Three cheers for compassion

Three knocks at the door.  Mechanical, almost lifeless in pattern.

As soon as I opened it, I knew what this was about.  There is no other reason that he visits me.

“Hello….do you know what day it is?”   He stood there, an unimpressive fellow.  His belt was adorned with a gun and handcuffs positioned oddly– optimized not for function, but for visibility.

“Just a minute…I’ll get it,” I responded.

Back in the bedroom, I opened the safe and took out his sum.  It was not as much as I had ever given, but it was certainly the most that I had ever had taken.

As I walked back to the open door and his outstretched arm, I couldn’t help thinking….. “he has no idea what it took to produce this….nor does he care.  No clue the risks that were taken, and obviously no concern for the use that my expert hands and mind could have put it to.”

Behind him, I could barely see a man taking notes.  I squashed my thoughts and made a failing effort to produce a smile.  The last thing I need is for the Press to label me as greedy, angry or bitter.

“Here you go.”  I handed him the money and a folder of paperwork.

He didn’t take a second look.  ”We’ll review this and let you know if anything seems off.”   He turned to walk away, but paused.  Without looking back, he pointed to my shop and said “You’re going to need to upgrade a few things in there to meet the new standards set by the commission.  We’ll be back next week to investigate.”

I shut the door, defeated.

As I sat down at my desk to finish up my task-list for the following day, I could hear the crowd roaring.  I felt no inclination to investigate.

I knew what he was saying about me.

I could hear them chanting his name above the drumbeat of tin cups being filled with coins.

For the millionth time, I was tired.

For the first time, I put down my pen and went to bed.