The Alphabet Man by Mike Bozart - HTML preview

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The Alphabet Man by Mike Bozart (Agent 33) | June 2019

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Alphabet Man

by Mike Bozart

© 2019 Mike Bozart 

 

“Rochester, New York, man – not Rochester, Minnesota,” the mid-40-ish, athletically thin, short, light-brown-haired, green-eyed Caucasian American man barked from a well-worn, swivel-type office chair. “Now, do I look like I came from the Mayo Clinic?” Mayonnaise balm for cranial sutures? Why’d I think of that? Need to start writing this stuff down. Maybe I could get something published like that lucky dog Paul did. Something in my new alphabet. / Este hombre se ve demacrado. [Spanish for ‘This man appears gaunt.’]

“You look like you need a drink, my friend,” the nearly bald, portly, 50-ish Bolivian American retorted. ¿Es él anoréxico? [Spanish for ‘Is he anorexic?’]

“You’re always thinking about cerveza fría, [Spanish for ‘cold beer’] Jorge.” A beer or three sure would be nice tonight.

Jorge chuckled. “It’s very good in this hot weather, Bill.” [It was already 95º Fahrenheit (35º Celsius) at 2:02 PM in Bismarck, North Dakota on Saturday, July 14, 2018; it would hit 99º Fahrenheit (37.22º Celsius) at precisely 4:44:44.]

“Well, after that event is over in Steamboat Park, I might join you for a drink. So, how did the parking situation look at last check, mi amigo bromeando?” [Spanish for ‘my joker-friend’]

“Ah, you’re learning some Spanish, boss. You dating Latina caliente?” [Spanish slang for ‘sexy Hispanic woman’]

“Ha-ha. Now, wouldn’t you like to know?” Eh, sí – él es. [Spanish for ‘Ah, yes – he is.’]

“Bill, where is your hometown of Rochester in the state of New York? Is it near Buffalo?” Ah, he must have seen my Bills cap. But, everyone has a map app nowadays on their phone. Sort of an odd question.

“No, but it’s in the Upstate, too, though not as far west as Buffalo. It’s on the Genesee River – on the southern shore of Lake Ontario.” Genesee beer. Maybe pick up a six-pack later. Wonder if Tesoro [a nearby convenience store] still stocks it. Hope so.

“Oh, near Syracuse,” Jorge ventured while eyeing a framed photograph of a waterfall with a nighttime city skyline just behind it. [High Falls in Rochester, NY]

“No, not really near Syracuse, either. Syracuse is 87 miles [140 km] to the east,” Bill explained, wondering why Jorge was in-a-sudden-flash curious about old Kodakville. [sic]

“Got ya, boss. Well, I’ll be going now. I’ll text you if I see any cars on the grass.” ‘Oh, I’m sure you will, Jorge.’ He’s so lax; he’ll probably pretend not to see the illegally parked vehicles.

“Oh, just go ahead and ticket them, Jorge. There are plenty of No Parking signs in that area. They have no excuse.”

“Well, remember last time, boss: all those appeals, claiming that all the parking spaces were full.” So what!

“Yeah, I remember that, Jorge. But, they were just too damn lazy to walk a few extra yards. [meters] I denied all of them.” He denied all of them? Wow!

“No wonder you’re so unpopular in this town, boss.” Jorge was rapidly consumed by a mighty guffaw. Ol’ Jorge sure is in a jovial way today. Wonder what good fortune landed in his lap.

“Ok, get the hell out of here, sabelotodo,” [Spanish for ‘smart ass’] Bill demanded with faux anger. And then smirked.

Jorge gave him a mock salute as he began to exit the modest office, and Bill just smiled and gave him a ‘just go now’ gesture with his right hand. El jefe realmente quiere que me vaya. Él está haciendo algo. Puedo decir. [Spanish for ‘The boss really wants me to go. He is up to something. I can tell.’]

Once Jorge was out of the old, four-story, concrete-panel building on East Rosser Avenue, Bill retrieved some marked-on sheets of gridded paper. There were a series of narrow columns with what seemed to be randomly placed azure-blue squares divided by bold, black, vertical lines, all of which were five blocks tall by one block wide. Upon closer examination, each column-character represented a letter of the English alphabet. Could I read this alphabet better if I were high? No, don’t even think about sparking up any weed. Can’t afford to lose this gig.

A lone fly suddenly whizzed by and alighted on the small, triple-pane, single-sash, engineered-for-the-ultra-frigid-Northern-Plains-winters window. Before Bill could take a whack at it with his red-striped, dollar-store swatter, it flew off to somewhere unseen. [behind a file cabinet that had a massive car-wheel boot setting on top] Where did that little germ-carrying insect go? The fly knows that I’m hunting it. Or, does it? One organism out to get the simpler one. Maybe humans appear as simple as that fly to some astral entities. Oh, what the hell am I thinking? Need to get back to work on these mailings.

Bill then looked down at his newly created alphabet.

He mused while scraping a mass of dead skin off his receeding-hairline forehead. Yes, I’ve finally got all of the letters taken care of. There were just enough unique combinations for all twenty-six. I should now write my first phrase using this columnar alphabet. Wonder if I could learn to read it … quickly? … effortlessly? Maybe write a whole story in it. Would the reading experience be noticeably different? I bet so. Would it flow better? Would it trigger dormant synapses? Would it dump out the dopamine? Ha! Hmmm … A story about why I left Rochester. Yeah, that’s it. And, Jorge could be the first to read – or attempt to read – it. Or, I could e-mail a copy of it to Paul for his review. Though, it’s probably too experimental – way too far out for his liking. Well, we’ll see. Hmmm … A story is pretty ambitious. Maybe I should just stick with a paragraph. Or, maybe just a single sentence. Come up with something witty. Something with some zen to it. Would be nice if it were profound. Let’s see … Hmmm … Facebook constantly asks: ‘What’s on your mind?’ What if it gets to a point where they already know? That’s probably the next breaktrough. And ultimate takeover. They already know their users’ behavior and proclivities. Yeah, should go with something along those lines. While I’m pondering it, I’ll just shoot Paul an e-mail.

 

Hi Paul,

How are the book sales going, you novel novelist, you?

Oh, guess what – I invented a new alphabet. Yeah, you could say it was a slow day at the office. Ha-ha. Anyway, let me know what you think.

Regards to the missus.

- Bill

 

Bill attached his alphabet key and hit Send. Seventeen minutes and seventeen seconds later, he noticed Paul’s reply on his flat-screen computer monitor.

 

Hi-ya Bill!

It’s great to hear from you. Hope you are well in the Dakotas.

Sales are soft as they say, but I have an ad blitz coming up, so maybe the numbers pick up next month. Still a long ways from being able to quit the day job, but maybe someday in the not-too-distant future. Fingers crossed.

Hey, I like your modular alphabet. Very cool. How did you come up with that? Smoking those elf ears again? Just kidding, pal.

I played around with your new ‘letter system’ and came up with 32 possible permutations for your totem-pole alphabet. There are five ways to shade only one square, ten ways to shade two squares, ten ways to shade three squares, and five ways to shade four squares. And of course, one way to shade all five and one way to leave all five blank. Thus, you can create some extra letters. Maybe add some consonant blends, like Sh and Ch. Doesn’t Spanish have a Ch letter? Hey, are you still dating the Hispanic lady?

Well, all the best. Gotta run …

Paul

Bill contemplated Paul’s reply. He’s right; there are 32 total ways to arrange those shaded/non-shaded squares. Missed six. My mind’s not as sharp as it once was. Getting duller by the day. Need to go forward with this new alphabet very soon. Maybe the younger crowd will think it is hip, and run with it. ‘Promulgate like a profligate!’ Or, maybe just as delusional as ever. Probably the latter.

Then his cell phone chirped: a text from Jorge.

No cars are on the grass, boss, but there is one in the Missouri River. Maybe the guy was drunk. Someone said that he was from Minot. You know how that lot likes to drink. Anyway, they plucked him out just before he drowned. Ambulance just left. Going to lunch now.

Bill mused as the solitary fly zipped across his face. Why, that audacious, translucent-winged bastard! This means war!

But before Bill could get his swatter, his desk phone rang.

“Hello, this is Bill Brauwen. How can I help you?”

<click> The caller hung up.

Bill rubbed his chin. Probably just a wrong number. Don’t think anyone in that Rochester [NY] gang knows where I am. Or, does someone? Would they really hunt me down over $654? It’s not worth the drive – not worth the gas money. But, I did humiliate their kingpin with my ruse. I bet he’s still pissed from the embarrassment. Jorge knew of that gang. Is he now informing el honcho? [Spanish for ‘the boss’ or ‘the big shot’] Why does a South American settle in Bismarck? Kind of suspicious.

Ah, so Manny the Minot maniac decided to take a swim. You know, Jorge, I did leave something in Rochester, but it wasn’t my heart. Enjoy your lunch hour. No rush. All quiet here.

Then Bill pressed Send. That should get his mental gears grinding. Can almost see the steam coming out of his nostrils.

Five minutes later a one-word text arrived from Jorge.

Thanks.

As Bill looked at his alphabet, he pondered Jorge’s brevity. Seems he’s gone from irresistibly inquisitive to indolently insipid. No questioning about what I left in Rochester. Maybe he thinks I’m onto him. Shouldn’t have sent that allusive text. Dumb move. It will be interesting when he returns. Will he be a coy boy?

There was a quick rap-knock on Bill’s wooden, peephole-less door. Too soon for Jorge to be back. Maybe someone wanting to pay their fine.

Then an envelope shot through the brass mail slot. It landed on the hardwood floor facedown. Probably from a building tenant. Another ‘special’ offer.

Bill walked over and picked up the white, nondescript, standard-size envelope. The only words on it were his full name: William James Brauwen, Jr. He slowly opened the envelope. The single sheet of logarithmic graph paper had characters from his new alphabet.

It only took him eleven seconds to decipher the two-word message. He ran to the door and swung it open. But, there was no one in the maroon-carpeted corridor.

Then a perturbed Bill heard his desk phone ringing.