We all sat and Hanrikson immediately brought out the first course, a small but wondrous salad. Richardson and Geller began table service, refilling drinks and taking requests as needed.
The second course was the soup, French onion (my favorite), and at that time I started the usual business of the meeting.
“As per our custom there will be no reading of the minutes of the previous meeting,” I intoned.
“No Secretary, no minutes,” shot back Nelson under his breath. There were some scattered giggles, despite the age of the joke.
“Right you are my good man,” I shot back. “On to new business. Any new sponsored memberships?”
“I had someone I thought was a good potential candidate,” said Myers in that sultry voice of hers. “Not my husband mind you, but a neighbor of ours.” This brought more chuckles.
“So what is the holdup?” asked Dupont, swilling his third cup of wine.
“I don’t think he can meet the requirements of Commandment Nine. Otherwise I’m certain he could qualify.”
“Please continue to try,” said Geller, pouring wine for Flagel.
That brought some nods around the table. More often than not, there were at least two Commandments that a potential candidate would not be able to satisfy. The obvious one of course, and at least one of the coveting ones. To find someone who would only fail to satisfy one of our requirements was actually quite rare these days. We pursue people like that.
When the third course was served, a bread and pate dish (with cheese for Dupont) I asked for new business.
Flagel, behind a mouthful of food, said, “I hear that you finally got your promotion Wyatt.”
I must have beamed. “You hear correctly my friend,” I replied. “I am the new Controller at our firm.”
There was applause and even a “huzzah” from Dupont.
“About damned time old bean,” Flagel said. “You’ve been passed over, what, six times before now?”
I nodded and raised my glass. “Here’s to hoping I can find a better apartment in the near future.” Like I said, I’m the poor one. My promotion would bring my salary to $75K per year. Last year Dupont made $503 Million. I did his taxes.
The others raised their glasses and toasted as well.
Fourth course was the steak, fish and tofu. Mine was blood-rare, as requested, smothered in onions and mushrooms, with a hint of garlic and a nice wine sauce to one side. I had just put bite number three into my mouth when our unexpected visitor came in.
Understand that while our gatherings are private we don’t post guards. We’re technically in a restaurant although we’ve booked it for the night and sent the staff away. So it’s actually fairly easy to disturb our meetings. We do that by design.
The young man was dressed completely in black, with a mask and gloves included in his outfit. Blue eyes behind white lids stood out like a Hell’s Angel at the Vatican. A respectable-sized revolver was in his right hand.
“This is a robbery!” he announced, waving the weapon at us. “Kindly put your wallets and purses on the floor behind your seats and remain in those seats until I leave. If you follow these instructions no one will be hurt.”
No one moved for a moment.
“Now!” he yelled.
I stood. “Young man, welcome to The 10 Commandments Club.”
Even behind the mask I could tell he was a little dumbstruck. “What?” was all he got out.
“Welcome to The 10 Commandments Club,” I repeated. “I am Mr. Wyatt, the host for this evening’s meeting. And you are…?”
“You don’t need to know that! Give me your money and I’ll be on my way!”
Dupont actually chuckled.
“What’s so goddamned funny?” our guest demanded.
“Boy did you pick the wrong club,” Dupont said. At that moment Hanrikson came through the kitchen door, saw what was happening, and proceeded to ignore it. He took his seat at the table.
“I presume you would want me to stay?” he asked the thief.
“Richardson, please make certain that the restaurant front doors are closed, would you please?” I instructed. Richardson turned to do as I asked.
“Don’t move!” the young man yelled.
“I presume you would like some privacy to conduct your business, yes?” I said to the thief. “So would we. I assure you, Mr. Richardson isn’t going anywhere. I presume you want his money as well.”
By the time I had finished my little speech, Richardson had already returned. Both he and Geller took their seats at the end of the table.
“You’re The Gentlemen’s Club Bandit, are you not?” asked Hanrikson. When the thief didn’t reply he continued, “I thought so. We meet here once a month and rent out the entire restraint, so we must be an easy mark. We are, after all, The 10 Commandments Club.”
“Logical,” chimed in Dupont.
“Less talking and more cooperating!” The thief yelled. He was waving the gun nervously now.
“Oh please,” Dupont went on. “If you were going to shoot you would have done so by now.”
I tried to head off any confrontation. “Would you join us?” I asked. “You’ll find the food is quite excellent and the wine quite good.”
Now the thief looked at me. “Shut up nigger!” he shouted.
I’ve long past the time in my life where those types of things get to me. I am the only black member of the club now, but that means nothing here. During the mid 1800’s we had a swelling of membership that had nearly 180 of our 250 members (the largest number of members ever – that was 1863) being people of color. But not everyone knows that such juvenile insults don’t get a rise out of me anymore.
Dupont however has a temper. “No one uses words like that here,” he growled. “Every single person at this table is an equal.”
The thief snorted. “An equal. I’ll bet your family owned some of his family back in the day.”
“Possibly,” Dupont nodded. “It doesn’t matter before God.”
“We are all equals from that point of view,” said Myers. “You will notice that Mr. Wyatt is at the head of the table this evening.”
“Shut up bitch!” the thief yelled.
Okay, that one got me a bit steamed.
“That’s two,” noted Dupont.
“And as for you,” the thief stalked over to the table to put his face very close to Dupont’s, “empty your wallet in the next two seconds or you will find out whether or not I have the nerve to shoot your rich ass.”
“And that’s three,” replied Dupont. With his right hand Dupont reached for the young man’s own right hand – the one with the gun. With his left he picked up his fork. He brought the man’s gun hand down to the table and then stabbed it with the fork in his left hand. The young man’s hand spasmed and dropped the gun, which Dupont brushed away. He then grabbed the fork with his powerful right hand and slammed it to the table. The young man’s hand was pinned down now.
He screamed.
Hanrikson got up and returned to the kitchen, while the rest of us resumed eating. Only Dupont paid any attention to the young man, holding the fork in place.
“Rudeness will get you nowhere in life young man,” Dupont nodded. “Ruthlessness can, but rudeness never will.” Dupont looked up at me. “You are the host tonight. It’s your call.”
I nodded, swallowing another bite of my steak, a bit colder than I would have liked. My decision was made.
The young man must have gotten over some of the pain. It’s certainly possible. “Who the hell are you people?”
I stood. “We are The 10 Commandments Club,” I replied.
“How can a bunch of bible-thumpers this to me?” He was starting to whimper.
“Oh!” I nodded. “We’re not some bible study group or a church group.” Hanrikson had returned from the kitchen now, with his best carving knife. He knows how I think. I took it and walked over to our guest.
“The people you see here tonight are relaxed because nothing that ever happens here or is spoken here leaves the room.” I tested the heft of the knife and the sharpness of the blade. Hanrikson used fine equipment. “You see we call ourselves The 10 Commandments Club because every last one of us has BROKEN all 10 Commandments.”
I drew the knife across the young man’s neck, severing many arteries and veins. “We’re not servants of the Devil but we all going to hell.” I smiled at the dying man. “See you there.”
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