Puff, Puff, Pass

Posted on Thu May 9th, 2024 @ 5:36pm by Dr. Winston Sinclair

1,821 words; about a 9 minute read

Mission: Summer's Fading Light
Location: Elena Flores' House, Sedona
Timeline: Sunday, 8/14/16

Schmoozing, boozing, and spending time with the most self important people in the town wasn’t Winston’s idea of a rewarding Sunday evening. Yet there he stood in the backyard of Sedona’s City Manager talking with the most boring man he’d had the misfortune of standing with for a long time. It had been a busy morning, as it was every Sunday, with his hour-long drive to Dewey for Mass. Then he’d returned to RR for a nap and a bit of relaxation. He’d arrived at the City Manager’s get together as the sun was setting, and part of him was already regretting it.

“Oh yes, really?” Winston asked, his eyebrows raising but his mind a thousand years away.

“Yes, but eventually we caught it.” The man responded dryly before pressing on with his monotone story. Winston had no idea what he was talking about, and hadn’t been listneed for the last five minutes. He reached into his coal-colored suit jacket and pulled out a long, dark cigar and a lighter. Quickly popping it into his mouth and starting to light it, the boring man looked at him as if he had grown a second nose. “Those things give you cancer, you know.”

“Not to worry, young man. One must die sometime. It’s best it be for a reason one loves.” Winston said, puffing the cigar shamelessly and allowing his eyes to wander behind his glasses. The backyard was full of several-dozen more interesting people than him, and the Doctor was looking for an escape.

“How did you say you got in here again?” the man asked, his tone skeptical.

“I didn’t say. But the truth is I hopped the fence. This old man still has hops, even after all these years.” Winston answered with a smile, then placed the cigar back in his mouth. “I think what you meant to ask was: what is the occasion for me, an old black man who smokes tobacco in public, to be invited to this esteemed gathering.”

“Um, yeah, well.” the man stammered, immediately shamed by the brazenness of the older man’s response.

“Don’t worry, young man. Things are getting better every day. I am actually a Doctor of Psychology and I have the pleasure of serving as the Headmaster of the Red Rock Academy for the Gifted here in beautiful Sedona.” Winston responded, leaning against the wooden support post which held up.

The man looked at him with quiet interest, but it was plainly written on his face that he didn't approve of the institution. He shifted his weight uneasily, moving his lanky body from one leg to the other.

“Isn’t that the school for mutants out in the middle of nowhere?”

“The very one.” Winston said, blowing smoke directly into the man’s face. When he started coughing and waving it away with his hands, Winston smiled brightly. “Somehow, I imagine you would be less judgemental if it as marijuana I was smoking. I know what the kids get into out here in the mountains. The devils lettuce, and many other evils. But this here is tobacco; as old as America and as harmless to the soul as it is to the body.”

“Is that your medical opinion?” the man asked, coughing again.

“That’s my opinion as a sensible man.” Winston responded, and then sighed loudly. “I was invited because the City Manager sits on my Board of Governors. This crazy old man has a way of getting around. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to mingle a bit more.”

Without waiting for any confirmation that the man would excuse him, Winston pushed off from the wouldn’t support post, and began to navigate through the crowd, his cigar still firmly clinched between his teeth. As he moved, he made a mental note to find the city manager, and expressed his gratitude for the invitation, while suddenly hinting at his desire to leave soon. With any luck, he thought, he could slip away unnoticed, and salvage the remainder of his Sunday evening with a good book at home.

He walked up to the bar and leaned his portly frame against the stool in front of him. Once he saw that he had the attention of the young man behind the bar, he ordered a scotch whiskey. As he retreated several seconds later with his cigar in one hand and his glass in the other, he felt a subtle itching in his mind. It was a normal feeling that, for him, was often accompanied by the familiar taste of guilt and shame. He looked around the lighted area, scanning for the potential source of this feeling. He knew it wasn’t coming from him.

At first, his gaze rested on a young blonde woman who was standing with her friends. She wore an elegant and tasteful blue dress, and smiled. He could sense the sin on her as easily as he could smell her perfume, but this wasn’t the particular odor that caught his mind's attention. He continued his search.

Next, he came upon an older man, seasoned, but still his Junior by at least a decade, leaning against another wooden post and glaring down at his phone. It was only when he looked up and made eye with Winston, that he realized he had been staring and was caught in the act.

“What?” The man asked, looking salty and disagreeable.

“Nothing, I was..” Winston said, then stammered and moved away awkwardly.

Brushing off that uncomfortable exchange, Winston moved on to the other side of the patio. You could tell he was getting closer as the feeling, and the associated aroma kept getting stronger. When it was almost overpowering, he found that he was standing in front of a handsome and fit man in his 30s who was standing in a circle, and talking with men of his age range wearing similar suits. They spoke in hushed tones as if they didn’t want to be heard.

Winston lingered there on the margins of the group, both out of their hearing range and out of their notice, puffing on his cigar and drinking the excellent scotch. He waited patiently, occupying himself with his eyes, but all the while taking a chance and reaching out into the man’s mind with his own.

The memory associated with the man’s powerful guilt was almost too hot to be in; he felt every bit of the fear and anxiety it brought on. He saw the man’s hands as if they were his changing financial records on a computer screen. At first he had no earthly idea where the sim was in the act, but then he suddenly realized what the man had been doing.

He retreated from the man’s mind and felt the intense feelings he had inherited dissipate like the heat of oppressive warmth under an air conditioner. He approached the group, his eyes directed at the man, and nudged his way into their circle.

“Gentlemen, please let me and Mr. Cole speak in private for a moment.” He said, his booming voice sounding quite convincing. The other men, all high status and quite willing to disobey this random man on a normal day, found that an unknown force was tugging at their mind with an overwhelming curiosity about who else might be at this party. They each gave their awkward excuses and agreed to depart until only Winston and the guilty man stood there. Winston puffed his cigar and looked at the man dryly.

“You need to unburden yourself. And now is as good a time as any.” He said, his silky tones making the statement musical.

“What are you talking about, man?” Cole asked, incredulous and avoidant. “Do I know you?”

“No. But I know you. I know that you’re a senior accountant for the city and I know what you’ve been doing with your little rounding error. I can see it in your heart.”

Cole shifted uncomfortably, his eyes blinking rapidly with nervousness as Winston stared him down.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, no. Don’t lie. You’ll only make it worse.” Said Winston, shaking his head slowly. “It’s over really. You’ve been caught. Now, if you handle it now, at least you can say you did the right thing in the end, right?”

Cole sighed, the stress of the moment obviously making an impact on him. He lowered his gaze to the ground, his mind racing. Whether he was looking for excuses or he was really considering Winston’s words was unknowable, but the older man had the opportunity to reach out with his mind and impress upon the City Manager a curiosity about his conversation with her accountant. Within seconds, an incredibly beautiful woman with long brown hair, a green blouse, and white pants stopped next to him.

“Dr. Sinclair!” She said, putting her arm around him and hugging him with a smile on her face. “I’m happy you could make it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it, Elena.” Winston responded, putting the hand he held his glass in around her waist for a brief moment.

“Well, I know how seriously you take your Sundays, and appreciate you sacrificing your time to be here.” Elena said with a sweet tone. She looked at Cole with the same smile, light and friendly. “Mr. Cramer, how are you doing this evening?”

Cole Cramer hadn’t quite come back from his vegetative state until Elena had said his name. He blinked quickly and looked up at her, his expression full of sadness and a quiet consideration. He looked at the strange old man who had approached him and sparked this crisis of conscience, and as soon as their eyes locked, he felt a swell of courage had been sorely needing. When he turned back to Elena, he stammered a bit and then spoke clearly.

“Not..not so well, Mrs. Flores. You see, for the last seven months, I’ve been using my position to siphon money into my private bank accounts.” he said with a frown, pausing as he watched his boss’ face change. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. It just started with some personal financial issues and then, after I solved those…I couldn’t stop.”

Winston bowed out before Elena even gave her response, patting her on the back and stepping away. There was a time to get involved and a time to mind his own business, and he felt that time had arrived. After puffing on his cigar once more, he placed it on an ashtray, sat glass down on a table next to it, and made for the exit like a bat out of hell. Solitude would be the perfect remedy after a stuffy big-wig party.

 

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