The Robber

NOISES DOWNSTAIRS. HELL. YES! I WAS PREPARING MY WHOLE LIFE FOR THIS. Stay here with the baby, Sofia. I just need to open my weapons safe. There she is! HK416, with SureFire SOCOM2 suppressor, Eotech Exps3/G33 magnifier and Magpul D-60 mag. Of course, honey, I will be careful. I love you, honey! Oh, you mean careful with the walls? Sure, fine!

The noises! Like as if an elephant was dancing conga in our living room! How many of them are there? Three, four? What if they are heavily armed? WHAT IF THEY ARE CARRYING KALASHNIKOVS AND FULL-BODY ASSAULT ARMOR? I READ MILITARY-GRADE HOSTILE INTENT IN THESE NOISES. SCREW WALLS, I'M PACKING ARMOR PIERCING AMMO. HELL YEAH!

Richard McDonnell, who was already dreaming about his name appearing on the front page of local, and maybe even federal newspapers, was slowly moving down the stairs. He looked outside of the doorframe into the living room, but couldn't see anyone. To the right, there was a huge hole in the wall where the door once was—it's as if they used a Ford F150 to ram the door, but the truck didn't stop there—it moved through the living room, made a U-turn, and reversed into the kitchen. But he didn't hear any engine noise—was it an EV? Home invaders using EV trucks for burglary? What the hell happened here? At least he didn't have to worry about damaging walls anymore, he thought.

Slowly creeping further, he reached the center of the room. Looking to the street from here, he saw that his Ford F150 was missing. If burglars stole his car, how come he did not hear the engine noise? Suddenly, Mr. McDonnell heard loud crunchy chomping noises, as if something was chewing cement blocks, emanating somewhere from the kitchen hole. It was just a few meters away now...

Mr. McDonnell cautiously peeked inside the hole. What he saw almost caused him to faint. It was an elephant wearing aviator glasses and what could only be a ten-pound Rolex watch on his front left leg.

The elephant was eating. The fruit vase on the table was not only empty, but missing entirely. The refrigerator compartment was missing, well, everything, including the door and the lightbulb, and now the monster was done with the frozen produce. Opening its disproportionally huge maw, it swallowed the entire refrigerator in three loud, crunchy bites.

This was... completely unexpected, underwhelming and disappointing. Mr. McDonnell was contemplating his next steps. Shooting the beast was simply unnecessary. It is just an animal, it probably escaped from a zoo. Yes, it scared me, scared my wife, baby girl is crying now, but we will manage, and after all, it's just wrong. And besides, using 5.56 on an elephant was the same as shooting it with peas from a paper straw. He needs to call the police. No disgusting noncomplying home invading murderhobos he dreamed of protecting his family from and bragging about to his friends later. On the opposite, it was a catastrophe. He somehow knew his insurer was not going to cover this. How could he possibly know this? Why was he so certain of this? He had this terrible feeling. Like when something terrible happens, for the first few seconds you think like you are still having a fantasy about a bad hypothetical reality, and you just need to shake it off, but you can't shake it off, you just can't...

His train of thought was suddenly interrupted when the beast noticed it was being watched and turned to him:

"Oh, hello there! So rude of me, to barge in without properly introducing myself. I sincerely apologize. Allow me to introduce myself properly—I am Mr. Latipac. Pleasure to make your acquaintance!"

The speaking beast extended its massive trunk, awaiting a handshake. Trunkshake?

"Mr. McDonnell, pleased to meet you," this was the best response he could utter, considering the circumstances. He was probably sleeping and having a nightmare. He hoped he was sleeping and having a nightmare. The trunk felt cold and oily. Ew.

"Ah yes, of course! How are you today, Mr. McDonald?"

Mr. McDonald was definitely not okay today. To test if you are asleep, he thought—you need to look at some journal or clock once, turn your gaze away, look again and see if it has changed or not. Wall clocks were missing. The only clock in the room was the Rolex "watch" on the elephant's leg, which read 10:10 each time he looked. He was not asleep and he did not like the implications.

"I'm good, thank you. How are you?"

I observe no other hallucinations nor voices, Mr. McDonald thought. Everything else is solid. So I am not insane nor under psychedelics either. Is this some kind of a prank? Someone rammed my house with a truck, brought an elephant in, concealed a radio somewhere and is recording me from some hidden camera?..

"That depends, Mr. McDonald. Are you a communist?"

Am I a communist? What? Why?

"I shoot communists on sight," said Mr. McDonald in an absent minded voice, a fully automatic response of someone whose mind was completely occupied at failing miserably to make sense of why there was a talking elephant in his kitchen eating his home appliances.

"We are going to be great friends, Mr. McDonald," said Mr. Latipac, showing two rows of sharp, perfectly white teeth, a predatory smile so wide it would give the Cheshire Cat a heart attack. "Oh hello there! Mrs. McDonald and Ms. McDonald Junior, I presume?"

Sofia was now standing with Betty by his side, her face reading silent shock.

The beast continued regardless.

"Say, Mr. McDonald, you are holding some exceptional assets here. Take, for example, this place. What an excellent property! The location, the view, the access to a fresh produce market. But most importantly—the adjacency to the golfing resort. Say, will you sell it to me?"

"It depends. What are you offering?"

"Oh why, my terms are generous. I offer you some sway with me! To take you into the future! To the abundance of goods and the abundance of variety. Technological progress, cars, ships, planes, medicine, food you never thought was possible. Cities from horizon to horizon, skyrippers, a future where you can have all of this, as much as you want, if you and I are on good terms. My friends enjoy many amenities, and my best friends live in comfort beyond your wildest dreams."

The elephant was grinning widely with his nauseating smile again.

It was not Mr. McDonald's fault he was the way he is, at least not entirely. He was bombarded with particular socially acceptable views of the world, from his parents, from his priest, from the TV and newspapers that he deemed truthful. Those who could help him were long extinct. And the answer was obvious to him. He looked at his wife, to receive an affirming nod, and spoke his answer:

"The terms are indeed very favorable, Mr. Latipac. We agree."

"Excellent. Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. McDonald. Now, if you don't mind, I have some other assets I want to buy. I want to purchase your rifle from you."

Mr. McDonald knew he was receiving more than a fair deal, but he loved his rifle. She was important to him emotionally, she embodied his political views, and everything he believed to be right about this country. He knew however, by quickly glancing at Sofia, that if he was going to decline, he was going to get a scandal later.

"I agree," almost crying, said Ricky. He put his rifle on the table.

"Excellent! Now, the last, but not the least. Words you use to advocate for ideas that aren't compatible with any social order. Those are dangerous. Yes, very, very dangerous. Sell them to me."

"Sold."

Ricky could not have any idea why a true patriot like himself would possibly need those for. Using freedom of speech to advocate for a nondemocracy? For dysfunctional regimes that have no chance of working out? What for? Freedom of speech is only needed to advocate for ideas that are compatible with SOME social order. Some social order that proved to be solid. The one his country had, of course. He had not sold anything of value here. At least, so Ricky thought.

"Well, it was certainly pleasant to meet you and your lovely family, Richard," said Mr. Latipac with a wide, car salesman wide kind of smile.

Something seemed wrong about this whole exchange. Something was bothering Ricky, but he could not put it into words. As if there was something horribly wrong going on, not only with him specifically, but in our society, but he could not say what. Was it the government, the immigrants, the left wingers, the right wingers? Was it Democrats, was it Republicans? Ricky may not have read a lot of books, he couldn't afford college, but he was always keen to dig to the root cause of any problem he had to tackle. He could see it, at least he thought he saw it, but what was it? What was it that he saw? You can see with words, the right word makes things visible, reveals it, but he could not find the right word. He did not have the words. He knew the others did not have the right words to see with as well, and instead said they saw something they didn't actually see, but did not have the honesty to admit it. He raised his gaze and looked into the eyes of Mr. Latipac, obscured by aviator glasses.

"Oh, this again, Mr. McDonald? Do you lot never learn? You would prefer to live under the steel boot of some backward communist totalitarian regime?"

"But... I..."

"Yes, exactly. You have nothing substantive to propose. As usual. I am all you have. I am all you will ever have. Get comfortable with me. I am the end of history. Not the means to an end. End without the means. Because of me, you live in a free country. Now get out of my property and go be free somewhere else."

---

Ricky had finished making a tent for his family to live in. He should not have offended Mr. Latipac. After all, if he cannot put his emotion into words, it's probably nothing to worry about. Just an irrational thought. Living on the street was not as bad as he initially thought it would be. He will fix it, probably. He was just unlucky, is all. Temporarily embarrassed.