Photo by Daniel on Unsplash

Tucker fiddled with a loose button on his ill-fitting waistcoat. Gazing up at the towering ramparts of the Beverly Jordan Mansion, a chill jolted his spine in unceremonious ways. Growing up, his parents would always drive by this behemoth of a house on their way to drop him off at Dillinger Elementary School. He always played a game as a kid trying to imagine what vast riches lay within the estate’s many rooms. Now, it seemed he was about to find out, and instead of feeling excitement all he could feel was dread. 

He felt a hand slide into his. He turned and was greeted by the dashing smile of his lovely wife, Gemma. Two blonde curls framed her face and her magnificent azure eyes lit up the night. She had worked hard to secure him an invitation to the Midnight Society. They had only just this year qualified for admittance, but even then, membership wasn’t guaranteed. You had to know people. You had to schmooze, wine, and dine. Thankfully, Gemma’s father was able to make a significant donation to the Society’s treasury that made the whole process a bit smoother, and Tucker’s banner year at the law firm didn’t hurt as well. The Board had taken an interest, and it was Tucker’s responsibility not to mess it up. 

As the couple ascended the marble stairs to the entrance of the estate, they were greeted by a servant passing out masks. Gemma, fittingly enough, was given a mask in the shape of a hawk, while Tucker received one in the shape of a raccoon. Tucker thought about quibbling with the servant for a different animal, but the line to enter was long, and being agreeable was part of the deal when it came to membership. The Midnight Society frowned upon asking too many questions or causing too much of a ruckus.

“I’ll be right back,” Gemma whispered as they entered the mansion’s magnificent foyer, “I’m going to see if Daddy made it here yet.” 

Tucker admired his wife as she disappeared into the crowd in a lovely blue silk dress. He wondered frequently how he had been so lucky to land someone like her. Glancing around the room, he noticed two large staircases that ascended to the second and third floors. Certain areas were also roped off, but before he could consider why a kangaroo-masked servant ushered him and dozens of other guests into one of many dining halls adjacent to the foyer. 

A magnificent crystal chandelier graced the center of the room, hanging above an illustrious banquet splayed out across a series of several tables. Masked servants stood at the ready, to serve guests any food imaginable. Tucker got in line, and before long had a plate filled to the brim with chicken cutlets, fine cheese, olives, smoked salmon, and stuffed mushrooms. He was in the habit of skipping lunch most days, opting to always get ahead on the endless stream of work required at the corporate-powered law firm where he worked. Those unions weren’t going to bust themselves, and many clients pay big money to those who can ensure that they do. If he played his cards right, he would be promoted at the end of the fiscal year.

Tucker made his way to a corner of the room to get a little bit of air and dig into his mountain of food. Halfway through a piece of basil salmon, he noticed a familiar figure across the room. A tall balding man sporting a monkey mask with a jawline that could cut steel approached him. 

“Hey Tom,” Tucker said, his voice smooth as butter.

“Tuck! How’s it going, bud? Congrats by the way. Are you excited?” Tom said, his lips forming a sly smile that belied a bit of envy. Tucker smiled back.

“Yes, I am!”

“Hey not everyone has a Father-in-law who can donate several million dollars on their behalf,” Tom said, pelting Tucker in the side with a friendly elbow. 

“Well, in another five years, I’m sure they’ll take pity on you and let you in,” Tucker shot back. 

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Tom said, his head darting back and forth, scanning the crowd for familiar faces. He spotted a slender, brown-haired woman, clad in a bear mask, make her way towards him.

“Autumn, dear,” Tom said, planting a kiss on her cheek, “How are the kids?”

“They’re fine, love. Both are asleep according to the sitter. I’m not worried. She seems like the good sort,” Autumn said, flashing Tom a dazzling smile.

“She better be,” Tom said, his nostrils flaring wide, “Or her Dad is going to get an earful.” Autumn rolled her eyes and then turned to Tucker, offering a slight nod.

“Tucker.”

“Autumn.”

“You excited?” she said, an eyebrow raised that indicated no matter what answer she was about to receive she would question the veracity of it.

“Of course,” Tucker said, mustering all the resolve he could. 

“Good. I’m told this year’s class is particularly robust,” Autumn said, giving Tucker another once-over to see if he looked up to snuff. She then noticed a Senator amongst the crowd. Locking arms with Tom, she dragged them both to chat up the noted politician. 

Tucker hoped he was far enough away to not attract much attention. He needed a bit of a breather, so he snuck to the edge of the Beverly Jordan property along a tree line that ostensibly was the threshold into the Carmen Nature Reserve, but in reality, was a hunting ground for anyone able to write a big enough check. He pulled out a camel light from his breast pocket and lit it up. Taking the smoke into his lungs, he held it there for a moment before letting it waft up into the night sky. From his vantage point, he could see much of the exterior area of the Beverly Jordan estate. Clumps of masked guests mingled here and there, punctured by the gurgle of laughter, drunken debauchery, and scheming.

He wondered where Gemma had gone off to and if she had found her father. He wasn’t too worried. He had been the plus one to many a shindig like this, resorting to eating food in the corner or getting obscenely drunk on a dance floor while Gemma schmoozed whatever important asshole she needed to schmooze. He took another drag, before flicking the butt of the cigarette into the darkness. 

“Excuse me.” Tucker turned to see a woman wearing an otter mask looking at him. 

“Yes?” he said.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but you don’t happen to have a light?” she said, in a charming British accent. Tucker produced a small silver zippo and handed it to her. The woman lit a Marlboro and looked at Tucker for a moment. Her lips curled into a slight smirk. 

“You must be one of the new recruits.”

“How’d you know?” Tucker responded. 

“You just have that look.”

“Oh, and what look is that?”

“Terror,” she said, full-on smiling now, “Oh, I’m kidding. It’s not as bad as everyone makes it sound.”

“Fair point,” Tucker said, punctuating his response by lighting himself up another cigarette.

“The name’s Bel,” the woman said, holding out her hand. 

“Tucker,” Tucker said, bowing low and planting a soft kiss on the back of her hand.

“That was pretty good,” Bel said, “I can tell you’ve been practicing.”

“Oh yeah, my wife wouldn’t let me leave the house until I’d nailed the whole routine,” Tucker said. They both chuckled, turning back to the Beverly Estate grounds. 

“How many of these people do you know?” Tucker asked.

“Oh none of them. They’re all here to see my husband. He’s a ‘titan of industry’ as they say. You might’ve heard of him. Everyone mostly ignores me. I’m the trophy wife,” she said with a shrug and just a dash of sarcasm.

“Yeah, I can relate.” 

“So what is it you do, Mr. New Recruit!” Bel asked. 

“Oh, I’m a lawyer. Corporate schlock mostly,” Tucker said.

“Ah, noble work!” Bel responded. 

“And you?” 

“I run my husband’s foundation. Right now, our focus is on solving homelessness, promoting voting rights, curing malaria, and rooting out corruption,” Bel said.

“Wow, that’s quite the collection of causes,” Tucker said, cracking the slightest smile. 

“Yeah, we mostly due what aligns with whatever pet issue the politician my husband is courting is into at any given moment.”

“Real noble work!” Tucker said, raising his glass of wine in a toast.

“Ah, exactly,” Bel said, scanning the grounds once more, “Well, Mr. New Recr—Tucker. I see my husband over there, which means I must leave you now. I appreciate the cigarette and the conversation. Enjoy the ceremony.” She pulls out a card, writes something on it, and then hands it to Tucker. 

“Yeah, of course. I’ll see you around,” Tucker responded, taking the card and offering a small nod, as Bel makes her way to a lumbering man who looks like he is going to rip the suit he’s wearing due to how tight it is. To Tucker’s surprise, the man waved at him, offering him a wink. Tucker looked down at the card in his hand. In scarlet lettering, it read: “The Ike Foundation” with some contact info for their offices below it. Scribbled in the corner is a note that said, “I would like to see you again. Call this number if you’re interested.” 

“There you are, honey.” Tucker turned to see Gemma, a few feet away.

“Hey,” Tucker said.

“I’ve been looking for you. The ceremony is about to start. How are you doing? I see you trying to hide out here,” she said, coming in close. Tucker puts his arm around his wife. 

“Oh, just for a moment. I also think a couple of swingers just propositioned me,” Tucker said. Gemma puts her hand over her mouth in disbelief.

“You’re kidding,” she said, “Was it Tony and his wife? Well, who can blame them?” Tucker handed her the card. 

“The Ikes. Yeah, that makes sense,” Gemma said, “Well, take it as a compliment.”

“Yeah, right? I should be honored.”

Gemma smiles, clearly amused by Tucker’s sheepishness. 

“Well come on! We have to get you in position for the ceremony. And also stop by the restroom for some cologne. You smell like a dive bar.”

All the guests had been ushered inside to a great ballroom towards the back of the estate. Chandeliers dotted the ceiling of this room while a few dozen wooden tables, encircling a raised stage in the center of the room, offered seating to anyone in need of a break from mingling. Like water finding its way in between rocks, guests darted in and out of tables coldly calculating which table they were “accidentally” going to brush by next after going to the restroom or retrieving another cocktail from the bar. A gong broke the din bringing in several hushes and a prolonged silence. Everyone sauntered back to their assigned seats as the networking portion of the evening had clearly finished. Dinner had begun. 

Like clockwork dozens of butlers bearing large plates with a variety of meats, greens, and garnishes flitted in and out of each table delivering whatever meal choice each guest had checked on their invitation. A salt-and-pepper-haired muskrat-masked man in a slick suit made his way to the stage, tapping the mic a few times to get everyone’s attention. 

“My honored guests, most of you know me already, but for any newcomers we have here tonight, my name is Farenzi T. Jordan. I am the Chairman and CEO of the Midnight Society, and I am delighted to see you all tonight. Please call me Frank by the way! That’s what everyone calls me, and it brings me such joy that you all have come here to participate in this special evening with us. As you all know the Midnight’s Society’s important work would not be possible without generous socialites like yourselves coming together to support what we do. If you need a hint, this is the part of the night where I ask you all to get out your checkbooks,” Frank said, pausing as the crowd laughs, “We really rely on people like you to ensure that our important work continues and that the way of life all of us hold so dear remains unabated. So I encourage you, as the waiters come around with a collection plate, to donate as much as possible. You will not regret it.” 

Frank paused again as waiters brought several gold collection plates around to each table. He surveyed the gathered crowd with the air of a general examining the fitness of his troops. He knew the dance that was done every year. He invited all these people here to get them drunk, show them a spectacle, and donate heavily to the cause. They played their part and he would play his. 

“Now, I won’t trouble you all much longer. The reason we’re all here is to celebrate the incoming class of members. Believe me, folks, when I tell you that this group represents some of our country’s finest. I mean it. I’ve met them, and they are ready to make a difference. I know each and every one of them. They will work tirelessly to further the Midnight’s Society’s mission,” Frank said, mustering as much gusto as he could, “So, finally, without further ado I give you this year’s class of incoming members.” 

The audience cheered, whooping and hollering as a dozen masked men took to the stage, all donning their various animal masks and illustrious black and gold capes, emblazoned with the Midnight Society’s iconic moon logo. Like a choir lined up before their conductor, Frank guided each member in an intricate dance with the beat of his hands gesticulating wildly in the air. With each flick of his wrist, one of the masked figures would perform a pirouette and then a slight twitch of his finger would direct another into exercising a guttural howl. The masked figures gracefully undulated between the tables, covering the area of the vast ballroom. Several more mimed as if they were caught in a cage, and then as if they were a large bird, and then as if they were climbing a cliff. After several minutes, the group found its way back on stage, and with a final flourish of Frank’s hands, the members struck their final pose. The audience clapped furiously, with several tables giving standing ovations.

Gemma watched, her lips pursed, sipping a half-filled glass of eau-de-vie. She had spotted Tucker towards the back of the group of recruits. They both spent weeks working on his part of the routine. Gemma had drilled him over and over again. She loved Tucker, but he wouldn’t have made it half has far without her. She would never tell him that, of course, but even now, she couldn’t help feeling proud of how far he’d come in a few short months. He played his part well. She turned and smiled at her father, Angus, who was seated next to her, hoping he had gotten the hint that his son-in-law wasn’t a complete dunce. It had taken a lot of pleading to get him to do what was necessary to get Tucker in. At the sorting ceremony, it had been collectively decided that Tucker would fit best on Appropriations. Angus would get his plant to ensure his generosity wasn’t being wasted, and Gemma would get another foot in the door. Even after intense lobbying, the board refused to accept a resolution to allow women to become members. Most of them seemed offended at even entertaining the prospect, citing a centuries-long history of proper training intensely focused on rearing up the male sex in the proper way, an educational regiment that had produced great men from the likes of Thomas Jefferson to Milton Friedman. 

As the applause died down, Frank motioned to a servant at the periphery of the room. Several large doors opened at the west end of the ballroom. In walked a line of seven women flanked by additional servants. These women, were all ostensibly dressed for the occasion but as Gemma examined them, she noticed each woman wore a dress that looked ill-fitting. Their hair was a bit frazzled, with loose strands going every which way. Around their necks, each wore a sign that said the word “supplicant” in deep black lettering. She knew this must be the caerimonia, the rite of passage for every member of the Midnight Society and a closely guarded secret by the board. Each year it changed, but the message was always the same. The seven supplicants formed a circle around Frank. From the other side of the room, two doors opened to reveal a servant carrying an item under a cloth. The servant hurried up to Frank and handed him the object. With a flourish, Frank revealed the object to be a gold goblet, inlaid with black stones. He raised it up, mouthing a variety of words. The room grew silent.

“Gathered guests, incoming members, I give you our seven supplicants. Each one has petitioned the Midnight Society for aid, and because of the enormous generosity on display here tonight, we have seen fit to grant their requests. Each one suffers from a severe challenge in life; be it illness, crushing debt, grave run-ins with the law, crippling addiction, or unwanted defilement, they need our help. They were right to come to us in their time of need, but as you know, aid does not come without a cost,” Frank said, his arms outstretched.

He then nodded to a nearby trio of servants who proceed to grab one of the supplicants. One servant grabbed her wrist, forcing it out towards Frank, while the other two restrain her in place. Frank positioned the goblet below the supplicant’s wrist. With a flick, the servant holding her there produced a thin knife and sliced her wrist. The supplicant winced as a stream of blood dripped into the goblet. Frank nodded, and the supplicant’s wrist is quickly taken away through a side door. 

“Sacrifice. That’s what the world requires, and that is what the Midnight Society requires. A partnership such as this demands it.” Frank repeated this process six more times, each one punctured by a wince and a drip and then silence. Once all the supplicants had been taken away, he raised the goblet up high and then brought it to his lips, taking a sip. With another flick of his wrist, all the incoming members line up in front of him. In succession, they kneel one by one, Frank brings the goblet to their lips, and they take a sip. After the last one partakes, they all file out of the room. 

The crowd cheers. The sound is deafening.

Willard looked like he might shed a tear. Tucker couldn’t help but give his business partner a subtle smirk. Willard would be heading the law firm they had built together. Deep down Tucker knew his life’s work would be in good or at least capable hands, but the moment still was bittersweet. Tucker marveled at Willard’s office. Somehow, he had managed to score the better one with a view of downtown that could melt any prospective client’s heart. 

“Don’t worry. I plan on knocking out that wall to make my office even bigger,” Willard said, sporting a mischievous grin, clearly back to his more easygoing corporate-shark persona.  

“You deserve it, man,” Tucker said, “I will surely miss this place.”

“Yeah, well, hey congrats to you!” Willard shot back, both men eager to steer the conversation back to less emotional grounds, “Really, I mean it. Getting into the Midnight Society is a solid achievement. And I know this isn’t goodbye. We will definitely be in touch over the next few months.”

“Absolutely. I already made some inroads with two potential committee members that could help smooth the Mitgers Steel merger.”

“Great, that’s what I like to hear!”

“Oh, and Tony Ike said he was real interested in our work,” Tucker said, relishing in the audible gasp Willard made in response to this revelation.

“Ike? Seriously? That could be huge. What’d you do to swing him? Ambush him at the buffet line before the ceremony” Willard responded, his eyebrow raised ever so slightly. 

Tucker laughed. “Nah, I shared a smoke with his wife. The rest? Well, ya know.”

“And there’s that Tucker charm. I’m sure she didn’t stand a chance.”

Tucker nodded, a hint of melancholy finally setting in. “This place. They got me on appropri—“

Willard raised his hands in protest. “You know we can’t officially have any knowledge of what goes on over there, right? Things get dicey.”

“Yeah, got it. Of course,” Tucker said, composing himself, “you’ll go easy on me in the press release, though, right?”

“Oh yeah, we’ll say it’s family issues. Nothing serious. In six months’ time, we’ll grab a drink and go from there. In a year, we’ll see about getting you on the board,” Willard said, loosening his tie just a bit. 

“Yeah, that—uhh, that sounds good,” Tucker said, his eyes moving to a framed portrait of the two men in a hole in the wall just starting out. Willard turned, following his gaze.

“Ah yes, the hole-in-the-wall,” Willard said.

“You remember that place? The horrible smell?” Tucker asked.

“How could I forget? I think that’s why we did so well that first year. We were anxious to move as soon as possible.”

Both men laughed, followed by a brief moment of silence marking the end of an era.  

“Well, that should just about do it. And we worked out a nice severance package too to tide you over. I hear they can be a little bit stingy over there, especially with new members.”

The two men stood up and shook hands one last time. As Tucker turned to leave, Willard stopped him. 

“Hey, Tucker?”

“Yes?”

“What was it like?”

Tucker looked at him, sensing again that the corporate shark had softened just a bit. Tucker put one hand on his hip and ran the other through his hair. 

“Wild, man. It was wild.”

“Yeah, I can imagine,” Willard responded, taking a seat back at his desk.

“Goodbye, Willard.”

Tucker closed the door behind him. As he hit the elevator button for the lobby, Tucker heard another voice behind him. 

“Hey Tucker, you leaving man?”

Tucker turned to see Jeremy, Willard’s assistant sitting dutifully at his deck. Tucker tried his best to put on a somewhat dejected frown. “Yeah man, I’m done.”

“Well, take care. It was fun working with you.”

Tucker didn’t answer, offering a slight nod instead as the elevator doors opened. Moments later, he was gone. 

Hey everyone,

I hope you all are doing great. Thanks as always to everyone who has subscribed so far, and if you haven’t already, you can do so easily below.

Cheers,

Robert