The Case

J, a dapper looking gentleman in a suit, and S, a bedraggled, smelly man in torn clothes, collide in an alleyway.

J: Do watch where you're going!

S: Oh! Apologies, apologies, forgiveness, good master, forgiveness. I can barely see straight, what with the clouds covered by the moon. Or is the moon covered by the clouds? Ah, does it matter? Apologies again, good sir. I'm not right in my head. Why, just last week I was sitting to myself and thinking about how daughters should marry their fathers, and fathers their daughters, and the sun should explode and burn us all away as we bury the sun! I'm not worth worrying about, truly I'm not. I'll let you get on your way.

J has been listening to all of this with an expression of increasing horror.

J: Say that again...sir. All of that about the clouds, and the moon, and -

S: Clouds cover moon, moon covers clouds, daughters marry fathers, fathers daughters, sun exploding, bury the sun. I'm pretty sure I covered it all. Was anything unclear to you? Should I repeat myself? I would really rather not repeat myself.

His manner and bearing gradually become regal until he stands upright and looks upon J contemptously.

J: Alright. Alright, you needn't make such a fuss about it.

S immediately hunches over, the bedraggled begger once more.

S: Right you are, sir, right you are. So, if that's all that there is, then, I suppose you'll be wanting to hand it over.

J: Just a minute, just a minute. I'm not sure I understand exactly what's going on here. I'm supposed to hand it over to...a fine gentleman...such as yourself? I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation...

He pats his briefcase.

J: This briefcase has passed through the hands of a council that sit on the highest reaches of power in this city. It has been held by men who could kill - or at least, have someone killed - at the blink of an eye. It has been poured over, delivered, transported and locked away by gentleman who could cause wars at a whim, could tear babies from their mothers, could choke the life from schoolchildren, could burn down hospitals and execute nuns -

S: Well they don't sound very much like gentleman to me.

J: Yes, well. Be that as it may, the point I am trying to make to you, sir, is that this briefcase has been in the hands of powerful, incredible men, and now I am expected to hand it over to a smelly peasant! It boggles the mind, it really does. It makes no sense! Why, I should just open it and be done, here and now. Better that then to put it into YOUR hands. You'd probably palm it off for a bottle of cheap hooch!

S: I wouldn't do that if I were you. You don't know where it's been.

J: Yes I do, I told you. In the hands of powerful people.

S: All the more reason not to open it. It's probably swarming with powerful germs. Why, every moment you hold it you could be contaminated! Quickly! Quickly! Power is contagious, and it doesn't come out of clothes! Hand it over for your own safety!

He makes a grab for the briefcase, but J fends him off. He falls back, whimpering.

J: Idiot. If you had any idea who you were laying hands on...

S: Idiot? I'M the idiot? Oh, very polite, yes, very nice. You're the one considering opening the damn thing. You know, there could be anything in there? There could be codes to a nuclear device - or a beacon to one right under our feet. You open that case and you could blow us all sky-high, wha-hey, nuclear holocaust at your fingertips! There's power for you. All of that capability, and what most people need to do is spend all their time stopping it from blowing up in your big ugly face. Of course, it could be a treasure map. Or a deadly neurotoxin. Or full of candy! Or booby-trapped. Did I mention the clouds covering the moon?

J: Yes, yes. And you're right...in a way. I don't dare open it. But to pass it on to you? I'm not so sure.

S: Why? What makes me so different from all of those fine, upstanding gentleman?

J: Well, you're wearing less clothes.

S: And clothes maketh the man?

J: Well, they certainly make him better to look at.

S: And yet he chokes nuns and starts wars. Why make him prettier to look at? Why not, say, smear him with dirt, or let him roll about in the street? That's more suited to his nature. You'll have to do better than that.

J: Well, I don't mean to offend -

S: Oh, you've gone and offended.

J: ...but you smell.

Mock horror from S

J: And you have a certain...unsavoury air to you. Almost...subhuman, really.

S: Subhuman? You wound me, sir. I am the essence of humanity. Do you require proof?

He fumbles with his fly. J averts his gaze.

J: That really won't be required, I'm sure.

S: Well, just so's you know. I'm just as much man as those gentleman you seem to love so much. Probably more, in some ways.

He grasps his crotch.

J: Be that as it may...

S: Look, I don't have all day. I gave the words. I gave them quite well, really. I've done the little monkey dance and I've sat through about as much of your posturing as I can take - and besides, this place isn't exactly secure, you know? I don't know how they do things in your ivory tower, but around here, lingering around looking suspicious is a good way to get knifed.

J: Are you threatening me? You know our instructions are to go unarmed.

S: Sure, sure. And I am. But do you think the locals got those instructions? So hurry it up, hand it over!

J: Just one more thing...

S: There's always something...

J: What do you get out of this? I'm going to go home and look in my bank account and there's going to be a lovely six-figure deposit in there for this. What on earth could you be recieving? I got the distinct impression you'll be taking care of this for longer than I will, and I know that means the reward is greater. What could you possibly be rewarded with?

S: Piss.

J: Piss?!

S: Piss. And perhaps a bag of horse shit for afters.

J: I do not appreciate being made sport of.

S: Sir, look at me. Do I look like I'm kidding? To each man according to his desire, from each man according to our demands. Isn't that the motto?

J: Nobody desires a bag of horse shit.

S: Sure they do. It's all a matter of perspective, people want shit all the time. You've eaten an egg, haven't you?

J: That's an entirely different situation!

S: Whatever helps you sleep at night. What are you going to spend your lovely six figure sum on? Whores? A new house? Caviar? It's all shit in the end. In fact, caviar's practically shit beforehand. I'm just a little more aware of how everything else ends up. I'm well acquainted with shit. You could say I'm the other end of the spectrum. All you fine gentleman, making your vaunted, important choices, starting your wars, buying your whores, dancing that political dance - well, what you've really got is a lot of shit. And I'm the king of shit. So, I suppose you could say I'm the most powerful of the lot!

J: Fascinating. Well, time is ticking on. I really must be off.

S: Off to take a shit, are you?

J: I really wish you'd leave that subject alone.

S: Why? Nobody can, you know. Everybody shits. Everybody eats and everybody shits. Even your powerful friends. Shitters, the lot of them!

J: Look, just take the damn case and be on your way.

S: What's the matter? Getting the shits? I'm not shitting you, you know. Oh well, best be off. The weather looks like it'll turn shitty soon.

J draws himself up.

J: I fervently hope we never meet again.

He exits.

S: And I, sir, fervently await the day that you shits get what's coming to you.