Ink Portals

A drug runner's errand

2

Halfway around the world a young man, Arthur Remington, stood waiting in the cold morning air. The stars were blinking above him while he watched the Mexican border, and for some reason he found himself thinking back, remembering career-day at his primary school when he was about seven years old.

His father, Jack Remington, pulled up outside the school in a bright yellow Lamborghini Diablo. He got out and shut the over-the-top-scissor-door, then stepped on his cigarette butt before he went inside; searching the halls for Arthur's class. He waited outside the door for one of the other dads to finish telling the kids about his adventures in accounting, their eyes had completely glazed over at that point. Jack was the last parent in line. He straightened his tie before he went in, dressed up in his usual silk shirt and chinos with smart shoes, his hair slicked back behind his ears and his beard trimmed into a neat goatee. The accountant finished his talk and Jack stepped into the classroom, winking at Arthur who was the smallest kid in the class sitting in the back row. Arthur smiled and sat up giving a little wave to his dad. Some of the kids had started crowding by the window, gawking at the Lambo parked outside.

"It's as yellow as Homer Simpson," Jack joked as he went up to the teacher's desk and introduced himself to the lovely young substitute. Jack shook her hand, in the gently way that a man shakes the hand of a lady. She smiled but her eyes darted down at his hand when she felt the smooth nub of a missing digit in her palm, then she glanced back up at his face, hoping he hadn't noticed her instinctual revulsion. And of course he had noticed. But he didn't mind it much.

"Lost it in a table-saw accident," Jack said, looking down at the stub-finger when she let go of his hand.

"My goodness," the sub said, "must've been very painful."

"There are worse things that can happen," Jack said smiling.

"Alright, everybody calm down and take your seats," the teacher said, now directing her voice at the class. "This is Mr. Remington. He is going to be sharing some career advice with you guys today."

"Hello Mr. Remington," the class greeted Jack in a mingle of chirpy voices while their keen little eyes dissected his appearance. He turned his hand to keep his stub-finger hidden from the kids. He didn't want to explain it a second time. Besides, he was lying when he said it was a table-saw accident. If he had told the teacher how he really lost his finger she would probably doubt his credentials as a father.

"Any questions for Arthur's dad?" the teacher said, probing the room of restless youngsters.

A kid in the back put up his hand.

"Yes, Stanley?" the teacher said.

"Are you rich Arthur's-dad? You look rich driving around in a sweet ride like that."

"Hey, Stan," Jack said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "To give you the short of it - yes - I'm pretty darn rich. Any other questions?"

The teacher raised an eyebrow but let the conversation carry on out of sheer curiosity.

(Modesty was never Jack's strong suit. He could have easily sent Arthur to a private school but decided against it. He was worried it would turn his son into a soft, entitled brat; the kind he loathed as a young man who had dropped out of high school.)

"I want a car like that one day," Stan said. "What do you do for a job, Arthur's-dad?"

"An excellent question, Stan." Jack said, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Let me give you a quick run-down. First thing you need to understand is that large tycoons and corporations control most of the financial sector in this country and abroad, so for you to compete with them would be futile. They are the one-percent that control most of the money. The rest of us, like you and I, once we graduate and leave school, will need to outsource our labor in order to survive. It's a bleak outlook, to be honest. Unless the type of labor or service you provide is basically one-of-a-kind and in high demand. That's called a monopoly, Stan. It's when you've got your customers by the short and curlies. When you have a monopoly on the market you can happily charge whatever you like and people will pay you for it."