The Invisible Man or Regrets, I’ve had a few . . . .
Ron Pickett
“Escondido, CA. A ‘John Doe’s’ body was recovered from a
culvert on Tuesday. His body was thrown off the bridge. Identification is
pending.”
Walking was not easy any more, the pain in his left foot
caused him to cringe with every step, and the throbbing ache in his right knee
made him walk in a strange rolling motion. They would go away, they always had,
but now, nearing eighty it took longer to heal, the body was not as resilient
as in the past. But the brain was still there, still flashing from thought to
thought, it was where he found refuge when his body failed him, or slowed him
down.
He thought about a lot of things, the ferocity in the modern
world, and then he remembered that this was perhaps the least violent time
since humans emerged from the savannah. But now we see it as it happens – on a
large screen - in vibrant color – with high fidelity stereo sound. What would
the life of a medieval serf look like on a 55” screen? Maybe, he thought,
seeing such violence can soften us a little, unless it makes us numb to what we
are watching.
He thought about how his temper was shorter than it once
was, perhaps he knew he didn’t have enough time left to wait, to watch, while
people learned what he knew already. And he could only observe and try to keep
his frustration in check when he saw things happen that he knew would be the
result of actions he had cautioned against. He wondered about other old men;
was he now, the person he had been frustrated by in the past? Perhaps.
But in the quiet times he was haunted by waves of darkness
that came in from the corners of his mind. Times when he had used his stable, “average”
white man appearance as a cover to hide his actions. He could easily be lost in
a crowd, never seen, never remembered – he could expand like a cat being
attacked by a dog, or, when he wanted to he could seem to be much shorter than
his 6’1” frame, and he wanted to - often. He could put a completely bland look
on his face, he practiced in front of a mirror, and he had to hide his eyes,
his green overly bright and penetrating eyes. So, he wore sunglasses when he
could and he let his specs get dirty and fogged and he wore a prescription that
was much stronger than he really needed. Sometimes he even rubbed his eyes
intentionally to make them red and rummy and to cloud this view into his inner
self. The eyes are so telling and express things that are hard to disguise. Most
people try to enhance their eyes, not dull them down, but he had learned that
people would remember his eyes at times when they would not remember anything
else about him.
Strange he thought, he had never been in prison; he had
spent a few hours in police stations, being questioned about events that took
place where he had been seen. But none of them led to anything more, he simply
didn’t fit the image of a criminal and he was careful to seem bigger, or
stronger, or more imposing than the faint and blurry video out-takes. He knew
that with the new equipment, it was becoming much more difficult to take
advantage of his ability to modify his appearance from inside. He could only do
so much! Perhaps it was time to call it quits, but probably not for a while, he
enjoyed his “hobby” far too much, and there was one big score that he wanted to
pull off.
He thought, it’s hard to categorize who he was and what he
did, perhaps that was one of the reasons for his success. “Robin Hood,” as the
idea entered his mind, he laughed out loud. He thought about all of the
criminals, “bandits,” that wanted to be thought of as “Robin Hoods,” the only
poor people that they gave the proceeds of their crimes to was themselves! But
he supposed the idea made them feel better about what they had done. Then he
thought, “Steal from the rich! Laughable, the poor don’t have anything I want!”
At times he tried to put himself in a category. Con artist?
Okay, he liked the artist part of the term, but it really only covered a part
of his significant repertoire. Thief, sure, that was one of the things that he
did really well, but it hardly honored his unique skill, sense of style and his
passion for professionalism. Grifter was probably closest, although he didn’t
like the sleazy, carny feel that it carried with it. He actually thought of
himself as an entrepreneur; studying the market place and developing
“solutions.”
He wondered about the
dark side, why did he have these feelings of dread; anxiety in the late night
hours. When he was focused, he had no negative feelings about what he had done
at all. Still he wondered, why the unsettling undercurrent that nibbled at him
when he allowed it to. He thought about a couple of his capers, that’s an old
word he thought, now it usually means a small kind of onion savory thing with
the current emphasis on stylish cookery, but it used to mean an action or event
or an escapade. He smiled, recalling being so transparent, normal and
trustworthy that jewelry clerks would leave him with several trays of expensive
baubles while they went to the back room to get something special he asked for.
He could net a couple thousand dollars for a few minutes work and it would be
weeks before the loss was discovered. All he needed to do was recall which
stores he visited and not to go back for a year or so. But it was so easy that
he quit doing this scam after a while.
He seldom worked with anyone else; could never trust them to
keep their mouths shut. Occasionally he would use a friend as a distraction,
but usually they didn’t even know that they were involved. A ride to the
doctor’s office was a pretty good cover, and he had a built in alibi. What
could be better. He had learned early on that the second thing people did when
they got some money was to talk and brag about it – the first thing was to
spend too much money!
He’s learned quickly, each of his capers (he was beginning
to like the term) taught him something new and he looked hugely for those
tidbits. He went back over each time as a sort of debrief. What had gone well,
where had he made mistakes? How serious were the mistakes? What should he do
differently the next time? One of the things he learned early was that he had
to keep inventing new things to do, new ways of using his anonymity to disguise
what he was doing. But he knew that if he repeated the same thing over and over
he would get caught.
He looked for marks, people who he could scam. He was
surprised by his discovery that the smartest people were the easiest to take;
they assumed that they were smarter than he was and he found some easy ways to
make himself seem a lot denser than he was. Asking questions that had obvious
answers did two things, it made him seem both dumb and vulnerable and it made
himself seem like the mark and an easy one at that. As soon as he had someone
trying to help him, he was almost home free. He learned to look and sound
defenses and nonthreatening through his demeanor and voice.
One of the first scams he used was the “found wallet.” Make
sure someone else is watching and “find a wallet” on a sidewalk. Open it and
show the money inside then offer to split the cash with the other observer
after getting their agreement to post a bond. There are many variations using
fake money in the wallet, giving offering to keep only the credit cards,
calling the person who’s identification is in the wallet and offering to return
the wallet for a reward, etc. It’s been done so often and has so many
variations that it has gained a history all it’s own. He learned soon about the
incipient larceny of the average person on the street. Calling the owner was
one of the hardest variations to pull off; the observer would almost always
object and would say something like “Wait, wait, why should we give it back?
Finders- Keepers! And they are probably insured anyway.” He worked this for
years occasionally, never too often and never in the same area, although his
blandness made it really almost impossible for his marks to remember him.
“Average height, average hair, no distinguishing characteristic.” And that was
only for the ones who reported their loss, most were too embarrassed and never
did figure out what had happened to them. He also found that there was a range
of pot value – too big a wad of cash and the mark was overly cautious and
dubious, too little and it wasn’t worth their time.
He found that this worked even better as he got older,
people trusted him more and challenged him less. One of the few things he had found about
aging.
Sometimes he simply picked things up. Usually the items were
not very valuable, but they added up. Sometimes it was just an apple from a
fruit stand. He found that as long as he had a bag with something else in it,
he could easily slip things into the bag.
He noticed that there were some groups that took all of the
attention of store owners and employees. Young men, minorities, especially if
they were a little raucous and having a good time could create a vast empty
space for him to work. Lately, loud and angry groups of girls were beginning to
have the same effect. He could become a ghost easily when there were teenagers
about. Sometimes he even would tell a clerk that they better keep a close eye
on a group of teenagers, then he would ease away picking up anything he saw of
value. This technique gave him a “double blind;” the distraction of the unruly
group and the comradery of sharing the same concern with the staff.
For a while cell phones were really easy and valuable. He
learned quickly which ones were equipped with antitheft devices or apps and he
left them alone. Actually the way that he found out about this software was
when a large angry man knocked on his door with a demand that he give him back
his cell phone. He apologized and claimed he thought it was his own. He then
became indignant with the man, asked him if he had picked up his phone by
mistake and when he said that he didn’t he handed it back and the man left! He
thought about becoming indignant and telling the man to leave his property, but
a quick thought made him realize the man would be back in 20 minutes with a
cop! But the lesson was clear – new technology could track itself.
His life was as normal as his persona. He had a wife and two
kids, grown now, who helped him seem completely ordinary. He took the name John
Smith, it wasn’t the name he was born with that was Ivan Petrov. He got the
chance to change his name when he registered for Social Security. Even at the
age of 16, he recognized the value of being invisible. His job was simple and
provided a reasonable income, and it gave him both opportunities to be in the
right place at the right time, and to think about new ventures that he could
refine while doing his daily tasks. He only use part of his brain to do his
job.
All of the money he “earned” went into a special place, and
he tracked his treasure with some care. He was well into six figures now, and
his final plan was just beginning to emerge. He needed to do a couple of things
to finish his “second career.”
The decades of being hidden in plain sight had been a burden
on his mental health. He had increasingly wanted to be the center of attention,
the focus of interest. His final act would be something that would make him
famous; everyone would know who he was.
He had considered several things: running for office was one, but his
background would certainly come out, and he couldn’t stand a detailed scrutiny
of his past. He thought about a very large donation to a charity, but that was
fleeting and only a few people actually heard about such a donation. Certainly
he thought about a magnificent score, a really big take that would make the
front page of all of the newspapers and the 24 hour cable news networks. The
problem there was that unless he was identified with the crime, he would still
be in the shadows, the “invisible man.” He looked at other events in his
neighborhood; chili cook-offs, children focused activities, sports and similar
activities. But what could he do to really stand out and become known and
famous?
He noticed that there was a convention that was coming to
town. It was a national convention which was unusual for the small community
where he lived. But it was for a small group, Professional Clowns. As he found
out more about the convention, the possibilities intrigued him. Clowns were
enigmatic; funny, light, jovial, fanciful and at the same time terrifying and
dreadful. He liked clowns and had dressed as a clown in the past. It was one of
his personas that he found strangely relaxing and always put him at ease. He
played at birthday parties for a while, but the children got on his nerves so
he quit. He began to like the idea of using the convention as a way to make his
mark, to overcome his decades long insignificance.
The Clowns Convention would be like most conventions;
opening ceremonies, workshops, demonstrations, a dealers product display area,
awards banquet and specialty groups. The demonstrations were different from
most conventions since they exclusively used members. Clowning had moved far
from the days of “how many clowns can fit into the small car?” And the happy
circus clowns. There were video displays, computer games, and very athletic
events including dives from high platforms, somersaulting through burning
hoops, rodeo clowns and special effects using indoor pyrotechnics.
Clowning had made substantial strides from the 1940s when
clowns were innocuous and tame. Now
there was an entire group of clowns that used the dark side very effectively
and intentionally. Glow in the dark clothing and face paint had taken the field
into entirely new areas.
He was there for the opening ceremonies dressed as the
quintessential Emit Kelly “Tramp clown.” He counted twenty others that were
virtually indistinguishable. He wasn’t surprised. His time was spent checking
out all of the areas. He was impressed by the technology and he purchased a few
items, and he picked up a few items to add to the convention goody bag – he
simply couldn’t help himself!
Then he saw it; he was at the opening ceremonies and at the
side of the stage he saw the tower that led to a platform that would be used
for high dives. He studied it carefully and decided that it was perfect. He had
to do some preparation, a silk suit that he could fit inside the voluminous
sleeves of his “Tramp” suit ready for a quick change. He could ditch his
Charlie Chaplin shoes easily and he calculated he could make the switch in
under two minutes. His special suit was really “special,” it glowed in the
dark, had numerous lights and a special section that could hold a wide variety
of pyrotechnic devices. It also had fake wings that would make it seem that he
was flying when the lights came on. He loved it and had spent a lot of time in
development and testing over the last few years.
He also noticed that there was a platform about 18 feet off
the ground, a little less than half way to the top. That would be fine for his
purpose. His plan developed over the next two days of the conference. He walked
past the main stage at every opportunity he had and felt like he really knew
the set up the “set” as he began to think of it. He would slip back stage and
take off his “Tramp” outfit, take off his over large shoes, put on his new suit
and swiftly climb the stairs. He would stop at the half-way platform and get
the attention of the spotlight operator. Then he would set off a series of
flash bangs, and cascade the bag of $100 bills over the audience. He would then
take off his mask, tell them who he was and then make the announcement that the
cash was to go to the Hospitalized Children’s fund, the clown’s favorite
charity. He would say, “Turn in the cash and add a $100 of your own.”
Each time he thought through his plan, he would smile
broadly. No more would he be invisible, unknown, the bland and boring person he
had been all of his life. It was a brilliant plan!
The final day of the conference came and he was elated. He
smiled and chuckled to himself all day; some people actually noticed him and nodded
or waved or introduced themselves. He had hidden his bag of costumes behind the
curtains of the main stage. He was wearing his normal flat, boring clothing and
as had been his practice for years, he carried no identification. There were no
marks on this clothing, he did not have a wallet or a watch or any other item
that might identify who he was; it was a practice that he had learned the hard
way – once when he was taken into the police station for questioning.
The final ceremony was scheduled for late afternoon, and he
had taken a bus to get to the Conference Center. Most of the riders were in
costume- happy clowns, sad clowns, and the viscious clowns that had become
popular lately. His mind was busy going
over the plan in strict detail, the feeling of elation that overcame him was
unlike anything he had experienced before. It was like the feelings he got when
he pulled off a great scam, but it was better. The “scam high” always had a
little edge of darkness attached to it; someone had to pay for his gain – it
was a classical zero sum game.
The bus arrived at the front of the Conference Center and he
settled into the crowd that was getting off. As they got to the sidewalk, he
felt like the crowd was slowing him down, inhibiting his freedom and he had
always rebelled at that. So he moved out of the small knot of clowns. He ducked
under a rope and started across the street. The traffic pattern was changed,
they had decided to change the directions of traffic flow because of the large
crowds. He looked the wrong way and was struck by a bus that was accelerating
much too fast. His body arched through the air and into the drainage ditch. He
smiled as his body fell just far enough to be fatal.
