Killer Magic

It took a certain type of room and a certain type of excuse to make the whole thing happen. It was a whole set-up, and because it was a whole set-up it took at least two weeks to prepare for it. Joe and Rufus got the high-rise room in the office building, got it all perfectly arranged, and I was in charge of coming up with the most foolproof excuse and actually initiating it. 

It was harder for me to come up with the excuse than it was to initiate it. There was a plethora of excuses available to me, all relating to this specific person on the day in question. I wasn’t plagued with a dry well, I was plagued with flooding waters coming at me from all sides. 

Mother got sick with cancer? A flash flood that hit the family home, leaving everything in ruin and uninsured? A ruthless robbery in the secondary vacation home, the one up in the hills and surrounded by trees? There were just too many fantastic options to pick from. 

I ended up going with the excuse “Father just got sent to prison for tax evasion”, and as I looked at the excuse from all angles it not only seemed airtight, but it also seemed like a creative and bold choice. But not too bold to seem ostentatious or suspicious. Just bold enough to drive the whole operation home with an exciting energy. I gave a chef’s kiss when I finally landed on the singular excuse, wrote it down on a single sheet of white paper, and sealed it in an envelope. 

I heard from Joe and Rufus later that very same day: they had landed on the room in the office space. Everyone would be cleared out by then and there was a good chance that the filing cabinets would also be unlocked. It would be a win-win for everybody. We were all about to experience some serious killer magic. 

The day arrived, and all three of us piled into the little lime-colored Volkswagen bug. I was at the wheel. Joe and Rufus were both in the back seat. 

“No one wants to come up and join me at the front?” I asked. 

“We’re happier back here, the both of us, if it’s all the same,” Joe said. 

“Joe, you don’t speak for both of you back there.” 

“Yeah, I’m cool with him speaking for me,” Rufus said quietly. Like he was on some kind of heavy medication, but trying to act like he was fine, like he was perfectly sober. “I’m fine with good ol’ Joe speaking for me.” 

“See, there you go,” Joe said. 

“Where am I driving,” I asked. 

“Just start heading to the city center,” Joe said. 

“Where am I driving,” I repeated. 

Joe extracted a folded up map from his breast pocket, and unfolded a pair of glasses from his other breast pocket. He read the official address after carefully examining the map. 

“What area of the city is that,” I asked. 

“City center, near that bronze statue of the centaur.”

“Got it.”

I stepped on the gas, and the lime-green VW bug sped down the narrow road. 

It was a short five-minute drive. And as it turned out, the high-rise office building happened to be directly across from the square which featured the bronze centaur. The high rise building had one word in dark silver letters on the side of it: “Exception.”

“The Exception Building,” I said, looking up. 

“It’s not called ‘the Exception Building’,” Joe said in a huff, slamming the car door. 

“Then why is the name ‘Exception’ on the side of the building up there?”

“Not entirely sure,” he said. “It’s an unrelated thing, I know that much. But it’s not called ‘the Exception Building’.”

“Then what’s it called?”

“It doesn’t have a name, as far as I know.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

I locked the car, and the three of us began walking towards the front doors of the high rise building. The high rise building with no name. As we got closer, we saw a man in a tight-fitting gold coat who was leaning against one of the doors. He had both his hands in the coat pockets and he was just staring off into space. His back propped up against one of the doors.

“You David?” I asked. 

He looked up, coming back to reality and noticing us approaching. “Yeah, I’m David. David Wilkins.”

“Good.”

“And you must be the Rowdy Boys?”

“We’re the Rowdy Boys alright.” It was Rufus speaking this time, and Joe and I looked at him with some surprise. 

“You’re talking more these days, kid,” Joe said. “And I’m not too keen on it.”

“I can’t get in,” David Wilkins said. “The front doors are locked.”

I turned to Joe. “Let’s have the key.”

“Hmmmm….” Joe was looking down at the ground all of a sudden. “Well the thing is, I don’t really have a key.”

“They didn’t give you a key?”

“I didn’t know I needed a key,” he said earnestly. 

I looked around our immediate vicinity and noticed that there was a rock path nearby. I picked up one of the larger sized rocks and hurled it at one of the glass doors. It just bounced right off. 

David Wilkins stood back in astonishment. 

Joe and Rufus caught on to the idea, and joined me in grabbing other large rocks from the path and hurling them at the glass doors. 

Joe’s rock actually went through. Joe was also the one who took a bullet for the team. Reaching his arm in through the man-made hole, clearing away some of the standing glass, and reaching for the door pull on the other side. As he opened one of the front doors for us, I could see the cut marks on his arm. I didn’t say “thank you” then, but I could tell that he knew I was thinking it. 

I led the way, with David Wilkins following. And Rufus following David Wilkins, and Joe with his scratched up arms following Rufus. Even though I was the leader, I realized that I did not know which floor I was heading for. 

“Joe,” I called back over my shoulder. 

“What’s up, sport,” he yelled. 

“What floor,” I shouted. 

“Seventh, son. The seventh floor.”

I led the way up to the seventh floor, and in the midst of everything I was confused by the fact that I was seeing the names ‘Exception’ and ‘Exception Corps’ all over the place. Joe had insisted that the name ‘Exception’ had nothing to do with the building in question, but I begged to differ. However, I didn’t bother to holler back at Joe about this. 

We reached the seventh floor. “What number, Joe?” 

I could hear him stopping in his tracks, taking the map out from his breast pocket, and consulting the information. “718,” he yelled. 

I consulted the hallway signs and took a left. 

I turned a corner, walked past the number ‘716’, and found the door to office ‘718’ already opened. 

The office was filled with armed guards. What looked to be members of a SWAT team of some kind. 

I couldn’t tell if I had been shot by them from the front first, or if it was from David Wilkin’s revolver behind me. Either way, I knew that instantly I had been struck in multiple places from both front and back, and I knew that I was down. 

Even though I could not hear anything from Joe or Rufus, I knew instinctively that they were down for the count, too. I can’t tell you how I knew that – I just knew. 

I don’t really remember what my last thoughts or wishes were. All I knew was that I was losing a lot of blood, and fast. I could only imagine that Joe and Rufus were going through the same process. 

Damn, damn, damn. 

I knew that David Wilkins was leaning down and whispering something into my ear, but I could not understand what it was. 

I faltered, and I lost it all. 

As I faded into death, the slow black fade, I wondered just what it was he was trying to tell me. David Wilkins, that smug little smile. 

Hither attic won?

Tiller lad, it’s gone?

And then, ah yes of course, I realized what it was as I was on the verge of death. Something I had told him over and over again, whenever he secured a sale at our off-kilter marketing jobs seven years ago. 

“Killer magic, son.”

And just so. And then it was alright, in the end.