The Charming Man: Savinkov's First Encounter

CW: Implications of violence / Profanity

“As it tends to happen, it is raining in Chicago”

A man, well-put-together, in a free-flowing, almost spacious dark navy blue suit with stripes vertical to the body, stands with a cigarette in the right hand, and with the left in the pocket of his free-flowing, almost spacious dark navy blue suit pants with stripes vertical to his legs. His black, slick back hair only accentuates his rather lacking right eye, the hole of which is covered by an equally black eye patch.

After yet another drag from his cigarette, while staring into the cold night of the city he is in, he starts to mumble

- And so I still can’t bring myself to like New York. - He pauses for a drag, and then continues on the exhale. - Not necessarily something to do with its size or population, this I’m quite used to. No, this is something else, the air maybe? - He finishes. While obviously rhetoric, the tone with which he asks almost makes it seem that he is actually waiting for a contribution to the conversation, for someone to interject.

He puts out the cigarette, leaving the butt in the ashtray. With his right arm in mid-air, he stops.

- Could be the rats actually. - Yet another pause, after which he finally puts his dominant hand into the pocket of his pants specifically designed for his dominant hand. – Oh well, at least I got to see Patrick before all this mess. - He does a slight turn and starts walking to the bar mounted not far from the window overlooking the city by which he was just standing. He comes up, opens the first cupboard, and gets one glass out, and then another. This is then followed by undoubtedly machine-like actions, pure reflexes, the man is clearly not thinking on what he is doing, for his mind is somewhere else.

– You know, I try not to dwell on the morality of my actions, this never ends well. Overthinking leads to stupor, which leads to inaction, which leads to death, and that isn’t what I have planned for myself so far. - The words are said into the emptiness of the room, Ice is being crushed, bottles are flying and well, shakers are shaking. - The bigger picture always saves from unnecessary thoughts. For you see, each story needs a hero, a protagonist, someone to follow, and the difference between a supporting character and the hero is that the latter prevails. Not just in life, no, but most importantly in confrontation, in conflict, between him and any opposing force. For a plot revolves around exactly this, how he deals with any and all problems, and the actual catharsis of an ending will occur only when that conflict is brought to an end in a meaningful way. And as we all know, the ending makes or breaks a good story.

“Unsurprisingly, it is still raining in Chicago”

He pours himself two different drinks, in two very different glasses. One in a whiskey glass, and the other in a coupe glass. The drink in a coupe glass has a vivid purple colour, sharply distinct from the amber of the first drink.

He then continues. – With that being said, an important question is then brought up, is a hero born or is he made through facing and growing amid the confrontation? I am a staunch supporter of the second opinion, for a protagonist is such only in the broader context of the story. - He pauses to take a sip from his first drink in a whiskey glass. – These roles are arbitrary, they are defined only by the specific narrative they find themselves in. Just like the form of a liquid is shaped not by its properties but by the shape of a container it is poured into. In simpler words, the roles of an antagonist and protagonist are defined solely by the current narrative they are in.

So, what is my role in all of this? Oh well, that is simple really, to be the ultimate antagonist, to be the force that drives seemingly unrelated people together to grow and stop me. For this world is beautiful and deserves all the love it could be given but unfortunately suffers from horrendous ills most of the time, and so leaving it as is becomes the peak of arrogance and self-pity of each free-thinking individual. Amor Fati! Bah! What a load of nonsensical rubbish. To love one's fate! Nothing but smoke in the eyes, a phantom for the lesser men to chace or worship. Those to live in dirt will wallow in anguish at their position, lamenting for a better life, with sporadic experiences of the beauty that is life, yet still largely unable to escape the constraints of their misery. Those to live in excess instead wallow in their own self-importance and gawk at how good their state is! Rarely doing anything at all. A good and virtuous man therefore is the one to take the leash of life into his own hands, to command and create, that is virtue. And my expression of said virtue is to be the catalyst for a hero, a hero of the modern human history, a messiah not of tales and fables, but of flesh and blood, the one to reign supreme over destiny and to guide us all from stagnation to bliss that is far future. – He finally stops.

The man with the eye patch now lifts up the second, purple drink and sips that. A very well-hidden smile on his face. He did like his own speech maybe a bit too much.

- I really hope that you are done – Another man, standing in the corner by the entrance finally decided to make himself known, interjecting just now seemingly out of respect. As it is clear now he stood there all this time, and by his face, one could easily deduce that he was not as dumbfounded as he should’ve been, almost as if he already heard this exact talk. His long trench coat is rugged and visibly worn down. His fedora though is in almost perfect condition and looks as if it was tailor-made for him, which it very well could’ve been. – I will have a talk with the clerks in the Bureau so that I would never again be sent to babysit some schizoid megalomaniac. – He says while taking off his hat and calmly walking over, deeper into the apartment. -  I have a case to close and a deal to settle, so let's make this quick Ember, you shut your trap, soak in a letter by letter the message from the higher-ups that I was forced to bring and we part our ways, deal? – He says almost commandingly, the source of the tone probably being the agitated pool of respect, wasted on listening through the overly romanticized and almost staged speech of the cyclops.

The one-eyed man is taken aback by the nonchalantness and seeming disregard for all that he said before. He clearly isn’t used to being unnoticed or disregarded.

“It is still raining in Chicago”

- Hm – The very charming cyclops thinks – Care for a drink and or smoke, oh mysterious stranger?

The man with a hat finally steps right to the bar and after what seems an eternity of self-reflection and contemplation all drawn like a sunset would be on canvas, is seen on his face. And with an exhale says – Sure, might as well at this point, I can already tell that I won’t see the end of your foaming and bubbling sophism.

- What do I make you and what do I call you? – Says the man in the navy blue suit with stripes vertical to his body.

- Private detective Savinkov, full-time proud owner of SR’s detective agency and a part-time fleshlight of the Bureau – He ironically mumbles, and after a short pause finishes. - Double whiskey, bourbon if possible, on the rocks.

- Old Rip Van Winkle on the rocks it is – The one-eyed man exclaims and proceeds to make and serve the drink. – Oh and may I ask?

Detective Savinkov gestures with his hand for the questions to come forwards

- What is this Bureau you keep mentioning, who are you and how exactly I am related to this?

-These are whole ass three different questions boss, I will require at least two more pours of the Kentucky liquid gold to untie my tongue.

-All yours detective – Says the cyclops, mimicking the gesture the detective made just moments ago

The detective is passed the drink, after which he very slowly brings it to his lips, and takes a sip, setting the glass down on the counter very slowly.

- The Bureau is none of your problems for now, and it is in all of our best interests to keep it that way, yours, mine, shit especially mine, - he chuckles - and everyone around you too. Who am I was already said, a private detective, all I need is to close the case and settle the deal. You don’t look for me, you don’t look into my agency or what I do on the daily, you. don’t. bother. – He makes a short stop after giving a slight exclamation to each word said and then continues – Now the reason I know who you are is the same reason I was sent here. What you have done today is turn fancy speeches and proclamations into actions.

- Which is bad?

-Don’t interrupt me, should’ve added that to the list. – Savinkov pushes the glass from himself, signalling a refill. The cyclops turned bartender obliges.

- I am not necessarily for or against what you have done today, so I don’t care how good or bad it is. People die all the time, that will not be something new, the actual problem lies with the broader, as you said, “narrative” of your actions. What you are attempting to do is in the lingo of the bookworms called hyperstition. You set to “create”

- Guide.

-Don’t fucking interrupt me, but sure, guide individual people to stopping you. You are pre-fabricating narratives. A fictitious action, being, no matter, that makes itself real. Now, specifically what you set out to do is not against the thickskulls upstairs – He points with his eyes up to the ceiling – but it is dangerously close. So I was sent here to advise you against digging any deeper. Continue what you were doing, or stop, none of us care, just refrain from trying to understand who am I, who are them – he yet again points up with only his eyes – and you will be fine.

“The rain is quite indecisive but it seemingly continues in Chicago”

- Very foreboding. – The one-eyed man finally adds after a long pause which fills up the entirety of the room – Well, can I at least learn how is it that you know the nickname I came up with last week?

- Déformation professionnelle. – The detective reluctantly adds, while continuing to drink

The one-eyed man scoffs, wipes his hair back with a quick motion of the right palm, after which he yet again makes a sip, of which drink it is no longer important.

- You know, as soon as you entered the apartment I knew there was something up with you. – The cyclops says, with a half-smile, almost playfully. – You physically couldn’t have anything to do with what just happened outside. I mean, I do trust in the efficiency of the great NYPD but reacting that fast? Hell, they are good, true, not all-powerful though.

- These dogs? Good? – The detective says, as if he was offended – The only thing they can and know how to do is ignore the cases that need to be closed, deals that need to be settled but pay full attention to big Dons with no smaller pockets full of blood-soaked cash. – He for some reason puts a lot of emphasis on the last two letters of the word “cash” and grips his glass very tightly while doing so.

- I’m starting to like you more and more, my little eccentric noir ash pumpkin – The one-eyed man adds, still keeping the half-smile – Weren’t you impartial and uncaring on the morality of certain actions? I mean sure, bribery is bad I suppose but you seen the rank-in-file officer’s salary? Shit, if I had mouths to feed you bet your ass I’m accepting any cash coming my way!

“The rain has apparently decided to keep coming down for some more time in Chicago”

- That is different.

- Oh yeah?!  How come? Enlighten me, Bureau slave! – The man in the navy blue suit gets rid of the smile as it turns into full-on laughter

- That is different because those are your actions that I am impartial to. – The detective finally spits out – You are outside of my jurisdiction, I cannot do anything to you without a direct order, and hence, don’t really care.

- Cold, and maybe even rude. But what do you mean outside? Aren’t you now in front of me, with a message? That’s pretty much as inside jurisdiction as a civil servant such as yourself could be.

- I don’t need a zone of jurisdiction to talk to you, or anyone at that matter, the thing is if push comes to shove, I am in no position to do anything but to talk. I was briefed that it wouldn’t be necessary as apparently “people after a large act of terrorism tend to be either jumpy or exceptionally calm”, and even if you’d be jumpy, more reasons for me to get out quicker. But no, you had to be the talkative type

- With a hell of a good bourbon, aye?

- Sure. – The detective makes a slight smile.

- And what’s with the name? – The cyclops continues to probe

- What about it? Want to ask my mother?

- No well, not very American, less so if you consider of whom it remin..

- What did I just tell you about snooping further?

- Was testing the limits of what counts – He looks down, and then back up to the detective in the span of seconds – Had to check.

- Consider that to be the warning shot. – The detective finishes yet another glass, tumbling his head all the way back, after which he slams the glass. The cyclops follows the glass with what is left of his eyes. – I need to get back to the streets, the city needs me more than I need this bottle.

- Fair. Well, detective Savinkov, pleasure making your acquaintance, hope it's mutual and we meet again quite soon

- Cannot say the same. – The detective throws in with the clear intention to reach the target, as he picks up his fedora, and puts it on – We will be seeing each other from time to time now, all you need to do is refrain from starting the conversation with me, unless I ask you to or start myself, would these instructions be clear enough Don Peter Worcestenger - Sipukhin?

- Very much so, Detective Savinkov, you know which way is the exit.

The Detective makes his exit, while Don Peter drills his back with the only remaining eye.

“The rain has stopped in Chicago, as it tends to happen”

With the strange detective gone, all that the cyclops can focus on is the revving of the sirens and visceral gusts of flame that engulf a good portion of the city outside his window. His job well done and acknowledged, he only now needs to keep moving forward, the energy for which was provided by the bizarre visit.