Malevolence
(Featuring Dr. Steiner of MAJESTIC SERVICES)
by Steven L. Shrewsbury

   "Here you go, sir," the server at the coffee shop said to me. Her smile, open full of teeth that needed cleaning, was reasonably genuine.

   "Thank you, fraulein," I responded and took the paper cup of steaming coffee from her tray. "I appreciate you bringing this over to me at the table."

   She hesitated, looked at the long line of patrons from the bookstore in line and shrugged, "It is all right, sir." Her brown eyes held great pity for the elderly man sitting in the corner of her shop. Could she be twenty years old? Probably, these children today are difficult to assess. I hope she survives the coming holocaust, tattoo above her ass-crack not withstanding.

   I winked at her and placed a five dollar bill on her tray. "I appreciate your courtesy, but I am not too feeble to stand in line. It is good you showed respect to your elders. That is lacking in your generation."

   Again, her grin appeared, and her eyes drifted down my black suit and to the leather briefcase on the table. She asked mildly, "Sir, are you from Germany?"

   Knowing my heavy accent gave me away, I answered simply, "Of course, my dear. I was born in the Fatherland many years ago." When I said the word Fatherland, she frowned. I chuckled and looked at three young men clad in baggy pants that stood in line for coffee. It never ceases to amaze me how I can be distracted by fools, but at any rate, I said to her, "Do my words distress you?"

   She shrugged, apologetic in her tone as her smooth back a strand of hair on her forehead. "No sir, I just…"

   "Doctor," I corrected her. "Dr. Steiner." Quickly, I inquired, "What are you thinking, sweet girl? That I am some old Nazi? Goodness, what would I be doing in the United States at a bookstore in the Twenty First Century? Should I not be in AREA 68, doing experiments on human subjects? Would my time not be better spent developing new weapons, technology or diseases for mass destruction?"

   Her mouth dropped open, but no words fell out. I sipped my coffee as the young men near us looked at the articles on the table before me. "Sir, um, Doctor…I…"

   I gave her a casual wink and started to put the heavy leather books back in the briefcase. "Everyman must have a day off. Working for a cabal in the intelligence field is thirsty work, my sweet. I must go forth, read, and relax. It is therapeutic. I wouldn’t want my children to get an inferior product due to my sloth."

   Her rung her hands like Lady MacBeth and asked, "You have children?"

   I closed my case and stood up. Picking up my coffee, I glanced at the boys near her and then directed my gaze to her. "Oh yes, I have many offspring. Thousands. You are trying to figure out my age? It is time I abandoned this body anyhow and downloaded myself into a newer carrying case."

   Certain I left her confused, I picked up my briefcase with my left hand and hung the handle of my cane over my forearm. Picking up my coffee with my right hand, I walked from the shop area of the bookstore with a spray gait.

   I searched the history section and drank a bit more of the coffee. It was weak, but most things were these days. The three youths, for I dare not call them men, seemed to be shadowing me. I tested this by drifting past the children’s section. Indeed, they lingered near me. Being ninety, but not senile, I immediately decided to take care of the problem. I walked to the restroom of the bookstore and closed the door.

   A double sink with one long mirror greeted me to my immediate right. Past two urinals sat two stalls. I went to the far one, a handicapped one, and opened the door. I opened the infant changing table to sit my briefcase down.

   Almost on cue, the three youths entered the bathroom. I am not certain what color hair they were born with, for the blonde flecks seemed erratic in placement amongst them. All three Caucasian youths wore baggy pants, snug tank tops and baseball caps. One, though, wore a visor upside down on his head. I am unsure why one would do such a thing.

   "Yo, pops," the tallest of the boys said to me, flashing a gang sign I doubt he knew the meaning of. "You need a hand?"

   I rested my hand on my case, thinking how predictable people are. I pressed my hand on the leather of the case and his eyes riveted on it. Thus, he wanted it badly. "I have more than I need, danke."

   One youth stayed near the door, but the other two approached me close. "Yo, ol’ man, don’t give us no crap, hear?"

   I looked at the tall boy and soured further at his upside down visor. "How do you keep the sun out of your eyes wearing that?" I asked innocently.

   The boy blinked. "Don’t be dissin’ my cover, ol’ fool!"

   "What can I do for you boys?"

   The second youth spouted, "We are men, damn bitch!"

   I smiled and I am sure it unnerved them. The taller one backhanded me and I tasted blood. It was good to my palette. With death, there usually must be some blood. The tall youth snatched my briefcase as the other boy grabbed me by the lapels of my jacket. He meant to punch me, but looked down to see the silver blade in my hand. In a moment, he recoiled and backed into his leader. The boys were about to escape when they all stared at me, an elderly man brandishing a six inch dagger.

   "Yo, man, you wanna party?" the leader said and pulled a knife from his back pocket. "You a player?"

   I reached in my pants pocket and took out my car keys. My blue eyes reflected off the blade as I said, "You could say that, little schvinehaunt."

   "Better watch yo ass, I’ll a killer!" the leader bragged, his black eyes flaring.

   I laughed, "What do you know about death? My subjects are young and old, weak, strong, rich or poor." My voice grew in anger as I talked. "I have caused enough tears to overflow the Grand Canyon. I have more violence in my veins than every gang in this land." My tone escalated and their smiles spread wider. "Through my legions of black angels, I have caused countless accidents, untraceable, unaccountable and relentless in my mission." As my voice became raucous, the smiles faded, "I have killed more people than all the armies of the world! I have sent more souls into eternity than your pathetic minds can grasp! I am insidious, unpredictable, and for your information…" I reached to close the door of the stall, holding up the fob of the key chain for them to see. "…I am God."

   Pressing the button of my key chain, the briefcase in their midst exploded, sending a million fragments of these three all over the pale yellow walls of the restroom. Using the stall door as a shield, only my black shoes and lower calves received any of the gruel from the blast. Oh, a few grisly bits of brain and mushy bone dropped in my ivory hair, but this was a minor nuisance.

   Exhaling, I opened the door of the stall and stepped out. Not only did I remove the three youths from their bodies, the drywall opposite the mirror collapsed along with the restroom door. I stepped through the wreckage and accidentally stepped on a ribcage, shattering it. I looked in the few fragments of the mirror still clinging to the frame of the wall and adjusted my tie. Screams and shouts abounded in the bookstore. I am sure they all though tit was a terrorist attack and everyone ran for the front entrance.

   I took a sip of my coffee and stepped out the back employee EXIT. I threw the paper cup on in the dumpster near the loading dock of the store and walked around the corner of the brick building. A few young employees (denoted by their attire) must have been out for a smoke when the blast rocked the interior of the store. They passed me, and then called out, "What happened?"

   I shrugged, favoring my cane in a mock act of feebleness. These employees disregarded this old man fast and vanished into the store. I picked up the pace and jogged around the store.

   Ryan Anderson, Agent of MAJESTIC SERVICES, stood by the dark Mercedes, his arms folded. Dressed in casual black clothing, the auburn haired agent took off his sunglasses and wondered aloud, "Have trouble, Doc?"

   "Oh, nothing I couldn’t handle," I remarked casually, opening the back door of the Mercedes. "Tell me, Ryan; are all young men of this era so foolish?"

   The towering agent gave me a wry look and then slid into the driver’s seat. He looked forward and stated, "Hell Doc, I doubt they can tie their shoes. I think that is why they let them hang or invented velcro."

   I cracked my knuckles and sighed. "Pathetic excuses for men, Ryan. It makes my work so much easier to stomach. Let us go. I am sure my false I.D. as terrorist Abu Amal survived the blast. That will give the office of Homeland Security a few late nights."

©2003 Steven L. Shrewsbury

www.stevenshrewsbury.com