Houdini

The man emerged from the mist, a little magic trick under moonlight. One moment, nothing. Then, the man. Like a shadow monster, a silhouette standing tall amongst the light seeping into the alleyway. 

Ahh, here he was. The man Emma had been searching for for months now. Houdini, as her coworkers referred to him - for obvious reasons of course. The slickest, most uncatchable criminal in the whole city. He’d become almost mythological. Emma hated that.

And here he was! Just standing there. Waiting in the alleyway. Hands in his pockets, cool as hell. If he suspected he was being watched - by a cop nonetheless - the man couldn’t care less.

She positioned herself mostly behind the wall as best she could, peering her head ever-so-slightly into the alleyway. Gun in hand, she was ready to pounce if needed. Now, she waited.

She didn’t need to wait long. Within minutes, the buyer approached Houdini. A tall middle aged man with a subtle potbelly. Long hair, a ponytail. The streets were busy this evening, and the noise made it impossible for Emma to hear their conversation. Damn. But clearly they were talking. Nothing had been exchanged, not yet. She waited. 

Then came the damn car alarm. It came from ten feet or so behind her. Incessant, obnoxious, ear-piercing beeping and honking and wailing. This threw the whole thing into chaos. Houdini turned sharply toward the sound, but he didn’t see the car. He did, however, see the partly obscured face of a female cop watching his deal go down.

Everyone reacted. Emma already had her gun in hand, and she waved it around the corner of the wall. Her feet got tangled amongst themselves, and she stumbled forward a little. That gave the men time to take action. Houdini, true to character, disappeared at an unprecedented rate. The man was completely absorbed by the shadows, just a memory now.

Ponytail, however, tried a much different approach. He didn’t have Houdini’s speed, but he had size. And momentum. Maybe Ponytail played high school football. Maybe he was a linebacker or a running back. Whatever his history, his first instinct was to run straight towards, and plow into a gun-wielding cop. He slammed into her - HARD - and she dropped to the ground.

Emma saw little stars, as if she were in a cartoon. Maybe a concussion? She shook it off as best she could, and rose to her feet. Harsh reality set in - Houdini, and the buyer, were long gone.

She put her throbbing head in her hands. Crap crap crap. She kicked a piece of trash, and watched it flicker into the alley. As she saw where the trash settled, her eyes widened. Something had been left behind. Perhaps this wasn’t all for nothing. On the ground, sitting in a puddle, she saw a small baggie. Inside the baggie were a handful of pills.

—

Let’s take a moment and set the stage a little. We’ve already established that Emma’s a police officer, tracking down a drug dealer. So, you may be asking, what’s this dealer selling?

Love.

Okay, that’s going to require some more explanation. Let’s go back to the early 1970’s. The American government - and this is the cliff notes version by the way - had had enough of the hippie “free love” culture that was “corrupting the nation’s youth” (in their words). Lawmakers had decided that American morality was at risk. And in a series of misguided decisions, love was outlawed. 

I could write a whole book - and they’ve been written, of course, since the 70’s - about the thought process and politics behind this decision. Christian fundamentalists were involved. So were psychologists and anthropologists. Big Pharma was brought in. Studies were done on monkeys. Eventually, it was decided that something would be put into America’s drinking water. Something that would completely dampen the feeling of love. 

Love was effectively outlawed.

Of course, there were repercussions. With no love, there was far less procreation. The population stagnated. Some people fled to Canada. The government tracked them down as best they could. Some people went off the grid. Again, the government cracked down on these people too. As the anti-love movement gained steam, the government gained power. 

People quickly learned that love is a pretty broad term. You can love a person, a partner. Your kids. And you can love your hobbies and interests. You can love your pet. Your home. Your job. The American public became a glob of passionless zombies, just drifting through their bland existence. And the government preferred it that way. More control for them. Loveless people didn’t protest or rally. Loveless people just got through the day. Every day.

Back to Emma and Houdini. Emma was a New York City detective, determined to track down the notorious drug dealer nicknamed Houdini. At this point, there were only rumors of what he was dealing. Nothing had been confirmed. But they knew it was something potent. Something impactful. Something risky. 

There were legends of people taking these pills… and falling in love. 

These people, now emboldened by love, were causing problems. They were speaking out against the government. They were holding secret meetings and rallies. They were causing a stir. The department had been given the directive - stop the movement of this drug at all costs.

Now you may find yourself wondering why Emma was in this alleyway by herself. If she knew a deal was going down, why didn’t she have the backing of her squad? Why was she acting alone?

Well, Emma, you see… she had her own agenda.

—

Later in her apartment, Emma held the baggie in her hand. Six pills. She had no idea how long each would last. She didn’t know how quickly it would take effect. Or how powerful it would be. Or if there were any side effects. 

So these are what Tom took, huh? Her husband of four years had gotten ahold of these little pills a few months back… and shortly after, left her. She had no idea where he ended up, or who he was with. He’d told her he was in love and wanted to be with this woman. He didn’t want a “marriage of convenience” like they had. He wanted a chance to “truly be alive”. She hadn’t seen him since. 

She sipped a lager, playing with one of the pills in her fingers. She debated with herself. This is what she wanted, right? Since Tom left, she wanted to experience love for herself. No, loving Tom was no longer an option. But she could love someone. 

Another sip of the beer. Then the pill. Then the beer again to chase it.

Let’s see what the fuss is all about, huh?

—

Did she take the right drug? She didn’t feel love… or whatever love was supposed to feel like. Instead, she just felt TIRED. Insanely tired. 

She’d hoped to go out into the world, to grab a bite to eat or a drink. To catch a movie or show. To be amongst her fellow humans. To find someone to love.

Instead, she could barely stand. She made her way into her bedroom, and collapsed into bed. 

What was happening to her?

—

She awoke bright and early the next morning. Her mouth was dry, and tasted like metal. But she felt… fine. Well rested. Wide awake. Ready to conquer the day.

She got changed, and brushed her teeth and hair. Then left her apartment, determined to find breakfast… and maybe even some love.

As she left her drab apartment, the first things she noticed were the colors. Oh, so many colors! Bright and vivid. A complete assault on her senses. The colors, the shapes, the beauty. And then the sounds. Birds singing. Music. And the smells. Smells she’d smelled before, but never gave a second thought. Donuts and pastries and coffee and flowers. She didn’t expect to love sights and sounds and smells… but there she was.

Since she could already smell the coffee, she was determined to taste it. She’d never truly loved anything she’d eaten or drank. Now was her chance. She went into the corner coffee shop and got in line. Well, she didn’t love the line, that’s for sure. It ran eleven deep this morning. But she found herself observing her fellow New Yorkers in line. Truly soaking in the presence of her fellow humans. Appreciating everything, the good and the bad. 

She especially appreciated the man in front of her. Tall, blond, with a five o’clock shadow even at this early hour. She decided to strike up a conversation.

“So what’s your go-to drink?” she inquired.

“Huh? Me? Oh. Uh, I guess just coffee. Black. No frills for me.”

Not even a smile. No eye contact. He answered her question and turned back around. Conversation over.

Eventually, Emma got to the front of the line. She started making conversation with the barista. Just like the man in line, this woman wasn’t having it.

“Good morning! How are you today?” asked Emma with a newfound enthusiasm.

“Wonderful.” As flat an answer as possible. No follow up.

Emma got her coffee - a vanilla latte, a new experience for her. And WOW, the taste! Her taste buds, something she’d never truly believed she’d had… they were dancing. Even too hot and burning her tongue, this coffee was heavenly.

She needed to taste more things. As many things as possible.

—

As she walked through the city in search of breakfast, she began to ponder her surroundings. Music hummed all around her. Who was playing this? Just yesterday, music did nothing for her. But somebody enjoyed it. Somebody near her loved it. The same for her drink. She’d never had the desire to drink anything other than drip coffee. Why did something like a latte even exist? Somebody else out there loved this drink. As she looked around the world with fresh eyes, it dawned on her - the world was an extra sensory place. Amazing sights, sounds, smells, and tastes were all around her. She’d never noticed them before. But who were they for? Who was enjoying them, loving them? Who created them?

These thoughts consumed her as she entered the cafe.

—

An hour later, the dirty dishes piled up on her table. She’d had an omelet to start. Then tasted pancakes and French toast. Yogurt, toast, fresh fruit. Another latte. Even cheesecake for dessert. 

As she looked up, she noticed a man eyeing her from his stool. He gave her a knowing smile, then walked over. 

“They have great food here, don’t they?” he asked - casually yet also carefully.

She swallowed her last bite of French toast. Mouth full, she just nodded.

“You really seemed to… love… your breakfast, huh?”

“Umm, yeah. I guess you could say that.”

He gave a bigger smile. “Great! Always good to start the day with a delicious breakfast, if I do say so myself. A good start for a day of….?”

Don’t tell him I’m a cop, she told herself. She didn’t know why, but she just knew - DON’T SAY IT.

“Oh, me, I’m between jobs right now.”

“Ahh, I see… You look familiar. Can’t place it though.”

She understood. He looked familiar to her, too. Not his face. But his body, the way he stood there in that diner. The confidence, the coolness. The ease of living. The… love of life.

“Mind if I sit down?”

She nodded again. 

He grabbed his plate - a waffle with chocolate syrup, whipped cream, and strawberries - from the counter and joined her.

“So where are you off to after this?” she asked him, turning the tables.

“Oh, I have some errands. I’m a bit of an entrepreneur.”

“Interesting. What’s your line of business?”

He considered her. There’s that knowing smile again. 

“I can’t really get into the details. But I provide a much-needed service to my fellow man.”

“You sound like a male escort.”

His smile widened, and this time he smiled with his eyes too. 

“Ha, you got me. I really should find a better way to describe my work.”

“What kind of music do you like?”

This startled him. “Music?”

“Yeah. I’d peg you as a classic rock guy.”

“You know, it’s weird. There’s a lot to like in this world… but for some reason I’m not a music guy. Give me a good podcast anyday. I like to think of myself as a lifelong learner.”

She sat back. This man had clearly taken a pill… right? No, he didn’t love music. But he had passion for other things - breakfast food, podcasts, his work. But she had so many questions. How often does he take a pill? How many? How long has he been taking them? Any side effects?

She was excited - she’d never met someone so alive.

“What kinds of podcasts do you listen to?”

“Oh man, you name it. Sports. Money. History. But mostly podcasts on mental health. What makes people tick. Thrive. Be happy. Love.”

He just said the magic word. Love.

She decided to play the devil’s advocate. “But no one experiences love. Not since the 70’s. Not since the drinking water.”

He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Do you really believe that?” he whispered. 

“I did,” she conceded. “Until this morning.”

“This morning? What happened this morning?”

“Now I’m the one that can’t get into the details. But let’s just say I woke up with a brand new perspective.”

“Fascinating. And inspiring. I wonder what could have caused that?”

“A lady never tells,” teased Emma.

“Well, some things are better off not said, in my opinion.”

He leaned forward, meeting her eyes. She smiled. He smiled, a real smile.

“So… since you insist you’re not a male escort… tell me a little more about your work.”

—

That night, Emma joined him in his alleyway. Together they waited for the buyer. Quiet, a bit nervous, but determined. They waited.

He’d explained it all earlier. How a few years back some scientists developed the pill, nicknamed “Amore”. It was almost magical. One pill was all it took, and then you experienced love indefinitely. No known side effects. And it was remarkably cheap to produce.

The challenge was distributing it. There were laws against love. Very strict penalties. If one was caught… their life was over. 

But he was a man on a mission. Determined to bring love back into the world. No matter the risk. One side effect of loving life was you wanted to share that love with as many people as you could. There was a network of dealers just like him.

He’d recognized her from the moment she entered the diner. The cop from the alleyway the night before. But he noticed immediately that there was something different about this cop. Unlike last night, she seemed alive this morning. The big breakfast confirmed it. And then the conversation… well, he couldn’t deny he was falling in love with her.

He suspected she was falling for him, too. He’d hoped with all his heart she was.

That was why he risked showing her who he really was. Telling her about his business. Taking her to the alleyway.

They heard footsteps. A man walked slowly into the alley. 

“You him?” asked the stranger. 

Emma stiffened, anticipating such a big moment in her life. This was it. Houdini was right next to her. A buyer waiting. Her career - her life - hung in the balance. If she brought in Houdini… she’d be a legend. But their connection today. It was so real. She’d never felt like this before.

She looked down. He raised his right hand towards hers, looking to be held. Her left hand dangled, wanting so badly to grasp and hold his hand. 

Her right hand was tucked into her coat pocket. On the verge of grasping her gun. She could make the arrest. It would be so easy.

“Yep, I’m him,” Houdini replied to the buyer.

“Who’s she? I assumed you would be alone.”

Houdini studied her carefully. He examined her eyes. Her lovely face. Her nervous posture. Her hands, one just inches from his own and the other in her pocket. He gave her a smile, this one hopeful but also terrified.

She smiled back. A mystifying smile, impossible to decipher.

Then Emma raised her hand.