Smoke and Mirrors

The storm rained down on the portico above Konan’s head. Leaning on the post to the local bar, he opened up the pack of cigarettes. One left, and it was right side up. Nice. He lit it up and took a few puffs, looking around to see that no one saw him. His drill sergeant, wife and cop buddies had all ripped on him about how young he looked. No need to have a stranger give him trouble for thinking he was under-age.

In the distance, the sound of police sirens wailed. Won’t be long now. He watched the cars go by, heading for their final destination: 45th street. The job was accomplished, but Konan felt as gray and lifeless as the curling smoke he puffed. Unlike the other scammers, gangsters and drug dealers he had dealt with, his experience with Jake had left him feeling different.

What the hell does it matter, anyway? The kid broke the law, after all. He tried focusing on the sound of the rain, the feel of his brown trenchcoat, the temperature of the cold storm air on his face. It didn’t work. Not this time.

The nicotine from his cigarette was starting to hit. That was nice. It had always affected him a little differently than everyone else. He stood looking at the smoke, and his mind saw Jake and his buddies. Even though he was a notorious petty criminal, Jake always had that certain charm about him, and the buddies in his shoplifting ring always looked up to him. He had given up his share of money when Eddie’s dad committed suicide, just so he could have him stick around, and the ladies were always flirting with him, just hoping to understand him more, hoping to fix this misunderstood mess, filling their words with empathy as they fiddled with their hair nervously. And when “Steve” had come to him saying that he needed money to make ends meet after being fired, he took him in without batting an eye. Konan was surprised at how easy it was.

As always, the cigarette tasted worse the longer Konan smoked it, and the scraping feeling in his heart continued to haunt him. I did what I was told. Shouldn’t that be enough? Things had been far simpler in the war. There was no question as to whether or not a choice would make Konan’s life better or worse; not obeying them would mean death. Destruction, death; to Konan, it was all the state’s doing. It was sort of nice to be a puppet of someone else’s choices. But now there was no sergeant to hide behind. There was no order, no draft letter-just Konan. At least, that’s how it felt.

Konan rapped his knuckles against the post, watching the rainwater beat down the smoke from his cigarette from outside the portico. The electronics store had called the cops about Jake six months ago, and nothing had been done about it yet. Jake mistook it for negligence. Konan and the cops knew better. He and his gang had continuously robbed it for electronic supplies since they first called. Arresting him would have resulted in him serving some jail time. Letting him go one more trip would land him three years in prison for Grand Theft. That’d be one less source of potential juvenile violence to deal with, his Chief said. Through the smoke, Konan reminisced about his time seventy two hours ago, about helping to plan what Jake called “the Big One”. Bobby’s brother was turning ten, and his father had ended up in jail. He recalled Jake’s shock, his look of genuine empathy for Bobby and his family, his confidence in being able to get him out of there, and the seamless way he inspired the other gang members that they could, too.

The kid was smart, too. He came up with a plan to get the two thousand dollars of bail money in only 48 hours. That was better than some of Konan’s commanding officers. He recalled Jake’s look of awe when Konan showed him the key to the electronics store that he had “stolen”.

“Good going!” Jake had said, smiling at Konan. “How did you do it?”

“Let’s just say I have friends”, said Konan.

“Well, I’ve got them too. In fact, I think I’ve found one more.” He rested his arm on his apartment’s window and looked out. He sighed. “Feel bad for Bobby’s brother. I tell you what, Steve. The world can be a really awful place sometimes.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Konan had needed a motive. He decided to try to find one. “You know, Jake… what’s a guy like you doing pulling jobs all the time? I mean, you’d rather steal than, I don’t know, work for a car company or something?”

“Wanna know something, Steve?” Jake asked.

“What’s that?”

“I have a job. And I never really liked stealing.” Konan looked up at Jake. “The truth is, for kids like Dylan, Rubio, Bruce? They got no income, and they’re only fifteen, sixteen years old. No one’s gonna hire them, least not legally. And I know you’re newer around here, but have you ever seen people get to extreme levels of hunger? They start eating each other.” He took out a bottle of liquor. “Want some?”

Sweet Jesus, how old is this kid? “Sure, why not?” Konan replied, taking a quick swig.

“I’ve tried leaving before. People fight, sabotage, get their fingers cut off. Yeah, I’m a criminal, but it’s a cross I’ll just have to bear.”

The flask had one bit of liquor in it. Jake handed it back to Konan. “You go ahead and finish that.”

“Thanks.” Konan finished the flask of whiskey. He felt like a cigarette would have been more effective.

“Wanna know something else, Steve?”

“What’s that?”

“In spite of the danger of all this and the crappy living conditions, I wouldn’t have my life any other way.”

“Steve” was feeling a little restless that night, so Jake let him look out for trouble. Taking out the tiny keychain, he had… Well, he had preferred not to remember.

Konan looked up at the night sky spilling between the buildings surrounding the bar. His cigarette, with a soft glow that was all too temporary, remained the closest source of light for him as he stared out into space. He watched it burn. Nothingness had never seemed so inviting.

I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. With all of his might, Konan strained to recall what had happened. It was painful to re-imagine the faces of Jake’s crew, their faces against the clear, now locked tempered glass door turning from confusion to anger to panic. Dylan, who had taken a knife to the knee for Rubio only three weeks ago, suspected him of letting “Steve” in the gang, and started punching him repeatedly. Ryan, the youngest in the group, simply sank to the floor crying, not getting up no matter how much anyone tried to comfort him. Others ran aimlessly, tried slamming on the glass harder, or even opened their packages of loot, pathetically trying to enjoy what they were once going to sell in the 20 minutes it would take for the cops to arrive.

But then there was Jake. He made no moves, tended to no one. He stared head on at Konan.

Not with anger, not with confusion.

He stared at him with something quieter.

Something worse.

The chief’s commendations on the phone were hardly intelligible over the panic and chaos inside the electronics store. Looking away was not enough. Konan left in a hurry.

A sharp tinge seared Konan on his fingertips. He looked down. The cigarette had run out and burned his hand. Rain was coming down harder than ever. Damn. It would not be a pleasant walk to the apartment. He threw the now almost non-existent cigarette butt out in the rain. The embers were doused by the raindrops, never to return again.

Konan always had heightened senses after nicotine highs. The rain poured down, each drop a pounding beat reverberating in his mind; another disturbance he had to ignore. He had walked the path from the bar back home many times in the past, but had only noticed the local Cathedral for the first time. He looked at the stained glass windows, the vision of a better existence where suffering had meaning. Where do people like me go? No one had been able to give him a straight answer. The betrayers were nowhere to be found in the glass. Perhaps that was because it was more beautiful that way.

No, Konan told himself. The world is a better place because of people like me. Taking one last look at the Cathedral, he continued on his way, trying with all of his heart to convince himself that this was true.