?”

“Benitez.”

“Benitez who?”

“Not Benitez who, Who Benitez. Wilfred Benitez. Your opponent. I’m his trainer, now get your ass out there. Good money has been paid.”

“Wilfred Benitez? Are you crazy? First of all, if you’re his trainer, what are you talking to me for? Where the fuck is MY trainer? Are you even allowed to talk to me without my trainer here?”

“There she is now.”

“No way, no damn way. I remember her. With the eyelid? No, I’m leaving.”

“The audience paid, Casi.”

“To see what? To see me get killed?”

“To see someone get killed. A fight to the death, that’s how it was billed. For a limited time only. Money back guaranteed. They paid to see someone die.”

“Yeah, me.”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know which Benitez you’re going to be fighting. It could be a seven-year-old Benitez. Or better yet, Benitez today. Why do you assume you’ll be fighting the Benitez who fought Sugar Ray Leonard or Hitman Hearns? What an assumption! That Wilfred only lived for about eight years at most. In fact, I have it on fair authority that you will be fighting present-day Benitez.”

“Now? The way he is now? That’s even worse! Who do you think you’re talking to anyway? What do you think I am? I love Benitez. You think I would kick someone while they’re down? Do you know what I do for a living? For a dying? And you! You especially stay away from me. You of all people know I wouldn’t do this. That’s right. I remember you. You sliced open my head to look inside and now you’re supposed to be my trainer?”

“Don’t worry, it’s all been arranged. We have the caskets and everything.”

“Caskets?”

“Yes. Well casket actually. You see luckily you and Mr. Benitez are almost exactly the same size so we only had to buy one casket to deal with either contingency. You didn’t know they came in different sizes did you?”

“Not until…”

“Until you saw Tula in her little box right?”

“Fuck you.”

“She went from one little box to another. You thought about that didn’t you? What’d you watch the funeral for anyway?”

“I mean it, fuck you. Just leave me the fuck alone. I don’t even know who you are. I know this is a dream too so cut the shit. You can’t hurt me. When I say I don’t know who you are I mean exactly that too. You’re not an amalgam of people who torture me during waking life or anything. And you’re nobody from my past either before you say that. In other words, you’re no one to me.”

“I’m not here to take an adversarial stance against you Casi. Look I even brought you Skittles in case you lose. You hear that? You know it’s a dream huh? Then wake up and pick up the phone. It’s about the hot dog salesman. It’s your sister she needs money. So does your mother. Your mother! I’ve arranged some entertainment for you. See that? It’s an artificial womb. We can check its progress right through this glass. What do you think of that? Not entertaining enough? Look I don’t want to sound like a name-dropper but I can introduce you to people if you’d like. Interesting people. Do you want to meet the two seven-year-olds who took Tula? Do you want to look in their heads like I looked in yours? I hear Rane didn’t show for his counsel visit. I can take you to him now if you want. You can find out what he was thinking and feeling when he shot Superdad in his super neck. How does that sound? What about Swathmore’s gal? You know, the one who torched her kid. Want to see how it happened? Are you surprised I know about them?”

“No. You know about them because of me. Without me you’re nothing.”

“Want to know why that chimp did what he did?

“Listen lady. Look at me. Read my lips with your one good eye. None of those people have anything whatsoever to do with me.”

“What about the chimp?”

“Fuck that chimp! I don’t care about the chimp.”

“There’s more I want to show you. Look at this…”

I should have stayed awake. When I was awake I knew what I was doing. What I was doing was looking for that damn green book and yelling at anybody who got in my way and didn’t know where it was.

“I thought Arronaugh already ruled against you on that?” said Toomberg.

“She did but I’m hoping the green book can change her mind.”