Misconceptions Part 7

It was all wrong. Panic had overtaken the October morning. People were calling for the heads of every bank CEO who’d ever cut a cheque since the Mesopotamians financed their first temple. Men were slumped over, their heads buried in paper, and crying could be heard from all corners of the building.

Maurice looked at the security guard who acted like he’s never seen Maurice before – at least, not like this. Maurice knew the man. He knew the scar under his right eye. He knew the look of scaling up a foe. The stooge had once been a petty drug dealer some years ago, but had begun to feel remorse for what he believed was taking advantage of the weak. When his conscience got the better of him, he promptly quit the lucrative drug trade and became a cheap protector of extreme capitalism. Maurice smiled at the thought and then brushed the side of his sports coat as he walked by the man. The guard could do nothing but watch as he passed.

“It’s all gone. The markets have turned to shit!” a trader screamed. “Ink is bleeding everywhere.”

Another man approached Maurice and chucked a pile of papers at him “Here, take them, I don’t want them.”

Yet another man was seen jumping head first off the trade floor balcony; his head made a wooden echo as it hit the ground.

It wasn’t too long that they turned their attention to Maurice. He’d been found out. They must have known how he entered in the room. Of course, it was written all over his black face. And that the man who’s life he taken for money was a friend of theirs. These whities knew. He began to run… but they came running to Maurice asking him to do something. One they surrounded him, they began asking him if he knew what stock was safe; could he give them a tip? Just an old penny in the cap, they joked half-heartedly. Maurice had no idea what they were talking about. But they kept surrounding him and demanding answers. How come the coffee bean traders didn’t march today? Why did the environmental department approve the Appalachian coal mine? Was it safe to buy coke?

“Yes, but only from a trusted dealer,” Maurice responded.

Oh have a heart! One man screamed.

“I’ve had two,” Maurice snorted in slime.

“Come on Jason, come on. Don’t be selfish. We’re all about to get our asses handed to us on a plate in the soup kitchen. Don’t put us in that position.”

They pressed up against Maurice. One man yelled: “Trade – trade –TRADE!” and their transparent eyes went wild, looking at him with desperate hunger, as Maurice searched in to their insides looking for economic opportunity. But there was nothing. It was bankrupt. There was no shame in their hearts. They could have given nothing. And they would have taken everything.

Maurice cowered in the corner of the room. He wanted to slice each one of them. But their organs seemed worthless under this light. There was no market. There was no power in his heart to close the deal.