The Salesman: Part I

It’s an evening like any other in the desert of Southern Arizona. The first hints of nightfall lurk under the blazing daylight; a painted sky overlooks a calm ocean of dust and sand extending to the horizon. A picturesque moment of utter tranquility in a pocket of the world that seems concealed from human touch; a peace that’s broken by the repetitive sound of metal striking dirt...

His muscles fire, burning like the desert heat as the shovel pierces the broken earth a few more times. Just get it done, Robert. He repeats in his mind.

With a final strike Robert Kane stops digging, drinking the air through a haze of exhaustion and sorrow. His body weight shifts to the shovel while sweat drips from his bearded chin onto his t-shirt soaked in blood.

Just get it done, Robert.

A paralyzing blanket of impending agony and loneliness wouldn't allow it as he stared down at the shameful fruits of his labor… an empty grave. His mind swirls with memories and emotions as welled tears begin to fall; another moment he refuses to allow. Mourn later. Determination takes hold of his feelings, forcing him to look back at a bloody corpse wrapped in opaque plastic sheeting. Responsibility takes him that way.

Finally approaching her again felt like the longest walk in his middle-aged life. His eyes close, a final attempt at convincing himself that this is a terrible nightmare, but nothing can change what he faces when they open. A sight he could never fathom to see; his true love encased in a plastic coffin.

It was never going to be easy, even when he committed to it. A short walk and an hour of work and she was gone under a bed of dry dirt and sand, but it didn’t change the sadness that lurked beneath the surface; a sadness that was heading for an eruption as he looked at the freshly covered grave.

“I love you.” He shakily mutters as a tear rolls down his cheek. “I always will.”

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Dirt crunching beneath the weight of car tires provides the only sound as Sheriff Amanda Wilkins slowly maneuvers her SUV through an off-road path carved by a single set of tire marks. It’s a clear night in the desert under a full moon and bevy of stars, but in the passenger seat, Deputy Jake Athens still squints through the night, working a spotlight fixed above the door mirror.

“They were driving?” asks Wilkins.

“Dispatch said they were on foot, but I guess they could have gotten a vehicle. Not many places to hide out here.”

“Okay. Turn off the light.” She says as she hardens.

Athens obeys, plunging the landscape ahead into darkness. Wilkins eases off the gas and slows them to a crawl, squinting as she tries to spot anything out of the ordinary.

“It’s the middle of nowhere, Amanda.” Athens says through his nerves. “Why the hell would they bring him out here?”

“Don’t know.”

Athens shakes his head. “I’m tellin' you, there’s nothing out here. No buildings, no houses…”

“There’s tracks.”

“That’s what I’m sayin’.”

“You know, it’s a daily struggle of mine, Jake, to fully understand what your bumbling ass is talking about.” Wilkins snaps while still focused ahead.

“I’m sayin’ there’s tracks that lead to nothin’ but a patch of dirt. If… If some crazy asshole is bringin’ a senator out here? I… I just don’t like it. Don’t have a good feelin’ is all.”

“That’s a helluva roundabout way of telling me you don’t have a good feeling.”

Athens shakes his head while scanning through the darkness. “I can’t help it. I talk it out when I’m stressed.” He squints at something in the distance but dismisses it.

“Wait.” Wilkins hits the brakes. She leans forward, squinting into the darkness. “You see that?”

Athens leans in for a better look. “Yeah.” As a dreadfully serious look melts over him.

Wilkins grabs her radio. “This is Coyote 2-11, we have possible eyes on Senator McQuade and his abductor, come back.”

They both wait for a response but receive nothing but choppy static. Wilkins eyes the dark surroundings. She checks her cell… no service.

Athens draws a deep breath in and out. “Get out here?”

Wilkins clicks her teeth as she thinks for a moment. “Yeah.” She responds heavily. “Slow and steady, okay? If we can ID them and have an opportunity, we take it. Focus, Jake. I need you here.

Athens nods. “I’m with you.”

A final moment of silence before they slowly exit the SUV, leaving their doors slightly ajar while drawing pistols from their respective holsters. They both move toward a single point of light up ahead with measured footfalls and meticulous movement, pistols tightly clutched in a ready position near their chests. With each step their hearts pumped quicker as adrenaline began to surge through their systems; they were moving toward an empty pickup truck with its interior lights on. Wilkins motions with her hand and they both stop, surveying the area for any movement.

They press on through the still night, hunching lower as they reach the tailgate of the pickup before they drop to a knee and listen for a moment... Silence. No movement around them whatsoever.

Athens’ eyes widen as he checks the damning contents of the tailgate, Wilkins follows his concerned gaze to a dirty shovel, clear plastic tarp, and a bloody shirt. They pause for another moment as they share a look of determination. Wilkins sends Athens to the left with a wave of her hand while she moves right, checking the passenger side of the truck to find a silver revolver resting on the seat.

“Excuse me, sir.” Athens says on the other side, cutting the silence.

Wilkins trains her pistol forward as she rounds the front of truck to find Athens pointing his weapon at Robert Kane, sitting against the wheel in a catatonic trance while staring at dry blood on his hands.

“Sir.” Athens repeats. “Please keep your hands right where I can see them and stand up for me.”

Wilkins scans the area; she quickly spots the freshly laid grave in the moonlight.

Robert remains in a broken daze as Wilkins moves closer. “Sir,” She says. “What’s your name?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Robert croaks.

“What matters, sir, is that you’re out here in the middle of nowhere; blood on your hands and sittin’ next to a-a grave.” Wilkins retorts.

“I had to do it…” Robert mutters with his emotions surfacing.

Athens and Wilkins share a quick look. “You had to… what did you do?” Athens presses.

“I…” Robert can’t stomach to hear the words aloud. Tears begin to fall as he sobs hard. “I didn’t want to, but she asked me to…”

Wilkins squints with confusion. “She? Who’s she?”

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” Robert repeats while breaking into full sobs.

Wilkins decides to take control of the situation. She replaces her pistol with handcuffs and approaches Robert, who completely allows her to cuff him though his cries. With Robert subdued, Wilkins and Athens move a couple of steps away to speak while keeping him in sight.

“I don’t know what the hell we walked up to, but I don’t know if that’s our guy.” Wilkins whispers. “Dispatch said the guy who abducted the Senator McQuade was lethal, possibly military.”

“And? This guy could be ex-military? He loses it, puts one in the Senator, buries him; maybe that’s what sent him over.” Athens responds, desperately wishing this night would end.

“This guy is saying ‘she’ like there’s a woman in there.”

“He could be lying.”

Wilkins shakes her head. “I don’t know.” She pauses for a thought. “We need to try and find a signal to get an update from dispatch. I’ll stay here and watch him while you go back to the car. See if you can drive a couple minutes and find a signal. Maybe we can figure out what the hell is going on.”

Athens takes a deep breath and nods. “What the hell do you think this is all abou—”

SLAM. The pickup door shuts behind them, echoing into the night. “Good evening!” A boisterously confident voice bellows from the shadows.

Wilkins and Athens spin to find The Salesman, a well-groomed middle-aged man oozing confidence in an unblemished black-on-black suit, not a bead of sweat nor a speak of dirt on him. He basks in the crystal moonlight, puffing a cigarette with one hand while he holds Robert’s silver revolver in the other; A cloud of smoke leaks through his pearly white smile. In front of him is a cowering older man bound by the hands, blindfolded, and gagged, who sweats profusely in a dirty and ill-fitting suit.

Wilkins and Athens react, drawing their pistols and training their aim at The Salesman.

Wilkins eyes the cowering man. “Senator McQuade?”

McQuade mumbles through his gag.

“Shut up.” The Salesman sighs as he kicks McQuade in the back of the leg, sending him to a knee with a painful grunt. He takes a huge drag of his cigarette, delightfully blowing the smoke into the air. “I’ve missed this place.” He says with a grin.

Robert squirms to a seat and scoots back from the action.

“Oh, you’re not going anywhere.” He aims the revolver toward Robert, who stops at once.

Wilkins eyes The Salesman. “Sir, I’m going to need you to put down that weapon.”

The Salesman rolls his eyes. He snaps his aim toward Wilkins with inhuman speed – BANG – and puts a bullet between her eyes. Athens barely has time to process what just happened, and before he can raise his pistol – BANG – he meets the same fate.

Robert’s teary eyes widen with shock and fear. McQuade shakes, only able to imagine the dreadful occurrences just outside the confines of his blindfold.

With a last hearty drag, The Salesman finishes his cigarette and flicks it into the back of McQuade’s head with a smarmy grin as it pops with a shower of sparks. He reaches into his pocket for a silver cigarette case from which he fishes another cigarette and clasps it between his teeth.

“What a night, boys, huh?” The Salesman gleefully says as he replaces the case with a metal lighter and flicks it open, lighting his next smoke. He puffs it like someone taking in fresh mountain air on a crisp morning and releases it with a pleasurable groan. His eyes move to Robert, who sits on the ground next to the grave.

He approaches Robert slowly, savoring every step.

“If you’re gonna’ k-kill me… just do it.” Robert whimpers with little confidence. All he can do, however, is watch The Salesman stroll past with a smile to linger over his wife’s grave, staring at it. “What are you doing?” he snaps.

Another puff of smoke through The Salesman’s smile. He clears his throat… and spits on the grave. Robert rages against the handcuffs as he desperately stumbles over himself in an ill-fated attempt to attack The Salesman, who simply swings the revolver and bashes Robert square in the face, sending him to the ground.

Consciousness was fading in and out now as Robert looked up at the mysterious attacker looming over him. Every thought that swirled through his mind buzzed with confusion and emotion. The Salesman looks down and flashes his pearly smile, and with a long drag of his cigarette and a hearty puff of smoke, he sends a powerful boot into Robert’s face, knocking him out cold.

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The top was down on their convertible, allowing the refreshing night air to sweep off Robert’s face and through his hair as he loosely gripped the steering wheel. It was sobering and nostalgic, no outside pressures or responsibilities, no worries, or anxieties. They were purely in the moment tonight.

Her hand softly caressed his knee as she looked out on the moon-kissed desert landscape with a content smile as the wind blew through her red hair. “What a perfect night.” She said with a warm smile.

Robert nodded with a smile of his own. “It really is.” He said before drawing a lung full of the fresh night air and exhaling slowly, hoping she wouldn’t notice his nervous jitters. “I wouldn’t want to spend it with anyone else.” He smiled.

“Oh, Wow. Robert Kane is sweet talkin’ me?” She returned with a pantomimed faint before a playful giggle.

Robert fiddled with something in his jacket pocket as his heart fluttered with nerves. Something that was going to change both of their lives forever. “Rachel, I…” He starts as she keeps her eyes on the landscape. “I’ve been thinking a lot and I… Well… I love you and—”

Rachel looks at him with a warm smile. “I love you, too.”

“and I…I want to spend the rest of--” Robert tried to continue but something on Rachel’s forehead distracted him.

“What is it? Are my radiant green eyes distracting you?” She playfully asked while batting her eyelashes.

It was consuming Robert’s attention. A small red dot on her forehead that grew larger by the second. “Baby, there’s something on your—” He manages before choking on his words.

In an instant, the red dot had transformed into a bullet wound in Rachel’s head, pouring blood down her face as she remained oblivious. “What is it, Bobby?” She said, oozing a thick cloud of smoke from her mouth that grew larger with each passing moment.

The smoke collected in the convertible like they were enclosed. Soon, he lost sight of Rachel and his vision became hazy, and as cognition began to return from his dream, crushing reality came with it…

…in the forms of Big Band Jazz and the stench of cigarette smoke.

Robert’s head pounded as his eyes fluttered open to absorb the surroundings. He was in the passenger seat of the Sheriff’s SUV blasting down a straight and thin highway in the middle of the pitch-black desert to either side of them. Not a car, nor a light in sight. Some joyful commotion draws Robert’s eyes to the driver’s seat…

“Bop-bah-da-dum-ba-da-da-da—yeah!” The Salesman sings as he drums his fingers on the steering wheel with the song. He inhales a cigarette pursed in the corner of his mouth, blowing the smoke from his nostrils like it’s a breathing apparatus. “Oh, Tom, remember the old days? Last I saw you these vehicles didn’t travel at such speeds!” He exclaims while looking into the rear-view at McQuade, who remains blindfolded and shaking with fear.

Don’t move a muscle. Robert thought as he watched The Salesman continue to dance and taunt McQuade. He doesn’t see me.

It was lying about half an arm’s length away on the arm rest, softly jittering from the motion of the SUV. Robert practiced grabbing it in his mind a dozen times as he sat and listened to The Salesman boast, and knew that if he was going to try for it, he had one chance.

Do it, Robert. He pushed to himself.

“Oh, we had some good times. Didn’t we, Tom?” The Salesman prodded, still staring at The Senator in the rear-view. “I can’t wait to introduce you to our friend here…”

Do it!

Robert explodes to action. He swiftly grabs for the arm rest, for the revolver.

“Whoa!” The Salesman exclaims with a chuckle, facing down the barrel as Robert cocks back the hammer.

“Pull over!” Robert forces, trying to keep his nerves steady, centering his aim on The Salesman’s head.

“And right on que! My, my, Robert, you have a flair for the dramatic!" The Salesman gleefully exclaims before taking a big drag of his cigarette. “I like it. Didn’t expect it, but I like it.” He smiles, exhaling the smoke into Robert’s face.

“I’m not kidding, man. I’ll—I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” The Salesman retorts with a devious snarl. “Have you ever pulled the trigger before? Killed another— Oh, wait, that’s right! You have. The lovely missus, hm?” He leers at Robert while blindly keeping the vehicle in a dead straight line; he leans toward Robert with wild eyes. “C’mon.”

“Fuck you.” Robert says through clinched teeth… and pulls the trigger.

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Clouded memories fire to life in a flurry as The Salesman’s voice pinged off the walls of McQuade’s mind. It was 75 years to the day since he last saw this man, and he couldn’t believe it. That bastard did it. He thought. He came to collect, and he didn’t look a day older.

All these years and it still seemed like yesterday when they shook hands in the post-war bustle of New York Harbor. Before his time as a senator, Tom McQuade served in the Navy as an Admiral and these were his last days before retirement. He was older man, a lost soul with no more purpose in life, hobbling the docks of the port as a final victory lap while saying goodbye to whatever dreams he couldn’t achieve in life. He wanted to be a politician before the war, thought he’d be good at it, but his time waned thin.

The Salesman emerged from the crowd with a welcoming smile, offering a freshly rolled cigarette. He was smooth, a silver-tongued devil that could take you at the knees without moving a muscle. He offered the world and didn’t ask for much in return… only a single favor.

“Admiral.” The Salesman smiled as he offered his hand for a shake. “I’ve been a fan of your career.” He charmed.

“Is that right?” McQuade replied with a smirk. He had always been mistaken for a captain that won many famous naval battles, and he was used to reveling in that captain’s glory for a moment or two before correcting. That’s why it was surprising when the mysterious stranger confidently uttered his name.

“That’s right. Admiral Thomas McQuade. Your future precedes you.” He said with a cheeky smirk as he popped open his cigarette case, lighting one in his mouth.

McQuade chuckled with disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“You’re a man with ambition, Tom, always have been.” He said, exhaling a puff of smoke. “Your life could have been quaint and simple back on the farm in Wisconsin, but you opted for a life of a warrior – a difference-maker. You have rare qualities; and I believe those qualities can achieve exactly what you’ve set out to do in life, sir, and that’s make a difference.”

“Are you—” McQuade started, leaning closer. “You a spy or something? FBI?” He chuckles. “Trying to recruit me, huh? Who put you up to this? Was it Evans?”

“Nothing like that.”

McQuade eyes him up and down. “I think… I think you have the wrong guy.”

“You’re exactly the man I’m here to see.” The Salesman quickly responds through another puff of smoke. “In the times ahead, people are going to need strong leadership. I see you as that man.”

McQuade's mind was twisted with emotion and possibility. Was this an opportunity to leave a better legacy? A crossroads in the twilight of his life?

The Salesman oozed smoke from his smile as he watched the hooks sink in. Soon he would go for the kill. “I’m a sort of… fixer. I’m here to help you get what you want.”

“And what is it that I want?”

“What does anybody want? Power, control… more time.” The Salesman smiled.

“Right.” McQuade rolled his eyes. “And you, random man in the crowd; you can do that for me?”

“All you have to do is shake my hand.”

“Seriously, did Evans put you up to this?” McQuade said as he craned his neck for a look around the crowd.

“You know, Admiral has a nice ring to it, but how about Mayor? Senator? President?” The Salesman eased. “You know what? I’ll give you a hit for free.” He looks McQuade up and down… “Did I notice a limp before? Your right leg – what happened to it?”

“Oh,” McQuade looked down. “an old knee injury, nothing serious.”

“Serious enough to cause a limp, Tom.”

“It nags from time to time. That’s all.”

“Ah.” The Salesman relished this moment with a smug smirk. “Do you mind if I take a look at it?”

“You’re a doctor now?”

“Just a helping hand.” The Salesman said with a final puff of his cigarette before flicking it away. He took a step closer. “Your right knee?”

McQuade hobbled a step backward “Listen, pal, I think I’m going to get out of here, I have family waiting for—”

“We both know that’s not true, Tom.” The Salesman snapped. “Your wife is gone; your kids are estranged – you’re a seventy-year-old man at the tail-end of life with nothing to show for it but a few badges and a rather nice coat.” He said with a cold gravity that pierced through McQuade’s soul.

“Wha… How did you—?” McQuade fumbled.

The Salesman reached down for McQuade’s knee and gave it a soft tap with the back of his hand. Stunned with disbelief, McQuade’s eyes widened. With a jolt of warmth and a small tug under his kneecap, he felt seventy years of injuries, surgeries, and wear and tear completely vanish from his knee. It felt brand new.

“How did you…? What did you do to me?” McQuade quietly said as his heart raced, craning his neck for any on-lookers.

“That was just a taste.” The Salesman said through his smug grin, already lighting another cigarette.

Confusion and intrigue danced through McQuade’s mind as he tried to rationalize the moment, but there was nothing. “Wh—What exactly are you trying to offer me?”

“I’m offering you the opportunity to chase your dreams, Tom. Live your life how you’ve always wanted.”

“How?”

“Shake my hand. You’ll feel it.” He exhales a puff. “And then I’m gone.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“What’s the catch?” The Senator shot back.

The Salesman leered at him with his cold black eyes. “One day I’ll come to you.” He said, leaking smoke from his mouth. “It may be tomorrow; it may be years from now… but I will come. And on that day, you will help me. No questions asked.”

McQuade lingered in thought. “Are you trying to make a deal for my soul? Are you the devil or something?”

“Nothing like that, Tom, I assure you. “The Salesman chuckled. “A favor in the future, nothing more.”

“Just a favor.” McQuade repeated.

“That’s right.” The Salesman said. “And all of eternity is yours. Do as you please without fear of expiration.”

As he stretched and tested his newly healed leg, McQuade looked into the dark and confident eyes of The Salesman. He couldn’t read a lie and couldn’t explain the magic that healed his leg. “Okay.” Said McQuade, still somewhat skeptical. “You have a deal.”

When they shook hands, however, McQuade’s life was instantly transformed. It was clearer, brighter… better in every regard. Without the paranoia of mortality creeping up his spine, he felt that life opened for him and began chasing his dreams with a youthful vigor once more… it felt good.

Until today. 75 years to the day.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Click. Click-Click-Click.

Robert’s stomach shoots into his throat as the revolver shakes in his hand, still aiming at The Salesman who hysterically cackles while keeping an eye on the road.

“The balls!” He exclaims through his guffaws, chucking a cigarette out of the window and replacing it with a fresh one. “A set of balls on you, Robert.” He says, lighting it.

Robert is wide-eyed and in denial. He pulls the trigger once more – click.

“Oh, you poor, dumb thing.” The Salesman eases before snatching the empty revolver from Robert with lightning-fast speed. “I applaud the effort.” He nods while turning up the Jazz and joyously puffing on his cigarette.

It seemed like he was having the time of his life, filling his lungs with more smoke than oxygen while his head pounded with the rhythms of Jazz. Robert was stunned. He could only stare in equal parts wonderment and disbelief as The Salesman danced.

“Birdland!” The Salesman blurts over the music and through a cloud of smoke. “The Buddy Rich Big Band – 1977!"

While The Salesman rips into a finger-drum solo on his steering wheel drum set, Robert’s adrenaline fades. With each moment that passes, he feels the crushing darkness of the stark black desert night around them; the constricted confines of the SUV feel tighter as he realizes how isolated they truly are. Above all, the enigma of The Salesman buzzed in the center of his forethought.

The Salesman could feel him staring.

“Who the—?” Robert starts.

“Who the hell am I?” The Salesman finishes. He’s heard it too many times before. “I’m afraid, Robert, that your tiny human mind wouldn’t comprehend.” He smugly snickers, blowing a puff of smoke. “Just enjoy the ride, yeah? We have another stop to make – a friend to pick up along the way. Do you want to take another nap?”

“L-L-Listen, man… I don’t know what the hell is going on here. Whatever business you have with him, it has nothing to do with me. You can let me go; I-I won’t say a goddamn word to anyone.” Robert pleads.

“Let you go?” The Salesman fires back with a chuckle. “Let you go? Robert, you look me in my devilishly handsome black eyes, and you tell me this isn’t exactly what you wanted.”

“What?”

The Salesman laughs, he looks in the rear-view mirror at the cowering Senator. “You believe this, Tom? This guy just killed his wife. One shot to the head – bang. He’s distraught, he’s at the end of his rope and he says he wants me to let him go. You believe this?”

“H-How—Fuck you, man. You don’t know shit about me, about anything my wife and I have been through.” Robert passionately fires back.

“How wrong you are, Bobby. How far back should I go? Should I go back to when your father left you when you were just a kid? I could move forward to when you and Rachel met in San Diego; ah it was the most beautiful day, wasn’t it? The sunset over the ocean, the smell of churros and popcorn in the air. I could go all the way to last week, when your beloved came up with a plan you never wanted to execute; when she asked you to, well, you know.” The Salesman confidently retorts as he pantomimes a gun to the head with a jolly laugh. “I know the finest details about every waking moment of your life, Bobby.”

Robert’s mind burns with bewilderment as he stares wide-eyed at The Salesman. “Seriously, who the hell are you, man?”

“I’m…” He pauses to find the exact words. “I’m a correction.” He starts proudly. “A balancer of the scales. I’m—”

WOOSH – the SUV becomes a wind tunnel for a moment as Robert opens the passenger door and falls out, consumed by the darkness. SLAM – and the door shuts with the pressure, leaving The Salesman mildly inconvenienced. He softly applies the brake and glides to the side of the road, where he brings the SUV to a stop, and before anything, he lights another cigarette.

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Searing pain shot through Robert’s arms and legs as he sat in the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust. He could see enough in the moonlight to know he’s bleeding from his elbows and could feel the warmth of the blood dripping from one of his throbbing knees.

He kept low to the rough desert ground, back pressed against a large rock that was still warm from the intense daytime heat. His breathing is shallow, and he didn’t move a muscle while keeping an ear to his surroundings. The clear night was mostly silent apart from pulsing crickets and the odd howl of a wild coyote.

Nothing but questions fired through the currents of his mind; all of which were miles away from an answer. Calm down, Robert. He thought. In that moment he quietly drew a deep breath and closed his eyes, attempting to collect himself and fend off thoughts of his wife or The Salesman. He kept an ear for any footsteps, and there was nothing in the air but the subtle sounds of nature and… the smell of smoke.

“Hi.” A whisper so close to Robert’s ear he could feel the hot breath.

Robert’s eyes shoot open as he jumps the opposite direction, finding The Salesman right sitting beside him at the same rock, puffing on his usual cigarette.

“You’re feisty.” The Salesman says through the night.

Robert hops to his feet and sprints in the opposite direction, pushing until his legs burn. He looks back – The Salesman is gone. He barely has time to process it before blindly smashing headfirst into something completely solid, which sends him down to his back. He holds his head, looking up at the giant rock he slammed into, but all he finds is The Salesman, dusting his coat off and puffing away on his smoke.

“Robert.” He says, slightly annoyed. “I need you to—”

Robert doesn’t let The Salesman finish, booking it in another direction once more – BANG – a bullet pings off a rock at his feet, and the thought of a gun pointed at his back in the darkness stops him dead in his tracks.

“I don’t get tired, Robert! I don’t wear down!” The Salesman shouts from behind in the distance, yet, suddenly he’s right at Robert’s ear once again, whispering. “I can do this, literally, until you die from exhaustion or starvation. Is that what you want?” He says, rounding Robert to face him eye-to-eye. “Is this how you want it to happen? Scared in the dark, clinging to desperate hope?”

His eyes have adjusted now, more than enough to notice that The Salesman’s eyes look entirely black; a twisted smile is cracked across his face. A chill edges up Robert’s spine; every hair on his neck stands at attention.

“Do you want me to end it now, Bobby? Or do you want to make a deal?” He charms with another puff of smoke.

Instinct was telling Robert to keep running but rationale informed otherwise. He was still panting for air with pain pulsing around most of his body, while The Salesman wasn't phased, not a hair out of place, not a single hastened breath. He just stood there calm and collected, puffing, and puffing on his cigarette like it provided him sustenance. Robert was trapped. Do I fight him? Throw sand in his eyes and try to get the gun? He thought, trying to find a way out, until something washes over him that takes his fight away.

“Bobby, I can practically hear the gears in your head.” The Salesman sighs. “Are you going to take a swing at me? Go ahead.”

“No.” Robert mutters, shaking his head as everything that’s happened for the last twenty-four hours rushes over him like a tidal wave of sadness and exhaustion. His shoulders slump, his legs feel boneless and unstable. “I’m done.”

“Done?” The Salesman teases, leaning in. “Do you want me to put you out of your misery, Robert? Is that it?”

“I… I just want to know…” Robert’s lip quivers as he holds back a flood of tears. “Why me? Why today?”

“Oh, Bobby, you poor sad sack of shit. I know how you’re feeling right now. Hopeless, alone, with no more purpose.” He eased, transforming his smugness into well-feigned sympathy. “I see it now; you want to die, but you can’t allow it yet because… you want to go out with purpose. On your own terms, perhaps.”

Robert nods. “But without her it seems—”

The Salesman rolls his eyes, still acting sympathetic. “Right, of course. It doesn’t seem worth it, does it?

“No, it doesn’t.”

“But you’re not ready.”

“No… I’m… not yet.”

“I can make you a deal, Bobby. One that ensures a greater purpose; a deal that will end things on your terms.” The Salesman says as he discards a cigarette, lighting a new one.

Every rational part of Robert’s mind attempted to rebel against these events. He desperately yearned to find a single shred of evidence that this wasn’t real; that it was a figment of his imagination or a fever dream from dehydration, maybe a heat stroke. There was a feeling, however, something with a faint pulse deep inside the caverns of his mind and soul. It was past the structures of normalcy bestowed on him for his entire life; it was beyond rationale and realism and it grew stronger as he focused on them; an instinct long forgotten. He knew he was dealing with something monolithic; something bigger than he could comprehend.

“Are you… Are you the devil?” Robert asks with a mind full of curiosity.

“Oh.” The Salesman chuckles with a smirk. “No, I’m not, Bobby, but you’re starting to shed some layers, aren’t you?” He taps his temple with a finger. “That’s good.” He says as he takes another hearty puff.

Robert eyes the revolver tightly grasped in The Salesman’s hand. “The deal. What is it?”

The Salesman smirks. “It’s simple. I have two more friends to collect and a destination to which I will ferry us. Ride with until the morning and I will show you to the purpose you desire; I give you my word.”

“I don’t… I don’t trust you.” Robert replies.

“Understandable.” The Salesman says before offering his hand to Robert. “Take my hand.”

“Why?”

“Because the first taste is free. Take my hand and you’ll feel it. You’ll see it. Then make your choice.” The Salesman confidently offers.

Robert eyes his hand with trepidation, and in a moment of curiosity… he grabs it.

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He couldn’t sense a physical connection to his body as the desert vanished with a flash of bright white light. Every pain, both physical and emotional had released, leaving Robert wading in a euphoric state of wonder. It was welcoming and warm; it held him with a loving embrace where judgement and worry had no domain.

And it was only for an instant. A taste.

Soon, weight returned to his body while the bright light dimmed to normal, revealing that he was now in a lavish red room adorned with golden trinkets and ancient artifacts, displayed in glass cases or fastened to the walls. His pure euphoria was left behind with the light, but there was a feeling of relief that remained; a sense of pride and accomplishment that flooded him as he gazed at a derelict barn door just in front him.

It was out of place in the rather grandiose room, which made it even more intriguing, and the feeling Robert was gaining from looking at that door was incredible. The Salesman wasn’t lying, it was the feeling of purpose and completion he desired. He wanted nothing but to step to the door, to open it and fall into its warmth… but everything was growing darker now and despite his greatest efforts, the room was fading away, and the pain of reality was rapidly returning as well.

“Do we have a deal?” The Salesman’s voice pierces.

And with a blink, Robert is back in the desert, feeling the pain throbbing through his body once again as he faces The Salesman’s confident smile.

“What was that?” Robert asks through labored breathing.

“A taste, as promised.” The Salesman says as he lights another ciagrette.

“I… That was...”

“I know.” The Salesman replies while blowing a puff of smoke. “So, what’ll it be, Bobby?”

Robert looks at The Salesman for a moment, not sold yet. “What’s in this for you?

“You’re a tough close.” The Salesman says while he eyes Robert with a hint of annoyance.

Frustration shows on Robert’s pained face. “Is this all just a fucking joke to you? A game?”

“I have fun, yeah.” The Salesman concedes with a chuckle.

Robert takes a hobbled step forward. “Listen,” He starts with slight force. “I’m sick of being toyed with. I don’t know what you are, and I don’t know what this has to do with me, but enough is enough. You say you want to make a deal? You say that behind your-your goddamn cigarettes and your stupid fake smile; why—why the hell would I trust you?”

The Salesman smacks his lips as he absorbs Roberts volley. “I’ll tell you something, Robert Kane. You come from a line of lucky men and women. Did you know that?" He says with a modicum of disdain. "Kane."

“What?”

“That’s right.” The Salesman says with an introspective gaze into the night. His mind imagines thousands of different pathways for the current conversation with Robert. Like an ascended chess-master, he makes hundreds of moves per-second, running through each scenario in fractions of seconds as he calculates exactly how much information he can divulge to Robert before locking him into a deal. “You are a tough close.” He smirks.

Robert’s frustration boils over with tears in his eyes “I demand to know what’s going on here! Why the are you doing this to m--?

“Your father.” The Salesman interrupts.

His words hit Robert like a haymaker. My father? He thought in a confused daze, probing his memories for any morsel of information, but most of everything was blank. The last time Robert saw his father was the day he walked out without a goodbye and never returned; there was not one moment of love or care, just a scar of a single memory clouded in anger and confusion. “What?” He manages with a croak.

The Salesman notices his hook dig in and nods. “That’s right. Samuel Kane – the bastard of all bastards. I think you might agree with me on that.”

“I-I-I don’t understand…” Robert says through dense confusion.

“He was a gambler; did you know that? A shit one, too.” The Salesman concedes as he lights a new cigarette, cherishing the first puff. “We met, he and I, on a riverboat on the Mississippi; 1857, I believe.”

“That’s…” Robert shakes his head. “…impossible.”

“I’m afraid not, Bobby. For this story you must remember that these were lawless times; times of debauchery and recklessness, and your father… he was certainly reckless.” The Salesman smiled. “He was perfect. I had never met one so eager to play, so willing. A gamblin’ man at the end of his rope, grasping for any thread on which to hold.” He says choosing every word with careful measure. “We had deal, he and I, the largest risk I had ever taken. We were to play a game, and hand on my heart, Robert, the stakes were as high as can be for both of us.” He takes a puff, snickering to himself. “And wouldn’t you know it – on the night he needed it most that son of a bitch bested me. I walked away empty handed and he received exactly what he wanted…”

Robert shakes his head as it buzzes with colliding emotions. “I don’t – how am I supposed to believe you?

“Like I said, you’re a tough close, Bobby.” The Salesman says as he takes another puff. “I know where to find your father and I know you want closure just as badly as I do. Here’s the deal: Ride with me tonight and in the morning and you will have your chance.”

“A chance?” Robert shakily asks. “For what?”

“Simple, really. You and your father will play the same game we did all those years ago. Win and I’ll return the purpose to your life; I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

“What I’ve lost… I can’t get back. What you showed me felt good but… it wasn’t what I wanted to see.” Robert laments. “My father made his choice and I… I have to be at peace with that.”

“But you aren’t at peace are you, Bobby?” The Salesman prods, looking into Robert’s unsure eyes. “I never showed you what was behind the door.” He says, ready to go for the kill. “I can bring your wife back.”

Robert’s heart rockets into his throat, his stomach falls into an abyss. “You can’t… I don’t care what you are. You can’t do that…” His sadness is transforming into anger at the audacity.

“You truly have no idea. I am capable of so, so many things.” The Salesman says with anticipation, waiting for Robert to finally relent.

“Fuck you.” Robert shoots back through tears. “You can’t bring her back.”

The Salesman’s eyes narrow on Robert. “Careful.”

“Your tricks, they’re impressive… but I don’t believe you. She’s gone…” His lips quiver with emotion. “You’ll say anything won’t you? You can bring back the dead, huh? How can you stand there and claim that? You have some kind of nerve... I bet you're just a glorified magician living a sad lonely life. Is this how you get off?” Robert says as tears roll down his cheek.

“You’d better know your fucking place, Robert.” The Salesman shoots back with a sinister growl, tossing his cigarette down. He stares at Robert with calculated intensity. “I am a representative of the watchers that govern the fabric of this reality; this place you call home. If you could see the true bounds of my power, your mind would break under the weight of sheer terror. I have the ability to snap your bones with a snap of my fingers.” He says stepping forward, snapping his fingers once.

CRACK. Robert collapses, screaming in agony as his leg breaks, snapping in half and popping from his flesh as white-hot pain fires through his entire body. He holds his mangled leg as The Salesman steps closer with wild eyes.

“I can twist your limbs with a flick of my wrist.” He says, waving his hand casually.

Another agonizing squeal from Robert as his left arm is crunched and warped 360 degrees in the socket, leaving his flesh and muscle in a twisted and bloody mess around the bone.

The Salesman stops above Robert, watching him writhe in pain. “I can crack your ribs one,” he flicks his finger and thumb like you’d launch a cigarette, crack, one of Robert’s ribs. “by one,” Another flick – crack. “by one.” He flicks again– crack.

Robert lies in a growing pool of his own blood, completely overwhelmed in pain as The Salesman looks down at him with a snarl. “Enough…” he croaks. “Please…”

“I thought you might say that.” The Salesman growls as he squats down and places a hand on Robert's shoulder, concentrating. In an instant, all of his bones violently jolt back into place; his wounds and pains are repaired, leaving him fresh and good as new.

Robert is breathless, speechless. He’s shaking, looking up at The Salesman with terror mixed with wonderment. “W-What are you?”

“I have many names; don’t worry about that.” The Salesman rises to his feet with a pleased grin, grabbing a cigarette from his case and pressing it between his lips. “Now, then...” He starts while lighting it. “Do we have a deal?”

To be continued…