Wish Away

In the pursuit of success, Dan had found a state where all his needs were taken care of. There was not one need that he could muster that was not already catered for. The identification of a need that required attending to became something of an obsession for him, and in time he began to suspect that he was becoming bored with life itself. That he’d bested the final boss, and there was nothing left to play for.

He'd even toyed with an array of wants. Wants however, were substandard needs. Dan was wise to that from the outset, and so this variation of the game was short-lived, and didn’t even have the decency to shine brightly. A grey pebble masquerading as a jewel.

“I’m bored, Jones,” he whined as he reclined on his custom made leather sofa, drinking the finest of liquids. This a rare red that he’d secretly outbid a sheik for and had flown in earlier that day.

“Really, sir,” said Jones in his public school boy drawl.

Jones was another item in Dan’s collection. The man was originally destined for great things. Marked as a future prime minister. This meant that he was readily bought and so Dan had acquired him with precious little haggling. Dan knew the price of everything. He also had a fair idea of its value, which was entirely a different thing.

“Yes really,” Dan snapped like a turtle that would remove any fingers dangled too close to his beak.

Jones nodded, an affectation that denoted demurement. Bread was buttered on the upper side and Jones had learnt to keep a beady eye on it from that moment forth. It would not do for the bread to fall upon the spotless tiled floor. There were messy consequences when such unfortunateness occurred, “would sir like me to ready the car for him, perchance?”

Dan eyed Jones with annoyance. This was the natural dynamic between them. There was always scope for antagonism and Jones was a sitting target. The easy meat here was that the car referred to a garage full of cars. It was for Dan to select the car in question. Once, Jones had had the temerity to suggest the Aston. Not the unbuyable new concept car that Dan had nonetheless acquired, but the DB5. Dan had been incensed by this encroachment. No one was ever to transgress in such a way. Second guessing Dan was a one off, and painfully expensive life lesson. Jones would never know that he was on the money with that choice. Dan hadn’t driven the DB5 ever since. Neither had he sold it. It’s absence would have grated on him more than its presence.

“May as well,” said Dan.

Jones nodded again, “what colour will sir be requiring today?”

Dan didn’t miss a beat, “black, to match my mood.” Then he added with a reproachful look, “the Roller.”

“I will make the arrangements, sir,” and with that, Jones marched silently from the room.

Dan watched him go. Supposed he should shower. He was fastidiously clean. His third shower of the day was all about the transformation from one state to another. He would select a different water temperature to suit the mood he wished to step out of the shower in. Then he would pick a cologne to enhance that mood.

Leaving the half-drunk glass of wine and the open bottle to be quietly discarded, he shed his clothes and set the shower before walking in. Five minutes later, he stood naked before his bed and allowed Jones to help him on with his clothing. White shirt. Black suit. Perfectly polished brogues. Dan knew that Jones outsourced some of the chores, and he indulged him in this deception. But the shoes Jones polished himself, taking an intense pride in his work. Dan liked the man for this one thing. Had watched him on numerous occasions, on one of the many video feeds he had in every one of his residences. Dan liked to watch. There was much to learn in watching others. Humans were built to learn this way.

Climbing into the expansive rear space of the Roller, Dan sat quietly for a moment. He felt Jones’ eyes upon him via the rear-view mirror as he considered what it was that he needed. The moment stretched out and he lost himself in the expanse of his mind, scrolling and scrolling, further and deeper. 

Then it came to him, and as it did, he smiled, “did you ever read The Prince and The Pauper, Jones?” he said to the mirrored eyes.

“I’ve seen the film, sir,” Jones replied.

“Which one?”

“The Errol Flynn version, sir,” Jones smiled.

“You don’t read enough, Jones.”

“That has been said, sir.”

Dan sighed, “don’t you ever wish for a different life?”

Jones chuckled, a pleasant sound that Dan never had a problem with. Jones could chuckle without ever causing offence, “Matron told me that you should be careful what you wish for, very careful indeed, sir,” he said solemnly.

“And which Matron was this?” asked Dan, smiling wickedly, for he knew the answer, but wanted to hear it all the same. It was a routine that the two men had. A welcome distraction.

“The only one I didn’t sleep with, sir.”

Dan nodded, he’d known as much. That Matron was the closest Jones had ever got to having a mother. The brutal thrashings that Matron had administered had forever changed Jones, and his predilection for certain entertainments in specialist clubs in Soho had lowered his market value quite considerably.

“I have decided that what I need is a change,” Dan announced.

“They do say that a change is as good as a rest, sir,” said Jones.

“Who is this they that you sometimes speak of, Jones?” asked Dan.

Jones smiled ruefully, “a small band of witless ruffians who know precious little about anything of worth, sir,” he replied.

“Friends of yours?” asked Dan.

“One and all, sir,” Jones agreed.

Dan removed his tie and discarded it on the seat next to him, opening the top two buttons of his shirt, “I have decided that what I need is adventure.”

“Adventure, sir,” said Jones neutrally.

“Yes,” confirmed Dan, “now get out of that driving seat.”

“Sir?” enquired Jones.

“You heard me.”

“But where shall I go, sir?” asked Jones.

“Good question,” answered Dan, “you can think about that whilst you sit in the back of this Roller and I chauffeur you to any destination of your choosing.”

“Right you are, sir.” 

As they met each other at the expansive flank of sleek, black Roller, Dan snatched Jones’ hat from his head, “I’ll have that!” he announced, “sir,” he added as he passed Jones and slotted into the driving seat. Pressing button one, the seat moved and moulded itself to his requirements, just as the world always did.

Prior to starting the engine and embarking upon his novel adventure, Dan turned in his seat, “twenty four hours. Roles reversed. You inhabit my world now, Jones. And I yours.”

Jones smiled an inscrutable smile, “you’re sure you want to do this?” No sir this time. Jones was already transitioning. Trying the suit on for size.

“You know me,” replied Dan.

Jones did. Jones knew Dan better than anyone. He’d had a ringside seat to Dan’s life for over a decade now.

Silently, the hulk of the Rolls Royce exited Dan’s underground lair. A huge cave of a place with nods towards a certain two superheroes. But there were no bats lurking in this cave, and no iron suits.

“Well?” asked Dan as the Roller stalked the night time streets of London. He eyed Jones in the mirror and was rewarded with a questioning raise of an eyebrow. Remembering himself he added, “sir.”

Jones nodded slowly. A different nod, for a different character, “I fancy a visit to one of my uncle’s old haunts,” he said with a glint of something novel in his eye.

“And where would that be, sir?” asked Dan.

“Head for Watford, Smithers,” grinned Jones, “I’ll guide you the rest of the way once we leave the M1.”

“Right you are, sir,” said Dan, trying not to laugh at the nom de plume that Jones had selected for him. Enjoying the anticipatory thrill of the forthcoming adventure.

Jones nodded, pressing a button to reveal cut glass tumblers and a decanter of the finest single malt laying within the central armrest to his right. Dan watched Jones pour a generous measure of the fine, smoky amber liquid, barely resisting the urge to break character and tell him to stop. Already, this was proving more difficult than he could ever have expected. The requirement for silence was obvious. The discordant noise within threatened to overwhelm him.

He looked away, attending to the pressing matter of the drive. Shamed by this strategy. Busying himself with what he could do and ignoring what was occurring over his shoulder. Pretending it wasn’t happening and hoping that it would go away. The world he now occupied was smaller and he was feeling claustrophobic. This wasn’t what he had expected. He’d wanted simplicity and an escape via a lesser way of being. A lightening of the load. He’d thought this would be easy, but the problem was that he was too big and he didn’t fit properly.

Be careful what you wish for, Dan felt the words pass through him. A chilling premonition. A dark warning. He wasn’t for ignoring it. Saw it as fear. He’d never backed down. Fear was a challenge that he’d always been equal to. This was the path he’d chosen and he would walk it with his head held high. 

Be careful what you wish for, those words would not be denied. They stood before Dan and cast a shadow upon him. There was more at play than fear here. A challenge. A question aimed at bringing down the entire paradigm of a life. Dan had hit a wall in this life. It wasn’t that he’d fulfilled all his needs. That wasn’t it at all. 

Be careful what you wish for, was Dan’s last chance saloon. His Hobson’s Choice. This was all that was left to him. A roll of the dice with everything he was at stake. Now the genie was out of the bottle, nothing would ever be the same again. He felt this with every fibre of his being, and with that feeling was a fear he hadn’t experienced since…

He didn’t want to think about that. Wouldn’t go back there. This was stage fright was all it was. Not even an echo of a time long past. Another time. Another life. That life had ended a long time ago, and in the death of that life, Dan had risen.

The road ahead glimmered with the blues and purples of neon. As those ghosts departed, Dan felt the city at his back and an invitation to a foreign land. He pressed his right foot down and smiled as the huge engine of the Roller burbled happily as it consumed the open road. The car was a brute in a suit. A threatening statement. An exclusive club on wheels. The silver witch goddess figurehead at the front of this vessel wasn’t there for protection, she was a Valkyrie at the vanguard of an onslaught. Dan felt that power now. Felt it coursing through him. He’d made his wish. He would be equal to the trials and tribulations that awaited him at this journey’s end.

Jones sipped at the warming whisky, a smile playing upon his lips as he experienced his own transformation. His eyes were focused on a faraway place that he’d dreamed of often, but had thought forever lost to him. A life that lay beyond a silk veil. A land of lost promises.

The Roller tore through the road before it and in no time at all they were peeling off the motorway. Jones instructed his chauffeur to make right and left turns until they were heading down a pockmarked single track towards a makeshift carpark. Oil drum braziers provided an eerie light to the proceedings. The hungry licking flames illuminating motors that did not belong in these surroundings. Instead of the battered Mercs and BMWs Dan had expected, there were a group of pristine vehicles in the midst of which the Roller became almost anonymous.

“What is this place?” Dan asked Jones.

Jones raised a finger of admonishment and awaited the correction.

“Sir,” Dan added grudgingly.

Jones nodded by way of reward and then sat in expectant silence. Dan stifled a sigh. This was the way of it. Jones owed him no explanation. The tail did not wag the dog. He centred himself and became the character he’d wished to be. Only he knew more and he was more. The challenge was not to let his light shine too brightly. 

Opening the door for Jones, he stood to attention and waited for his master to exit the car.

“Thank you, Smithers,” said Jones as he stood clear of the open door and surveyed his surroundings with an imperious bearing that was shockingly natural. 

Smithers.

Dan wanted to rid himself of that ridiculous moniker. It was a joke that had turned sour and now that joke was on him. The word was a travesty and it made him feel uncomfortably small. He said nothing though. He wasn’t in a position to change anything. The power was no longer his to wield.

Before them was an agricultural building. All concrete and rusted metal angles. On the other side of the wall were bright arc lights and the sounds of men baying and shouting. Dan could smell the testosterone and cigar smoke from here. Could taste the copper of blood. There were bears beyond that room. Chained bears baited by vicious and unhinged dogs. This was an ancient gathering. A celebration of the darkness within. The magic of blood and violence. Dan could feel the pull of it. It excited and appalled him in equal measure.

Rounding the corner, the side opened up to a crowd of people Dan had seen a million times before. The rich. The successful. The greedily ambitious. He’d never seen them like this though. He’d only ever glimpsed this, his speculative thoughts pointing to debauchery and animalistic satiation of dark desires, but he’d never gone this far. This didn’t at all fit with his reckoning of the world he inhabited. 

Two chipped and well used men nodded them through. Big dogs who knew the smell of money well enough. Dan and Jones walked shoulder-to-shoulder towards the crowd. Just as Dan thought they were heading to a suitable spot to spectate, Jones spotted someone and changed their course, “come,” he commanded, and Dan followed, no remnants of resistance littering his path.

They stopped at a folding table festooned with cash. There was an ordered chaos here. The weasel behind the table knew where every banknote belonged. An accountant keeping his beady eyes on the flow of funds. Ebbing and flowing. A larger and larger residue left behind in his coffers. Some would win big tonight, but the weasel always took his margin.

“This your man?” asked the weasel.

Jones nodded curtly, “he is.”

“Doesn’t look much,” observed the weasel.

Dan bridled at this. Stood up straighter. Made himself look big. A physical statement; don’t you know who I am?

Jones chuckled his affable chuckle, “sometimes they don’t.”

The weasel stroked his chin, then he shook his head, “unless he knows origami, he’s a lamb to the slaughter. Sure you want to do this?”

Jones nodded, extending his hand. The weasel took another look at Dan, shook his head again, “his funeral,” he shook Jones hand, “you’re up next.”

No money exchanged. Dan noted this. Wondered at the nature of the transaction that had been agreed upon as Jones led him around the crowd. Dan kept his eyes on Jones and where they were going. Heard the sound of meat on meat and the roar of a crowd gone wild on blood and violence. He knew what was coming. Numbed himself to it.

The first he saw of the sordid arena was as they dragged a shattered and bloodied body through the sand and sawdust. The man still standing was in poor shape. The two of them having gone at each other hammer, tong, tooth and nail.

Jones grabbed Dan around the shoulder in an almost fatherly manner, “do us both proud out there, son!”

Jones was grinning as Dan looked askance at him, he couldn’t help but ask the most obvious of questions, “I’m fighting?”

Jones raised an eyebrow, “be a poor show if you didn’t.”

A question pushed its way to the fore. The question. No money had exchanged hands. Dan needed to know what was at stake here. Not what he’d win, that had ceased mattering to him a long time ago, “what happens if I lose?”

“Ah,” said Jones as the next fight was being announced by a small man in a tuxedo, “then you really will get what you wished for, sir.”

As Dan stepped into the ring, he saw the loser of the previous fight being handcuffed and dragged to a small group of men in a cage. That was when he understood. Felt Jones’ presence behind him. The tables truly turned. He’d bought the indebted Jones, title and all. Enslaved him. Provided him a lifeline, but only a semblance of a life. He’d deprived Jones of his freedom.

Dan was fighting for his freedom.

He was fighting to survive.

The gatekeeper to Dan’s freedom loomed up before him. A scarred and heavily tattooed obstacle to his wish raised sledgehammer fists aloft and roared. Dan was deaf to that and the sound of the leering mob, he was back in a small room, and he was smaller still, as his uncle stood framed in the doorway, unbuckling his belt…