Accidental God 4.0 -- Section 06

[This is fun. And writing it feels like a privilege. I think I'll do more.]

    I had gone the long way around and was waiting at the bus stop when an older man with a face like a baked, peeled sweet potato came and sat down next to me. He was wearing leather shoes, slacks, a tweed sports jacket with patches on the elbows, and his eyes peered out at me, dark and almost indistinguishable in his wrinkled, sunburnt face
    "You're Bradley Shupak," he said. "The newest god."
    I shook my head. "Not anymore. There's a newer guy, but I'm still number two. Do I know you?"
    The man smiled, an almost friendly smile. "Not likely. I'm not from around here and only flew in for work. I'm an entrepreneur."
    "What's your business?" I asked, glancing to see if the bus were on its way.
    "For now, Mr. Shupak, you are."
    That brought my head around. He was still smiling at me, almost friendly, but now it looked a little more 'almost' and a little less 'friendly.' "What do you mean?"
    He shifted on his part of the bench and got comfortable. "From what I understand, sir, you are considered a solid bet for the upcoming Divine Tourney."
    "Am I."
    "You are. I've never known much about gambling, but my employers have informed me that you are considered the favorite. In fact, there's quite a sum of money riding on your victory."
I considered standing up and leaving, feeling at the base of my spine that this conversation was starting a walk down a dark alley in a bad part of town--but one byproduct of immortality is that curiosity quickly starts to overcome any instincts a body has for self-preservation. I was sure I wasn't going to like whatever this red-faced man had to say...but I wanted to know what it would be. These are the feelings that train-wrecks make.
    "Do people bet on the Divine Tourneys?" I asked. "I guess it makes sense."
    "Absolutely, said the man. In fact, the competitions in Northern Lights are some of the more popular around the nation. They're even followed closely where I live."
    "Where's that?"
    "Not here."
    "Aha."
    We sat for a moment, and I checked for the bus out of reflex, then looked back at the man. He was sitting comfortably, like a bull settling into a field where he intends to remain for some time. In fact, he did look rather bullish. The tweed did a little to hide it, but as he adjusted his poster I could see the fabric stretch a little around arms that, on consideration, looked about as thick as my thighs.
    "Is there a reason you brought that up?" I asked.
    He nodded. "There is."
    "Are you going to share?"
    "My employers, in the interest of making themselves a modest but significant sum of money, had the idea of bribing you to lose."
    I pulled back. "I wouldn't do that!"
    "Do you mind if I ask why not?"
    "It's cheating."
    "How is it cheating to lose on purpose?" asked the man, squinting out through the cracks that held his eyes. "What if, for example, you were playing a friendly game with your sister. Tell me there are no circumstances you would learn on purpose--if, for example, she were having a bad day and you wanted to cheer her up. Is that cheating?"
    "That's different."
    "How? Isn't this simply a friendly game between the gods of the Eternal Rest? How could it possibly cheating to let a friend lose in a circumstance such as this."
    I had to think about that for a minute--I knew it was wrong, but I didn't have the exact words for it. I got it.
    "It became cheating the moment people started placing bets on the outcome. If it WERE just a game between friends, that would be one thing, but your employers have now made it a competition that people are counting on to be fair--to have our real effort as players. That's why it would be wrong."
    He pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. It was folded in half, but it only took me an instant to see that it was a check.
    "I don't want it."
    "Just look at it."
    "Still don't want it."
    "I'll open it for you, then."
    He did. I swallowed.
    "People are THAT certain that I'm going to win?"
    "There are some other competitors," said the man, still holding the check open in front of me, "but there are those out there who trust in your determination."
    I wasn't that determined, at least not that I knew, and that was quite a bit of money--but no. I wasn't going to take it. I took temptation by the ear and threw it right out in front of the oncoming bus. At least I would have, if the bus were anywhere close to arriving. Where was it? I had to get to practice with Tumble Dry. That moment was when I realized the money really wasn't a temptation. I was more worried about getting to my friend on time than I was about how much cash it was. Considering the state of my temple finances, that fact may have reflected negatively on my fiscal responsibility, but I decided not to care.
    "Put your check away," I said. "It's not worth that much to me, or any amount. I'm not throwing the match."
    He folded up the check and tucked it back into the inside pocket of his tweed jacket.     "That is exactly what I told my employers you would say."
    "Exactly?" I asked.
    "Pardon?"
    "You told them that I'd say, 'It's not worth that much to me, or any amount?' Those words exactly?"
    He blinked his narrow, dark eyes, which, in that red, wrinkled face, wasn't much of a movement at all. "I believe you're mocking me," he said.
    "What if I was? You just came here and insulted me by trying to bribe me to throw a sporting event. Excuse me if I'm a little upset about it."
    The man shrugged. "You can be offended, if you wish, but I'll remind you that I'm on your side. I told my employers that the money wouldn't interest you. You don't strike me as that kind of god. Take it as a compliment, Mr. Shupak."
    I closed one eye at him skeptically, then turned again to look for my bus. I wanted out of this conversation, but I wasn't going to run away, and my bus would have been the perfect excuse to depart in a courageous and manly manner. Except that it still wasn't there.
    "Now," continued the man, "we move on to the second part of our discussion. My employers didn't actually hire me for my skills in bribery."
    "That's good, because you're terrible at it."
    He shrugged, unconcerned. "I told them that as well, but when my employers are paying, I only sometimes correct their foolishness. The truly wealthy don't often like being told that they are wrong, and those who aspire to immense wealth like it even less. That, however, is beside the point. I was hired because I lead a very special team."
    "A team of bribers?"
    "No, sir. A team of hindrances."
    I blinked at him. "Come again?"
    "Ask yourself, Mr. Shupak, how do you threaten a god? With death? Useless. Torture? Perhaps temporarily effective, but ultimately very dangerous to the health of the torturer, and I take exceptional care of my health. One could threaten to ruin a god's reputation, but in the end, anyone divine can outlive and outlast all that. No, there are only two methods I have found effective in threatening the divine."
    My heart stopped and I felt the blood rush into my head, all at the same time. My vision narrowed, and all I could see was the man's red face down a tunnel of gray. "Don't threaten my family," I said through a jaw that was, to my surprise, clenched.
    The man was already waving his hands in the air. "No, no, of course not, Mr. Shupak. Threatening families is a bad business all around, though you are correct, that IS one of the two methods I was mentioning. It is, however, another method that I never use. A man must have standards, as you have so admirably demonstrated today, and that standard is one of mine. I may not be a good man, but as with almost all scoundrels, there are some depths I refuse to plumb. No, I will not threaten your family, Mr. Shupak. I give you my word."
    My heart was beating again, and the tunnel had cleared away in a static fuzz, but I was still shaking. "Is your word worth anything?" I asked.
    "Still so much anger, sir. I have told you that I am simply doing my job, haven't I? Please recall that I have your welfare very much at heart. It is critical to my employers that you do, in fact compete. If you don't play, there are no bets, and without the bets, no victory for those fortunate enough to rig the competition in their own favor. Trust me, sir, that I am very interested in your continued health and sporting prowess."
    "So if you won't hurt me, and you won't hurt my family, what can you possibly do to me?"
    He raised his eyebrows, and the cracks that held his eyes seemed to break open and widen. His eyes were dark within the wrinkles of his skin. "Aha. That, is the genius of my particular specialty. As I mentioned, I lead a team of hindrances. We will not injure you, Mr. Shupak, as it would be futile. We will not kill you or yours. We will not damage your temple, poison your goldfish, or even slander your reputation. Instead," and here, his eyes took on the same delight I've seen in little Erica's face when she is about ready to tear a page out of one of her mother's books, "we hinder you. Whatever you wish to do, we will make it awkward. Uncomfortable. Almost unbearable. We will be there wherever you turn, and inch by inch, moment by moment, we will frustrate and interfere until you have no choice but to give in to our demands." He leaned back into his chair and looked up into the sky, leaving me to stare at his profile. "Never so much that you strike back, but always enough to make your life a misery. A blow to the heart kills quickly, Mr. Shupak. We will kill you with ten-thousand paper-cuts."
    It is likely that most people have never been threatened with industrial-scale annoyance, and perhaps it was a reaction to the relief I felt after knowing he wasn't going to harm my family, but in spite of the slightly manic joy on his fact that reminded me of myself when I used to dress up as a mad scientist (don't ask), I still couldn't help myself: I laughed.
    The man took it in stride, hardly batting an eyelid. He simply waited patiently until I calmed down, then looked at his watch.
    "Where is your bus?" he asked.
    I blinked at him. He didn't mean what I thought he was implying, did he? I turned to check again, and around the corner came my bus, a solid fifteen minutes late.
    "You didn't," I said.
    "I have an excellent team," he said. "They are right on schedule."
    "On schedule? But you couldn't have known how long our conversation would take."
    The bus groaned and sighed to a stop in front of us, the doors opened, and out hopped a tall, smiling man who tipped his cap at the red faced man.
    "I'll head on to the next step then," he said.
    "Perfectly done, Mr. Twigs," said his boss. "Mr. Shupak and I had just finished."
    The tall man nodded and trotted off down the street.
    "I don't believe this," I said, standing. "I am not going to give in to threats of any kind, and I am not going to throw the match."
    "I wouldn't expect any less of your determined mind," said the man, looking at me with a mix of what looked like respect and pity. "But remember, when you've had enough, this check will still be waiting for you. You can consider it your consolation prize."
    I shook my head, turned away, and stepped toward the bus--then lurched, as something snagged my foot and almost sent me sprawling onto the concrete. I caught my balance and spun around to face the man.
    "That was juvenile!"
    "It's just part of my job, sir." He pulled his foot back and stood. "By the way, here is my card," he said, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and a card out of the wallet. "I look forward to our time together, Mr. Shupak."
    He left the card in my hand and walked away. I looked down at the print: Mr. Obscure Pike, it read, Professional Hindrance.