Trouble Marker: The Conversationalist – Short Story By: Eric Blair

…I am meeting with agent Renee Morris of the FBI; a beautiful, slender, Latin woman with long reddish brown hair, hazel eyes, and a beauty mole on her right cheek. We are meeting in a coffee shop because she suspects that the C.I.A. haves her home bugged. So, once I’ve seen her come through the door of the café I hit record on my recorder and placed it under a newspaper I was reading. She ordered a small coffee and she greeted me with a big hug and kiss on the cheek as if we were old friends. We both set down as she looked around franticly at anything that’s out of place in and outside of the café. Twenty minutes we spoke about completely nothing, she wanted to make sure the coast was clear. I realized that she has very seductive eyes and also she smells like spring time. She slowly sips her coffee as she gazes into space with an utterly blank look on her face. She swallows her coffee and exhales and then looks me into my eyes as if she was afraid. She utters,

 “I’m ready.”

Renee smirks as she moves her finger around the rim of her coffee lid.

Renee says, “Trevor is a mad man but pleasant.”

I say, “How exactly?”

Renee says, “He’s very polite, funny, and charming. If he wasn’t a maniac I would have been rode his pogo stick the moment I met him.”

I say, “How did you catch him? You’re famous for bringing him to justice.”

Renee says, “Funny, me and my partner had been hunting him down for two years and half years, no luck. One day the prick just waltz into FBI headquarters and turns his self in. Every agent in the building pulled their gun on him; his hands were in the air as he smiled from ear to ear. There wasn’t a moment a gun wasn’t on him. Since he was my case I received the privilege to interrogate the most dangerous man in the world. In every hallway in a three floor radius were armed agents, just in case he tried to escape.”

I say, “Where you afraid?”

Renee says, “Damn right I was!”

…I entered the interrogation room, Trevor was smiling as both hands were cuffed to the table, and his feet were shackled, and mind you he was barefooted also. This was serious, the U.S. capture one of their escaped boogiemen. He stares into my eyes with his piercing brown eyes and he says, “‘Ello.” I said to him, “Cut the bullshit, what made you turn yourself in?” He smirked and says, “Can ya un-cuff my ‘ands?” I stared at him with such an angry look on my face and told him, “No, fuckin’ talk.” He said to me, “Ah will if Ah could relax. Really, what Barney am Ah gonna cuz? Every floor ‘as an agent on it.” I said to him, “How do you know that.” He smirks and says, “Hm. Ah know things, luv. Ya be boggled if ya only knew the things Ah know. Trust me.” I reached for the key as I yelled at him, “I don’t fuckin’ trust you but if you try anything I will put two in your head if you try anything.” He says to me as he winks his right eye, “Fair ‘nough.” I un-cuffed him and sat back down in my seat. He cracks his back and then leans forward as he folds his hands on the table in front of him. He says to me, “Ah needed a break frum the job.” I say to him, “What does that mean? You’re taking break from what; break from being a pain in my ass? Really, what made you, the infamous Mr. Bigglesworth turn his self in?” He looks me in my eyes with a dark, intense look and says, “Do ya really wanna know the truth?” I said to him, “Give it to me, baby. I had heard it all.” Trevor scratches the back of his head as he smirks and says, “Ah am gonna kill President Bush.” I laughs at first until I see it all over his face, he’s wasn’t joking. My laugh turns into a panicking laughter; I was thinking in my head, I should kill him right here, right now but what if I miss. I wasn’t ready to die if I miss because he would have killed me. He begun talking again, he looked me in my eyes and said, “Now that ya dun wit’ the chucklin’ are ya ready ta ‘ear my Jackie?” My voice quivers, “Shoot.” Trevor leans back in his chair and says to me, “Bush was responsible for the attack on the Twin Towers, too many people died that day and they will never have their justice.—”

I rudely interrupts him by saying, “So, you’re going to be that hero by killing the most power man in the world?” Trevor smirks, “For one, Ah’ve killed the top five “powerful” men in the world already. Two, Yes, Ah am gonna kill Bush for his attempted world domination. Three, I need ta lay low ‘til the rats Ah need kill cums out ta play. If Ah stayed on the run every world Joe Hopper would ‘ave burnt the world ta the ground for me. Spare the innocent lives, Ah give the “good guys” what ya want, me. So, ya blokes nick me, Ah’ll eat that bird, and Ah’m out in a year.” My jaw dropped, not because of his plan but how far gone off this planet this nut job was. He was sitting in front of me telling me he’s going to break out of prison and kill the President. I told him, “You’re not getting out of jail ever! You killed over a hundred people, stole all the money and data from all twelve Federal Reserve Banks, and the remaining gold from Fort Knots. You tried to fuck the U.S. and now we’re going to sodomize you and your offspring for life.” Trevor just laughed really hard, the type of laughs that’s from the belly. He looked over at me with his eyes watering from laughter and uttered to me, “Sure ya right, luv.” I asked him, “Where is the gold and money?”

He wipes a tear from his left eye and says, “5101 Broad Street, on the Navy Yard in Philadelphia in a blue double container.” I was thinking to myself, that was too easy, so I asked him, “Why did you do it?” He says, “Debt. This economy ‘as been robbin’ their own people for hundreds o’ years, the poor stay poor and ya know the rest. No one cares, it’s ‘ow the wheels turn. If Ah steal the U.S. currency cuzin’ the economy debt ta be reduce ta zero. Nothing will be backin’ the dollar bill. Helpin’ the common man ta be on the same level as the rich man. Everyone starts from scratch, the beginning o’ a depression by 2007.” I am sitting across this man thinking, he’s a sociopath but could be a genius? I asked him, “What about the people in this so called “depression” that might get hurt.” He smirked, “Hate ta say, sum ants ‘as ta die for men ta become gods.” The words slipped out of my mind and I yell, “You’re a fucking terrorist!” He slammed his hand on the table and I pulled out my gun. He looked at me with an enraged look in his eyes like mad dog, he screams, “For fuck sake, Ah am not a terrorist! I am a utopian! Si vis pacem, para bellum!” I cocked back the hammer on my gun as it was pointing in his face; I was a bit nervous. I said to him, “Calm down, Bigglesworth or I will put two in your fuckin’ face.” He stared directly into my barrow with no fear. He then said the most chilling words to me, “Everyday I am prepare ta die and freeze in hell.” He noticed the sweat trickling down the side of face. He smirks and says to me, “Ya wanna know sum thing? We live in a world were seconds are forever and minutes are seconds. Ah ‘ave ta think outside o’ time, I ‘ave ta control the elements ‘round me. There isn’t anything called destiny nor fate, there are only seconds and minutes. If you’re too slow ya dead and if ya too late ya lost. All o’ this, 9/11, diseases in Africa, U.S. invadin’ the Middle East, the oil crisis, etc., all this bullocks is a game ta the real world leaders and secret societies. Ah want these big wigs ta know sum thing, Ah don’t play games, Ah fuckin’ win. Ta beat the game Ah will be the one controlin’ the time cuz wit’out time a game is jus’ a after thought. Ah am ‘ere ta save the world by any means necessary.” I lowed my gun and his body language calmed down from a tense, ready to attack position. My legs were shaking under the table, he almost convinced me that he just might be this world’s last hope. His insanity is brilliant, almost perfect. We were silence for several minutes because I was so afraid of him. He looked me into my eyes and winked at me once more. I walked over to the door and banged on it two times for the S.W.A.T. unit to come in. Five men entered the room, Trevor looked up at them and said, “Hm. These buggers can’t ‘old me on a Alan day.” He is completely fearless, he’s so fearless the most bravest men fears him. The team shackled him up and escorted him out of the room to a supermax prison in the middle of no where. Before he left the room he stopped and looked over at me as he was sporting a beautiful smile on his face and said, “Morris, ya a gud Joe Hopper, one o’ the last gud ones. Ah’ll be seein’ ya soon, luv.” The team escorts him out of the room. I just sat in the room for a hour afraid of what he knows and can do to my family. I fear that man more than my government. Ten hours late, the containers were found by my team and all the gold was melted and he blown up the money and data with a C4 timer as soon as the container door opened. All that money blown to kingdom come, he’s a man of his word. He’s one sublime bastard; he has set the United States back for ten to fifteen years.

Renee pauses, I am not sure if she’s going to cry or scream; all I know is she can’t live with being the woman who caught the infamous Trevor E. Bigglesworth. She is the Elliot Ness of our time. How can you live with catching the most villainess hero in history?

I ask, “Do you have any more encounters with Trevor?”

Renee says, “Yes, many. Like the time—”

Renee phone rings, she answers it; it sounds like she’s talking to her child. She abruptly stands up and looks down at me and say, “I am sorry, Mr. Eli, can we finish the rest of this interview another time? I have to pick up my daughter from dance class. My husband fuckin’ forgot to do it, why did I marry that idiot?! Is next Thursday fine with you?” I smiles at her as she’s franticly storms pass me, I say, “Sure. See you then.”

After Renee left the café I sat at our table continuing sipping on my coffee and reading the paper. I gazed outside through the window next to me, I just thinking deep thought to myself but one question hits me. One question that’s repeated over and over in my frontal lobe: “Is Trevor Eames Bigglesworth righteous with his campaign of mayhem and anarchy?” I jots that thought down in my note pad, “Food for thought” and circles it. “Hm…”

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