Chapter 20

A gentle rain fell outside an apartment where four anonymous individuals dined in silence. Their host, Arnold Cavenstein, stood nervously in a shadowy corner of the room waiting for the signal to deliver the next course. This signal was a ring from a tiny silver bell resting at the head of the table next to what was, presumably, the person chosen by the group to be their moderator. Mr. Cavenstein had instructed the party to ring the bell whenever they found themselves prepared for the next course.
The evening had begun with two light amuse of shrimp on ice, delivered in silver goblets, and a small portion of chilled fava bean soup with seared scallops. Mr. Cavenstein stood rigid in the corner with his face to the wall, so as to grant his guests the most intimate privacy. In the doorway next to him, sitting on a silver cart, was the next course, four small plates of caviar on buttered bread accompanied by wooden knives and forks.
The four dining members had communcated very little since their arrival. Mr. Cavenstein had taken their coats and, after placing them in the open closet in the foyer, led the party to the dining room. His guest list consisted of three men and one woman, all of whom had come dressed in the expectation of an evening fit for high society. The man who sat at the head of the table was a dark ivory with a skinny build. He looked to be in his late thirties and was bald with a well-groomed goatee. The man on his left was white, but with a dark tan and a thick black mustache. He was much larger than the rest of the individuals in attendance, sitting at almost twice the size of the other guests, and looked to be in his early thirties. His black hair fell to his ears and was combed back and to the right into straight and rigid lines.
The only woman present sat at the far end of the table, opposite the head. She had a fair complexion and a small petite frame. She wore thin-rimmed glasses and held her brown hair back in a tight bun. She wore a striking silver ring on her left hand’s ring finger and looked to be, though it was hard to tell, in her early sixties. The final member of the party sat across from the tanned gargantuan and to the right of the head of the table. He looked to be the oldest member of the dining party with thinning white hair and a creased face. His skin was an olive color and he had entered into the apartment that evening wheezing and leaning heavily upon an ivory cane topped with a shiny black handle.
Mr. Cavenstein, growing complacent in his newly found space, realized that he had never looked so closely at this particular corner before and he began to notice how dirty the walls had become since he had moved in. In a panic of worrying about whether or not his guests would notice his filthy walls he grew distracted and nearly jumped when the first conversation of the evening began behind him.
“So, Roland,” wheezed the elder member of the party, “why have you called us here this evening?”
The table drew silent for several seconds and then the black man at the head of the table spoke with a gentle, but directed tone.
“You have all been called here tonight for the only reason you still remain an asset to this organization.”
Roland cleared his throat and continued.
“All of you, in your own unique way, have been involved in the matter that we will be dealing with in the coming hours. After our affairs have finished you will be free of any obligation you may have previously held with the party. However, your participation in the dealings of this evening is non-negotiable.”
Mr. Cavenstein, with his nose rubbing nervously against the wall, jumped a second time as the table rattled under the weight of a colossal fist smashing down upon it.
“Roland,” spoke a deep voice in a thick British accent, “you know I don’t go for this type of thing. Tell me what I’m involved in and then I’ll tell you if I want to stay or not.”
“Now, Simon,” whispered a gentle female voice, “there’s no need for theatrics here. Roland has no intention of harming anyone. Let’s keep the evening civil.”
The old man’s wheezing became heavier as the party once again drew silent. Silverware clinked against plates and seats creaked as the party members shifted in their seats. After several minutes of awkward silence Roland addressed the party again.
“While Ms. J is correct about my intentions to conduct an evening of civil discussion let there be no mistake as to the consequences of any refusal to cooperate. You have all been summoned here because of your unique experiences, but you can and will be disposed of if you decline to contribute to the task at hand.”
The old man expelled a louder than normal sigh and the party halted their conversation.
“Why are we here Roland?” said the old man in a tone much colder than before.
Roland chuckled and his chair squealed as he leaned back in it.
“I like your straightforwardness Victor. You remind me of my father. The older he got the less he said. Always to the point. Anyway, we’re all here tonight because of a problem that was never properly taken care of.”
The room drew quiet as the sound of a cigarette lighter clicked in the background.
“The dreamer has escaped. And he’s disappeared.”
The room fell quiet for several minutes. Mr. Cavenstein pressed his nose against the wall and plunged his hands deep into his pockets. He wished his recent guests would go away and take their business elsewhere. He was tired of being worried. He was tired of being nervous. He was tired of all the ambiguous language being thrown around the room.
A silver bell tinkled from the table.
“Arnold,” said Roland quietly, “we’re ready for our next course.”
Arnold turned on his heel swiftly as if operated by a machine. He smiled brightly and moved forward to the table.
“Yes, sir.”