Seven Demons by Aidan Truhen (best motivational books for students TXT) 📕

la la la. Why do these people meet and eat? Because they are human and humans think that if you share food it makes a bond it is mammal shit evolutionary shit and it is bullshit but that is what they do. Oasis comfort zone. Every man’s L’Affable is his castle.

This ain’t no L’Affable.

Maître fusses over. Fuss and fuss and la and I stick out my hand. Heavy bill in there because that is how you achieve focus in a place like this. Maître takes it like his paw is a vacuum cleaner like SLURP and gone and now we are old friends.

“Hi I am Pierre-Paul Gondorf I am here to meet that gentleman over there here is my credit card this meal will be on me—”

And la la la please come this way sir. I am not Pierre-Paul Gondorf that is a made-up name: I am a criminal and that is how we do.

—

I sit at my table until the maître d’ brings me someone to talk to.

Mr. Client is a slim fella with deep eyes. I don’t mean he has bedroom eyes ooo la la and I don’t mean he has skull face like you see sometimes a perfectly ordinary person has skull face like a fucking reminder of mortality.

No this guy has eyes that spend way too much time seeing you. Most people, their eyes see you a little and then they skate. Eyes go someplace else then back then someplace else then back it is polite. Try not doing it sometime you will find it is hard and people start to edge away from you. But this guy: his eyes do not travel they just rest and sometimes he is looking at you and sometimes his eyes have not moved but he’s seeing something else. Like the guy has a multiplex in his head and you are only one of the screens and not the best one.

Mr. Client sits down (oof) and he says hi and I say hi and we drink sparkling water with ice. I say the fucking seats in this place and he says yes they are by Emmersen and she is overrated. I say I do not know Emmersen and he says I am very wise.

He takes lemon: two fingers and PLINK. Winces as the glass touches his lips. Mr. Client has lips like a baby’s all pure and pale and soft and that right there is what you call a tell because until this morning this guy had a mustache and maybe some bit of a beard but like a real fucking pretentious bit of face fur like you would have if you were real into your villain mojo. Right now the guy has a baby face and he is all tender. Fastidious that is the word he is fastidious to the point that it’s a thing with him.

Mojo, by the way, in parts of Spain is a tangy red pepper sauce made with bread but that is not the kind Mr. Client is into.

“Good day sir and what do I call you?”

“Mr. Price I feel I have been clear that I do not wish to be known to you.”

Got an accent but so does everyone. That just means he hasn’t got my accent but what accent it is I don’t know. In the modern world Henry Higgins is fucked. Guy with Dutch parents grows up in Dubai learns English from American movies and a French teacher who studied in Canada and BOOM where are you? You’re nowhere and don’t pretend. That does not matter I am respecting the guy’s boundaries I do not care where he comes from.

“Okay I’ll just carry on calling you Mr. Client is that okay?”

“Mr. Client will do fine.”

“Great. Have the ajiaco it is excellent.”

“I will order some for appearances but in fact I will not be eating, Mr. Price.”

“O well that is a relief the food here is terrible—”

“It is, but that is of the nature of such truck stops for the world’s elite, they pay for exclusivity not substance. In fact I recently had excellent ajiaco in its native setting. It was delicious but one cannot have it every day. It has an adverse effect on the body mass index.”

“Straight on the hips I guess.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“So I’m going to rob a bank for you Mr. Client.”

“Yes. If we can come to an agreement.”

“So what bank?”

“It is a very particular bank.”

“Okay.”

“It cannot be robbed.”

“Cool.”

“I wish you to rob it.”

“So you said.”

“It is the Kircheisen Festung.”

“Which branch?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Obviously there is only one of those and I am kidding, that is bank felony humor.”

“Oh. Is it.”

“Yep.”

“I will leave that part to you.”

“…Okay.”

“I am happy to say I possess physical plans for the Kircheisen Festung Mr. Price.”

“O you do?”

“Yes. They are—let us say they are probably accurate but not complete. They are four years old and you know what security people are. They tinker. They tinker endlessly and month by month like hoarder ants until their tunnels are thick with the wax of their obsession.”

“…That is a colorful way of putting it Mr. Client.”

“I had not noticed. I will provide you with the plans and I will pay you to provide me with specific items from within the vault. That payment will be substantial Mr. Price although I suspect you will find it is the ancillary aspects from which you derive the most profit.”

“And what is this item exactly Mr. Client?”

“Ten metal suitcases weighing approximately thirty-two kilograms each. Three hundred and twenty kilograms in total. For these cases and their contents unharmed I will give you three hundred million euros. But the rest of the vault—I do not care. And Mr. Price the contents will be delightful. All the secrets and treasures of the world. Nonetheless I would not have you concerned as to the profitability of the enterprise so I offer you a share in the value of my part of this. And I very specifically do not want anyone else to have those cases.”

“So the cases—”

“Are of uncertain value Mr. Price. In brute terms they approach a notional yield of