certainly liked his local Subway outlet.
'You must forgive the Spartan inhospitality,' he said, motioning to a U-shaped sofa. 'I dismissed all of my staff. I found them… unrecognizable.'
Thomas joined Sam opposite the ailing billionaire. There was something anti-climactic about the moment, as if the billionaire and his environment had fallen short of his expectations. Too many movies, no doubt. The whole world fell short now that CGI was waving the cinematic yardstick. Not even the super-rich could measure up.
'Drink?' Gyges asked. 'All I have is Scotch, I'm afraid.'
Sam waved no. Thomas asked for one on the rocks.
'So,' Gyges asked on his way to the bar, 'what questions could a friend of Mr Cassidy have for me?'
Thomas breathed deep. Given Sam's description in the car, he had decided to strike a conciliatory note, something that would set the man at ease. 'Many. But I thought you might have questions of your own.'
Gyges smiled bitterly. So it's therapy after all , his look said. 'And what might those be?'
Thomas shrugged. 'Why? For starters. Don't you want to know why he did this to you?'
The man turned back to the drinks. 'Oh, I know why.'
'You do?'
'But of course. I'm being punished.'
Thomas nodded carefully. For some reason he said, 'For your sins…'
'Yes. For my sins.'
'And what sins are those?'
Gyges gave the Scotch a curious swirl, as though soaking the ice cubes. 'Are you a priest?' he asked as he handed Thomas his drink. For the first time Thomas noticed how assiduously the man avoided looking at either of their faces.
'No,' Thomas replied.
'Then my sins have nothing to do with you.' He turned abruptly, not toward Sam, but in her general direction. His mannerisms were beginning to remind Thomas of a blind man. 'Psychologists,' he said, with easy contempt. 'They want all your sins to be symptoms, don't they?'
'I apologize, Mr Gyges,' Thomas said, setting down his drink. 'Would you prefer—'
'Professor Bible thinks Cassidy is making some kind of argument,' Sam ventured. 'We need your help, Mr Gyges.'
The billionaire finally looked her full in the face. His eyes reflected a peculiar horror. 'Argument? What kind of argument?'
Sam glanced at Thomas. 'That nothing has meaning,' she said. 'This might sound hard to believe, but Neil Cassidy believes that there's no such thing as… as…'
'People,' Thomas finished for her. 'He thinks that much of what we believe, things like purpose, meaning, right and wrong, are simply illusions generated by our brains.'
Gyges's eyes glistened with tears. 'Well he's certainly wrong there, isn't he?'
'Wrong where?' Thomas asked.
'About none of this having meaning.'
'I'm not sure I understand.'
'Of course not,' he snapped without explanation. He shook his head. 'Just what is it you want?'
Thomas and Sam exchanged a nervous glance. The man possessed a peculiar presence, something at once awesome and pathetic. Thomas thought he finally understood what Sam had said earlier regarding men who piss two paces back from the urinal. 'Did Neil say anything to you about a… about a premise ?'
'Neil?'
'I mean Cassidy. Did he?'
Gyges stood quietly for what seemed a long while.
'I want to say, yes,' Gyges finally said. 'But I really can't remember.'
'Are you sure?' Sam asked.
Gyges scowled. 'Do you know where my favorite place is, Agent Logan?'
Thomas put a hand on Sam's knee—whether to warn or to reassure her, he couldn't say.
'No,' she said. 'Where?'
'The subway,' the man replied with a pained smile. 'The fucking subway is where I feel the most at home. The most… normal. At first it was just a… a comfort, you know? But it's become far more. Far, far more. Now it feels like Christmas with dead relatives or something. Just sitting there, swaying with strangers.'
He turned to refill his tumbler. 'Pathetic, huh?' he called over his shoulder.
'Would it be better,' Thomas ventured, 'if we did this by phone?'
'Oh, now he humors me,' Gyges said to the vaulted
'You must forgive the Spartan inhospitality,' he said, motioning to a U-shaped sofa. 'I dismissed all of my staff. I found them… unrecognizable.'
Thomas joined Sam opposite the ailing billionaire. There was something anti-climactic about the moment, as if the billionaire and his environment had fallen short of his expectations. Too many movies, no doubt. The whole world fell short now that CGI was waving the cinematic yardstick. Not even the super-rich could measure up.
'Drink?' Gyges asked. 'All I have is Scotch, I'm afraid.'
Sam waved no. Thomas asked for one on the rocks.
'So,' Gyges asked on his way to the bar, 'what questions could a friend of Mr Cassidy have for me?'
Thomas breathed deep. Given Sam's description in the car, he had decided to strike a conciliatory note, something that would set the man at ease. 'Many. But I thought you might have questions of your own.'
Gyges smiled bitterly. So it's therapy after all , his look said. 'And what might those be?'
Thomas shrugged. 'Why? For starters. Don't you want to know why he did this to you?'
The man turned back to the drinks. 'Oh, I know why.'
'You do?'
'But of course. I'm being punished.'
Thomas nodded carefully. For some reason he said, 'For your sins…'
'Yes. For my sins.'
'And what sins are those?'
Gyges gave the Scotch a curious swirl, as though soaking the ice cubes. 'Are you a priest?' he asked as he handed Thomas his drink. For the first time Thomas noticed how assiduously the man avoided looking at either of their faces.
'No,' Thomas replied.
'Then my sins have nothing to do with you.' He turned abruptly, not toward Sam, but in her general direction. His mannerisms were beginning to remind Thomas of a blind man. 'Psychologists,' he said, with easy contempt. 'They want all your sins to be symptoms, don't they?'
'I apologize, Mr Gyges,' Thomas said, setting down his drink. 'Would you prefer—'
'Professor Bible thinks Cassidy is making some kind of argument,' Sam ventured. 'We need your help, Mr Gyges.'
The billionaire finally looked her full in the face. His eyes reflected a peculiar horror. 'Argument? What kind of argument?'
Sam glanced at Thomas. 'That nothing has meaning,' she said. 'This might sound hard to believe, but Neil Cassidy believes that there's no such thing as… as…'
'People,' Thomas finished for her. 'He thinks that much of what we believe, things like purpose, meaning, right and wrong, are simply illusions generated by our brains.'
Gyges's eyes glistened with tears. 'Well he's certainly wrong there, isn't he?'
'Wrong where?' Thomas asked.
'About none of this having meaning.'
'I'm not sure I understand.'
'Of course not,' he snapped without explanation. He shook his head. 'Just what is it you want?'
Thomas and Sam exchanged a nervous glance. The man possessed a peculiar presence, something at once awesome and pathetic. Thomas thought he finally understood what Sam had said earlier regarding men who piss two paces back from the urinal. 'Did Neil say anything to you about a… about a premise ?'
'Neil?'
'I mean Cassidy. Did he?'
Gyges stood quietly for what seemed a long while.
'I want to say, yes,' Gyges finally said. 'But I really can't remember.'
'Are you sure?' Sam asked.
Gyges scowled. 'Do you know where my favorite place is, Agent Logan?'
Thomas put a hand on Sam's knee—whether to warn or to reassure her, he couldn't say.
'No,' she said. 'Where?'
'The subway,' the man replied with a pained smile. 'The fucking subway is where I feel the most at home. The most… normal. At first it was just a… a comfort, you know? But it's become far more. Far, far more. Now it feels like Christmas with dead relatives or something. Just sitting there, swaying with strangers.'
He turned to refill his tumbler. 'Pathetic, huh?' he called over his shoulder.
'Would it be better,' Thomas ventured, 'if we did this by phone?'
'Oh, now he humors me,' Gyges said to the vaulted
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