An Honest Attempt

The amber liquid swirled in the younger man’s slightly-chilled glass. It might have lent him more presence if his stomach wasn’t notoriously uncooperative when it came to alcohol.

It was his third night at the shady underground parlor but he’d finally gotten a meeting with someone of some importance. Bashir resorted to what he always did when he was uncertain, he pontificated. “It’s well understood that flavors can be enhanced or diminished based not only on the accompanying ingredients, but every bit of surrounding context. Not just steak and scotch, but friendly service and harmonious cellos, even the particular shade of yellow in a restaurant; From subtle to subversive, these background details have an astonishing impact on our very perception of taste.”

Bashir’s frenzied gesticulating halted abruptly for a singular moment, eyes growing wide. “Don’t you believe the same might be true of emotions? Context can influence food, and food pairings can redefine entire cuisines. What do you make of not only emotional priming but pairings? Can a banquet of despair, followed by a tender morsel of grace, and finished with a crowning course of exaltation be even more intoxicating than the last if experienced alone?”

Across the table, the gruff, yet impeccably-dressed, man exhaled sharply and at length to announce his mounting discontent. Scents of the decidedly satisfying meal hung over the well-polished wood. Denton had facilitated dozens of these deals yet he couldn’t decipher if the younger man chose to downplay the tension out of a naive play for control or complete stupidity. He glanced at the only source of leverage the fool had, the elegant book, whose black surface the other man tapped in eager anticipation. He barely veiled his irritation at the uninvited turn of the conversation away from business. “Look, I suppose it’s possible, but…”

Sweeping aside his companion’s obvious frustration, Bashir’s growing excitement reflected in the timbre of his voice. “Think about it, my good Denton. Much of what we sensorily experience is interpreted through the collection of our mind’s conscious and unconscious lenses. The world may hold absolute truth, but that’s not what we perceive. Emotions, and their familiar physical associations, are no exception.”

Denton studied Bashir’s face and nodded while flashing a look of understanding. “I think I understand, and I completely agree,” his tone steady yet mocking. “For instance, we ate a perfectly fantastic steak dinner, my favorite in fact, and instead of being satisfied at not only a great meal but the close of an important deal, I’m left with the nauseous feeling that you’re wasting my time.”

Denton’s eyes narrowed and the younger man’s conciliatory tone betrayed some of his earlier bravado. “I meant no disrespect. Quite the contrary. The journal is here, and I guarantee it contains everything you’ll need.” He slid the slim, yet decidedly luxurious, black tome across to Denton. “My interest in the perception of emotion is actually best illustrated by your stand at Salt City.”

Denton sighed as he scanned the contents of finely crafted ledger. It was indeed everything Bashir had promised to an intermediary. Finally something that would help them make another move. The satisfying percussion of creme brulee at an adjacent table mingled in his mind with his memories of the job in Salt City, the moment he realized his life might actually matter to someone other than himself. The last of his apprehension steadily melted away. “Perhaps it’s the fine scotch, or the sudden allure of dessert, but I’ll give you until the check comes to finish your sophomoric philosophy lecture.”

Bashir visibly relaxed, his head nodding while a smile completely eclipsed his momentary glumness. Before he could start, Denton leaned forward and snatched Bashir’s drink from his hand. “Sorry, but honestly kid. You haven’t even had a sip though you made a point of getting it with ice, despite the ice costing almost as much as the good stuff these days. Besides, I’ll be more receptive if I drink it than if you use it as a silly prop. No offense.”

Bashir chuckled, feeling the unusual maneuver a way to signal the much improved mood of the other man. “None taken. You’re a surprisingly sophisticated smuggling syndicate, but you want it straight. I should have known to drop the pretense anyway.” Denton flagged at one of the passing attendants and mimed the motion of eating his favorite dessert. Bashir winked at the server before they slipped away and held up two fingers. He continued, “To be honest, I wasn’t searching for the book or the reward. Honestly, the 20,000 dollars wouldn’t mean much to me. I owe nearly 20 times that much in debt.”

Denton choked while taking a draft of the glorious liquid. He felt immense appreciation that even this unexpected intrusion felt smoother than it had any right to, especially with the luxurious cool of the melting ice. “400k? What in Jacob’s name did you spend that kind of money on? Gambling? Some scheme? Women?”

A calm shone in Bashir’s eyes. “Actually, an education, and yes, in part a woman. You see, I’m one of those newly licensed professionals”

Denton furrowed his brow not knowing what to make of Bashir. “I’ve heard you can command a pretty good salary with the skills they teach at those specialized academies now, but the jobs seem like hell. Plus, if you invested that same amount in the ice trade, you could’ve lived a normal life and retired early, or at least enjoyed meals like this every week.”

“I don’t care about access to most jobs. It was an investment in my mind. You make a good point about the cost, but I believe that it depends which asset you think compounds faster, money or wisdom. Personally, money seems less important without wisdom.”

The waitress slid a once-molten sugar peaked desserts in front of each man, but Denton uncharacteristically ignored it. “You’re a strange kid. Alright, you don’t care about the reward, but you seem to know quite a lot about the group's history and where to find us.” Denton’s eyes narrowed, though he still felt at relative ease. “Other than an education and an unconscionable amount of debt, what exactly are you after?”

Bashir leaned forward, eyes defiant. “How could I not know about you? Almost everyone who's trying to pay attention in this crumbling world does. What you pulled off in Salt City was remarkable, some even say impossible. Many tried to paint you as anarchists who simply got lucky. To those of us that started to take for granted that we’d never see a future better than the past, it meant everything. Despair to possibility, resignation to resolve, actually goddamn hope; whether you meant it to or not you started something.”

Denton smiled and angled his spoon for impact.

“At least that’s what Lilian thought. She’s the one who died to get that book you’re holding.”

The spoon hung in the air and Denton met Bashir’s eyes.

“You’re rallying victory in Salt City was emotionally heightened by the context of too many people giving up. My rage burns all the brighter for the love I lost. Such a turn, even more than a fanciful underdog win, is the epitome of emotional heightening. You asked me what I want if not money? I want to join you. Those responsible for her death are elated at the fact that you haven’t had a serious victory in three years. I want to turn their joy to dust and despair, as only a complete reversal of emotion and fortune can.”

Denton shuddered at the stare of man drowning in a torrent of his emotions. “Revenge then. Alright, I can work with that. But first I’d like to hear your over educated view on a relevant topic. Even for empty shells of men like us, why does prostrating oneself before something greater feel so immensely satisfying?”

Bashir gazed at golden brown crags of recently torched dessert terrain, momentarily puzzled by the question.

Denton’s spoon finally struck ground and he smiled as he finally enjoyed the contents. “You don’t know what I mean, yet. Once we integrate these notes in this ledger into our plans, you’ll start to believe as she did.”

Bashir’s head rose sharply and he nodded in solemn appreciation of the comment. “That’s probably the best I can do to honor her.”

An unseen fire burned in Denton’s eyes as he straightened. “Oh, you’ll be able to do far more than that. Tell me, Bashir, do you know how only 15 of us were able to take a bastion in the heart of Salt City, breaking through 4 separate lines of suppressors?”

Bashir breathed deep in growing awe and shook his head. “Not many details filtered to the public.”

“Then we’re going to need another round of drinks. Well, maybe some juice for you.”