There was a Spanish fellow I knew a few years ago in the Bronx — we’ll call him Georges — and he was a gang banger. He had a wife and many children with several women. He wore a bald head by choice and he was as wide as he was tall but muscles packed his small frame. He used to hang out in the building where we lived and he was always around and if the guards would ask him to leave, he’d just meander back — and that is the true definition of Evil — always there, always percolating, forever readying an attack in the guise of friendship and faked normalcy. Every time I saw Georges my stomach would twist.
There was something about him that proudly spoke “Pure Evil.” His eyes were Black Holes where no light escaped and all light disappeared. His tensed muscles were always ready to twitch to find a gun or create a fist. I have never known a man who so perfectly embodied black tar Evil so deeply within every essence of his body and spirit. I tried to avoid Georges. He always found me.
He loved me.
He thought I would be a perfect “money mule” for drug dealers because I could get paid $4,000.00 a day to hide $40,000.00 in cash in my living room closet. “No one would suspect you,” Georges told me, “because you’re White and you have a job.” He smiled and then whispered, “We can make a lot of money.”
When Evil directly propositions you it takes some cunning and some wile to refuse all offers without being obvious. If you turn down Evil flat, then you are not respecting the Armageddon-like destructive power of Evil and Evil sets against you to prove its strength. If you go along with Evil then you become ensnared by Evil and a slave to its every desire. Evil is best defeated, I learned, by becoming a nodding pillow: You nod your head you understand what is being said without ever agreeing or disagreeing with anything and then you become a quiet place where whispering Evil falls and then, you hope, smothers in its own darkness.
That plan of attack worked with Georges as he told me stories of killings with 9mm Glocks aimed at arteries; and shaving the head off a man with a broken, 20-pound, shard of glass taken from a one-inch thick shattered store window pane; and beating a betraying brother with chains wrapped in, and then swung from within, gunny sacks. Who knows if all those stories were true or not?
The truth of the tales didn’t matter because the reality of the Evil from which those stories fell was real and tangible and submitted as direct evidence in the world. A more noble man might have taken Evil head-on by snuffing out its smirking, glimmering, wick — but sometimes the path of Righteousness is to neither feed nor starve an Evil that only lives to be disturbed so it may gain a brighter flame in an ever-darkening world.