Last Thursday I took a drive down to Monmouth County. I stopped first at the Perkins in Hazlet and had breakfast. I hadn't been there in a while, but nothing has changed. It still looked just as it did when I used to take my daughter there on weekends. After breakfast, I drove to the Hazlet library. I parked in the overflow lot, just as I'd done the week before. This time, mine was the only car there. It was hot already.
There was nothing inside that caught my eye, so I went back to my car. As I got in, another car pulled into the lot. I lowered the windows and waited, pretending to check some messages on my phone. It didn't take long for him to get out.
I looked around. No one. He never looked in my direction.
Point, press, Flash.
I drove down to Middletown.
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Sometimes, things happen. This weekend, my family suffered an unexpected loss. The particulars have no bearing on these posts, but it had an impact on me. I spent the next several days mulling it over, trying to come to terms with it. Trying to find out a reason for it, an answer. Sadly, I couldn't.
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This morning, I was out very early running some errands. I bought some stuff at ShopRite, took them home, then drove towards Edison. I decided to go to their main library on Plainfield Avenue. I got there about 10:15 and pulled around back. As I drove through the lot, I saw this guy coming towards me from the far side.
The school behind him was empty and the back of the library has no windows. I pulled forward, checking the parked cars, watching for anyone else. No one was around. I slowed, and turned so that he was on my passenger side. By now he was close enough.
Point, press, Flash.
I skipped the library and headed for Metuchen. Nothing else happened.
I got home about 11:30. I live on the first floor, just to the left of the building's front door, which is a keyed entry. Like most people, I have 2 locks on my apartment door. I entered my hallway and immediately locked up (force of habit) then looked down at the floor to make sure the cat wasn't under my feet. That's when I heard....
"Please don't be alarmed, Mr. O'Neill, but I thought this would be the best way for us to meet. No one to interrupt us, you know."
I entered the living room. There was someone sitting in my chair.
"What the..? Who the hell are you? How'd you get in? If you're from Doyle, he better have a good reason for this."
He stood, and offered his hand. I glared at him.
"No, Mr. O'Neill..Denny, may I call you Denny? I'm not from Agent Doyle. Although I'm pretty sure he'd like to get his hands on me. I'm Art Gordon."
He lowered his hand. I continued to look at him. The only way to describe him was - average. Average height, average build, average coloring. His description could fit thousands of people. Just like me, I thought. Although he was wearing a PSE&G shirt, with an ID card hanging around his neck. I put down my packages.
OK. So you're Art Gordon. What do you want with me? How did you get in here?"
"Really, Denny. I found this shirt in one of the thrift stores you like, and it gave me the idea. I came in as a meter reader. People pay no attention to meter readers. As for the locks, well, you gotta admit they're not very good if an amateur like myself can pick them."
He moved over to the couch and motioned for me to sit in the chair.
"Getting in here was easy, and I'm pretty sure I can get out without your handlers seeing me, but I don't want to push my luck so I'll be quick."
"I don't understand why you're here. I mean, I thought we'd run into each other eventually, but I thought it would be outside somewhere."
"Too much risk. I know they have a tail on you. Probably to catch me. That's the way they think."
I paused, I needed to think, I wasn't prepared.
"Look, Denny, I came here so that I could explain myself. I'm sure that Agent Doyle has given you the party line about me, how I'm a psychopath, etc., and I think you should hear my side." He looked at me.
I did want to talk to him. I did want to know about him. I shrugged and sat down. He took a deep breath.
"I grew up an only child of dull parents in a dull, small town in Delaware. Even my name is dull - Art - not Arthur - just Art. The only thing interesting about me was that I was born with a bad heart. I was doomed to a dull life until, one day, I saw a TV show. The Wild, Wild West. I was overcome." He paused again, as if remembering. I thought his face looked flushed.
He continued. "But it wasn't the James West character that fascinated me. It was his partner - Artemus Gordon. Artemus Gordon! So much better then dull Art Gordon. Imagine that. Here was someone I could aspire to be. He was smart, charming, but most of all - he was inventive. He created all sorts of machines. He was a master of disguise. He was who I wanted to be."
"But he wasn't real."
"I know that. In real life, I was Art Gordon, a dull guy. But in my private life, I could be Artemus Gordon. I could become an inventive genius, a master of disguise. I applied myself, and now I have a Masters in Mechanical Engineering, and had a dull job at a dull corporation. But in private, I learned how to create disguises, identities. During the day, I was Art Gordon, Project Manager. But at night, I would disguise myself, and Artemus Gordon would enjoy the nightlife. It was a perfect life, until......"
He trailed off, but I knew where he was headed.
"Until your heart problem worsened and you needed a transplant."
"Right. And I was all ready to leave it up to fate, but the DHS stepped in. They arranged the whole thing, but they didn't do such a great job on the background check. They never found out about my "other" life."
"So, you're saying that it's their fault that you've...you know..kinda gone a bit too far."
"Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying. If they'd found out about my dual existence, they never would've let me into the Project. And, maybe, I wouldn't have gotten a heart but I'd be OK. But now I'm on disability and that has taken my engineering job out of the equation. I've become Artemus full-time. And I like it."
He grinned at me. I didn't know what to say.
"Well, Art - is Art OK? - Art, how are you doing on your meds? You must be on the same stuff I am, and I know Doyle has people watching the distribution."
"To be honest, I'm all out. Haven't had them for almost a year. But that's OK, cause I'm almost done."
"What do you mean..almost done?"
He sighed.
"I've done enough, Denny. Too much, maybe. I'm tired of it. And, I have to admit, I miss my dull, Art Gordon life. But I know I won't get that back."
He stood.
"I'm sorry for what I've done, and I can only think of one way to atone for my acts."
"You don't mean...kill yourself?"
"No. I'm gonna die from the rejection eventually so I thought I'd atone by making sure that the guy who did this to me never gets a chance to do it to anyone else."
"You mean Doyle?"
"No, Denny. Doyle was there to walk me through things, but it was Mr. Jones who approved my transplant. He's the one who's responsible for all that I have done. He's the one who has to pay."
It was my turn to pause. To try to process this.
"Why come here now? Why tell me this, Art?"
"Because I don't know if I'll have the time. If I'll get the chance. Look, they know that I've developed a method of blocking my signal so they can't track me, but they don't know what else I've created. Stuff I haven't used."
"OK, but why tell me?"
"I've made some arrangements. If anything happens to me before I can get to Mr. Jones things will be set in motion, and you'll have to make some decisions for yourself."
I had no idea what he was talking about.
"I have to go now, Denny. You'll have a choice to make after I leave. You can tell Agent Doyle about my being here, or not. If not, and you want to speak to me, open both windows in both bedrooms, instead of just one each. I'll come back. All I ask is that you don't try to set me up. I'm trusting you."
I thought about it, and I nodded agreement. If they were going to catch him, they would. But I wouldn't be the cause.
He put out his hand and this time I shook it. I let him out, and closed the door behind him. I didn't want to know how he left.
As I sat back in my chair I thought back on how I'd wanted to meet him.
Guess it's true, you gotta be careful what you wish for.
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