Testimony of Mr. J. Stanley

Le, "In my opinion, the story has two directions. First, you decide to be the hero. There is a brief solo, ominous violin sounds, the lights dim, and a figure returns to the background with a bloody ax, but we don't want This ending, isn't it, and that's not the way old Jim does things. Two, we all lock our little secrets in the basement, throw the key in the river, have a drink, say good night, and everybody's happy."

"I guess Jason didn't have the guts to make that request."

"Would it have turned out differently if your good buddy was sitting here?"

"will not."

Follett spread out his hands, revealing his rough palms worn by the cables of the sailboat like a dockworker, as if to say that I knew it, "I'm not anyone's messenger, Stanley, I'm just an old man who is worried about his pension. His investment. Our good doctor is probably not a particularly decisive man, so old Jim has to crawl out of his lair every now and then to knock on the roof to keep the roof from leaking. Did he tell you where we met? No? At Sinclair's New Year's cocktail party, it wasn't Ryan, it was his dad in the energy business. 'The Raven', as Jason was called, when our good Dr. was still playing with chemical blocks in the basement Time. I have always respected academics. You see, I grew up in Cape Town, Langa. To be precise, my high school is the street, and the university is the casino. There is a different set of rules. You have to live in the slums and Learn the rules among its lovely inhabitants." He sighed, clasped his hands, and looked at Stanley worriedly, as if he were a curfew-breaking student, "I see you haven't finished your PhD, Gaspar— - May I call you Gaspar? - You might be more happy to resume your studies in school than in a commercial Colosseum? In a place with less rain, I hope, how does that sound on the other side of the Atlantic ?We all need a bit of a long trip every now and then, and maybe with a donation, you can get your name etched on the lab door."

"requirement is?"

"Throw away all the data about IG in your hands, shut up, and take your sweet carrots."

"Do not."

Follett narrowed his eyes, only then did Stanley notice the scar and burn on his forehead, like a small drop of solidified magma.The arms dealer stood up and walked around the table, "What young Mr. Stanley wants is justice," his callused hand patted Stanley's cheek, "Dangerous luxury goods, in any business. See I'd be more than happy to give you carrots for our mutual friendship's sake, do you want to change your mind?"

His palms were covered with cold sweat, "I'm afraid not."

"Both of you," Follett snapped his fingers at the two big men like tin soldiers, and turned to go up the stairs, "explain the rules of the game to Mr. Stanley in a language he understands."

Stanley stood up suddenly, his forehead almost hitting the door frame of the cubicle.The tin soldiers moved surprisingly fast, a hand grabbing his shoulder, and a fist hitting his stomach and then the flank, squeezing the most pain out of the way they could.A tin soldier took off his coat and shook, and the aluminum card holder and wallet fell to the floor with a clatter.Stanley opened his mouth to say something, but received a punch on the cheek, helping him swallow what he hadn't said.The leather shoe kicked his knees, and Stanley knelt on the concrete floor. Blood dripped down his chin and landed on his shirt. Every drop was a letter. No one understands this language.

They took everything, mobile phones, card holders, wallets, a third of a pack of cigarettes, keys.A car engine started, and Stanley leaned back in a chair, listening to the sound die away.His suit jacket was thrown aside, like the shed skin of a snake. Stanley stared at it for a long time, reached out to fish it out, put it on his arm, and moved slowly towards the stairs.

The shop was still empty, and just as Stanley was struggling to push himself up the last flight of stairs, the bartender poked his head out from behind the double doors in the kitchen, glanced at him, then backed away.Stan wiped his mouth with his sleeve and walked around behind the bar.There was a dark green phone hanging on the wall. He took off the receiver, dialed Danny's number, and wiped wet blood on the number keys with his fingers.

"Hello?"

The voice made him hesitate, "This is Danny's cell phone."

"Indeed, this is Cynthia Cohen, executive editor of The New Observer. Danny is temporarily unavailable."

"What do you mean, temporarily unable to answer the phone?"

"who are you?"

"Put Danny on the phone, hell."

"Danny was still in the operating room when a van ran a red light and hit his car at the intersection."

He was silent for too long, and the other party asked who he was again, but he pretended not to hear, "When did this happen?"

"Four hours ago, did you need to leave a message? Are you—"

Stanley hung up the phone.

-

He didn't have a single penny on him and had to walk home, which took almost four and ten minutes, or 10 years, whichever he thought was about the same.People squinted at him, ducked nonchalantly as he approached, leaving him a gap that was absurdly wide.There were one or two strange voices on the way asking him if he needed help, and Stanley shook his head without even looking up to see who was speaking.

The apartment door had been pried open, one of its hinges had come loose, and the wooden door was hanging dangerously there, rattled by the draft.The living room was in a mess, and Stanley numbly walked around the overturned furniture and cut cushions and walked into the bathroom.The mirror cabinet was also searched. He used the toe of his shoe to remove the toothpaste and medicine box, bent over to wash his face with cold water, and leaned on the edge of the sink with both hands, watching the dark red sewage gurgling into the sewer.

The siren sounded from far to near, turned a corner, and went east.

He moved to the kitchen, grabbed a bag of ice cubes, and pressed them against his swollen cheeks.The cupboards were all open, with bewildered mouths, flour spilled all over the floor like an avalanche.Sharp shards of glass were soaked in the flowing spirits. A bottle of brandy escaped unharmed. Stanley put the ice pack aside and unscrewed the bottle cap. His hands were shaking. There are more.He swallowed a big gulp and let out a long breath.

All the rooms had been turned over, and he walked from the bedroom to the study to examine the flood ruins.Both the computer and the schedule were missing, and the notebooks and folders that were neatly stacked in the bookcase were also taken away.Broken glass rattled on the soles of his shoes, and Stanley picked up the cracked picture frame, changed his mind, and dropped it among the scattered statements.The locked drawer had been smashed open, but his passport and driver's license were still there, and he stuffed both in his trouser pockets, dragged the empty suitcase overturned against the wall, and started packing.

-

"Brighton was my first stop, to see my mum and tell her I took a fall while skiing and it was no big deal. The season of roses is almost over and there are a few late bloomers here and there. Mum Breeding a new variety and getting excited about it, but all I can think of is that Follett, his ubiquitous eyeliner, might be staring at Mom and her rose stand right now. 'Be careful', I said, and Mom gave I poured more peppermint liqueur and asked me 'what's the matter with this mysterious tone, Gaspar?', and I told her I meant to hope she didn't fall while tending the roses. Then I Booked a ticket to New York, one way."

"Danny will be walking on crutches for the rest of his life, but at least he's making it through. I called him a few more times, but no one answered, and finally he changed the number. About Apophis and Aleppo, after all, it's being called. Swept under the rug."

"I wish I could add here, 'I haven't seen Jason since,' but we can't change the course of the story on our own. I stayed in New York for half a year, then moved to Boston. Package sent I wasn't there when it came so the postman hid it behind a planter and I didn't find out it was there until the next afternoon, luckily the porch was sheltered from the rain. It was Easter holidays Miss Gibson and the neighbor's kids were like a bunch of cotton Like a tailed rabbit, dug my flowerbed into a honeycomb during the egg hunt the day before. The package was sent from Munich, where I don't know anyone, so I had to unravel the mystery, literally. "

They both turned their heads at the same time when the door knocked.

"Visiting hours are over," the nurse said, gesturing with her thumb along the hallway behind her.

"I need ten more minutes," Gibson protested.

"Ma'am, you have ten seconds to pack your things and leave the ward, and when I say visiting hours are over, it's over."

Gibson turned to Stanley. "What's in the package?"

"Notes, Jason's notes, all of them."

"Really, Miss Gibson, I can call the guard over."

The lawyer hurriedly swept the paper into the folder, "I'll be back early tomorrow morning."

She went out and the door slammed shut.Stanley looked out the window, at the pale embers in the western sky.

9.

He fell asleep long after the lights were out and woke up before dawn.An industrial vacuum cleaner roared in the corridor, gradually approaching, gradually moving away, a very long corridor.

There is no sunrise today.The clouds are like a collapsed concrete barrier, and the sun is a searchlight unfortunately buried inside.The treetops swayed in the wind, the sound of the rain was blocked by the double-glazed glass, the soundtrack was lost, and the tree dance appeared comical.The nurse didn't knock on the door before coming in, and took away the tray and the plastic spoon stained with fruit puree without saying a word.Stanley asked when visitors could come,