Trust Me

by Paul Slatter

  Clive nodded, it was fine. As he shook his head slightly looking up, his face conveying the upset he felt inside, he said, “Yes, thank you, Sebastian was good like that, he thought of everything. I’m sorry, I was coming up on the bridge a few second before he jumped and, trust me… I just wish I could have been there.”

  Without a word in response, Samuel carried on, “Sebastian, as you know, had a wish for you to become mayor of this city and after his passing he still wishes this to be the case. Basically, it will be yourself or anyone else should you not wish to continue in this venture. If you are, you will be paid $250,000 a year while you are campaigning and while you are mayor. He has also allocated a substantial sum of money for campaign funding for what would be the first, as well as subsequent campaigns, and has already secured the same campaign advisory team as the recently elected U.S. President. So, to me the prospect looks hopeful, you would be, though, legally obliged to ensure certain requirements are met during your administration.”

  He turned to Mazzi Hegan, “Mr. Hegan, you retain your shares to the company Slave gifted to you by Sebastian and he hopes you continue to bring your incredible talent to the company and as a gift to you for everything you have done and as an incentive to stay, he has passed on to you his penthouse apartment and also the Ferrari I know you love and has doubled your shares in Slave to 20% of the company. As for the company Slave, Sebastian has asked that Gill Banton be brought in to run the company and I will be negotiating this transition should she be interested. If not, I have other names listed.”

  Mazzi Hegan was still not with it. He’d heard the news about Sebastian and gone out on a bender as soon as he’d stopped crying and ended up singing karaoke over in Deep Cove and woke up that morning with a girl who looked like a guy and liked to swing both ways. Gill Banton though, that fucking bitch coming in with her sexy shoes and ass could be fun. If he didn’t like things, he could stage a coup or just sell up and fuck off back to Sweden, after all, he thought, thanks to Sebastian and now owning 20% of a company worth around four hundred million, he was now a rich man.

  “Mrs. Tricia Treedle, Sebastian has asked that you be told that he thoroughly enjoyed the pasta meal you made him when you asked him over for a meal recently. He said you have a beautiful home and that, although the house is old, that is what it is—a home. He has, though, expressed a wish for your son Daniel, since he is contracted to Slave, to have a bigger room and since Mr. Hegan now is the owner of Sebastian’s penthouse, he has passed on to Dan the apartment in which Mazzi Hegan now resides. He also has given you the option of buying any house you would like to purchase on the lower mainland should you wish to, which he will be paying the property taxes for both residences or any other residence you wish to reside in thereafter.

  “Mr. String has also expressed a wish that Daniel is to find his feet in the world and has allocated university funds for this, plus an allowance. He has also released Daniel from his contract from Slave on full pay should he wish. If Daniel should decide to leave Slave, however, then he will no longer have use of the Ferrari.”

  Fuck me, Dan thought, as he looked at his mother who had started to cry again. This was not good; in fact, it was fucking inconvenient, now he was going to have to clean out his room; and if he was going to be staying at Hegan’s place, who was going to keep the fridge stocked up with cheese and shit? It certainly wouldn’t be his mum, she’d be getting herself some big fuck-you place over in West Van or somewhere out of the way, and when that happened, how the fuck was he going to get his laundry done, as well as all the other crap? Sebastian should have thought about this shit before he went giving stuff away willy nilly. It was bullshit! Mazzi Hegan’s place did have nice showers though, and that big wardrobe which was large enough to rent out to one of those hot refugees he’d seen on TV if he wanted. There was one question though which had been bothering him from the start, and so far it had not been addressed by anyone. He put up his hand

  “Yes Daniel?”

  “Do I still have the open account with Pizza Hut?”

  “Yes Daniel.”

  “Does this mean I still have to answer to this guy?” asked Dan as he thumbed his left hand in the direction of Chendrill.

  “If you stay in your contract with Slave, yes”’

  “What if he punches me out again?”

  “Then it’ll be whoever I allocate.”

  “You?”

  “Maybe me—yes.”

  And just as Dan was going to ask if this was the case—whether Samuel was going to start hanging around the house and banging his mother—Samuel shut him down, saying, “And lastly this brings me to Charles Chendrill. Charles, Sebastian has left money in trust to cover any expenses arising from everything we have discussed. He has also left you his majority stake in Slave Media and Renfrew Media. He has also asked that all the money from his personal bank account be transferred into yours, which is a sum of just over two hundred and seventy-five million dollars U.S. He has also mentioned that he does not want you or anyone here to be burdened with tax issues arising from his requests and any taxes owed will be coming from the trust account.”

  And with that Samuel Gadot, the lawyer who as a young boy lived amongst the horrors of Krakow, looked at the piece of shit lawyer who wished he was more and closed the file.

  “Thank you,” he said in conclusion.

  Chendrill sat still for a moment, thinking as he watched the room move and stir, then he put up his hand as Dan had and asked, “One thing Mr. Gadot, I’d like to ask, when were these papers all drawn up and signed?”

  And without hesitation. Samuel said, “The evening before yesterday.”

  It was as Chendrill had thought—Sebastian had left him after coming back from the studio and had this weasel of a lawyer over and drawn up the papers. With the requests Sebastian had been making to Chendrill in the back of Belinda’s limo, it all made sense now. Looking to Sebastian’s friend and the ambulance chasing lawyer, he said, “So, when Sebastian was drawing up these papers in this manner, did it not occur to you that maybe the man had some sort of intention of hurting himself?”

  “Oh,” said Samuel, “from looking at the way the papers have been drawn up and the fact that he wanted the show shut down and for Clive’s election campaign to start immediately, I would have had no doubts.” And before Chendrill could carry on, he said, “But I did not draw up the legal documents—they were drawn up by Mr. Rensberg and delivered to my office yesterday afternoon.”

  Chendrill stared at the man who knew Sebastian’s game plan and decided to not say a word. He said, “You fucking knew, and you did nothing?”

  “I was not aware of Mr. String’s direct intentions, no.”

  Chendrill asked, “How much did he pay you?”

  And before Callum Rensberg could answer, Samuel answered for him, "I looked into that myself, and it seems Mr. Rensberg was paid a sum of $50,000 for his services. $10,000 up front and the rest to be settled should his client Sebastian meet with an unfortunate accident.”

  Chendrill stood and felt like throwing his chair at the man standing there with his bald head and fancy tie. He said, “$10,000 for your legal work and another 40 in hush money.”

  “Well it’s not like that, Mr. Chendrill,” Callum Rensberg said in a slow voice that whined and grated as he spoke. “We in the legal profession have a responsibility in keeping confidentiality when it comes to our client’s personal lives,” he said.

  “Fuck you and your legal bullshit,” said Chendrill, who saw the whole thing as nothing less than assisted suicide. He carried on saying, “You knew exactly what was going down and chose to allow the man to end his life, but I’m fucking telling you now, I will do everything in my power to make you regret for the rest of your life ever deciding that forty fucking grand was worth more to you than my friend.”

  Then he heard Samuel say, “Mr. Chendrill, don’t worry. I have already decided that I will be personally putting the entire efforts of my firm into bringi
ng ethics and perhaps criminal charges against Mr. Rensberg for malpractice and gross neglect.”

  And from the tone in his voice and knowing the reputations both men had, Mr. Callum Rensberg, the lawyer who’d once had dog shit forced into his mouth by the ex-husband of a client in a divorce case he was handling, left the room.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chendrill sat outside in the Aston and stared at the walls of the building he now owned. On the top right-hand corner was the window to Sebastian’s office. He was now a rich man, but he would have given it all back for the man to have called him up and asked him up to the office to chat about nothing. In his eyes, the world had just lost something special.

  So, it was as simple as this, he thought, when Alan, the love of the Sebastian’s life, was on his death bed, Sebastian had asked him if he wanted him to join him the moment their little dog died, and the dying man, being the selfish prick he was, had said yes. And with Sebastian loving the man as he had, and being a man of his word, that was that. Winding down the clock, playing with business and getting more and more wealthy, Sebastian had waited for the dog to die. Fuck me, what a stupid waste, he thought as he started the engine and pulled away. He was a rich man, but he didn’t feel it. Maybe it just hadn’t sunk in yet. Feeling the steering wheel spin though his hands as he turned, he thought back to what Sebastian had said the last time he'd seen him as they had travelled back from the studio. ‘Look after Suzy won't you, Chuck, you promise me please?’

  He had promised and he hadn’t had his fingers crossed, the way Sebastian should have had as he’d sat crying at the side of his lover’s bed and prayed that the monitors would reverse. Or as Chendrill had when he'd been a kid and his mother had made him promise to do his chores or clean his teeth, or to a girl years before when he'd been a player and he'd promised he'd call or not come on her tits.

  Sebastian was dead and nothing was going to change this. It was his choice and it was his life, and life went on. Nonetheless it was still bullshit. He turned the car onto Pacific Boulevard and headed past the stadiums towards the East Side. Five minutes later, he pulled up along the road to the home Sebastian had bought for Suzy and her fucked up family to live in. The place was looking good now with its new front bay window and boxes still in the yard. The woman with the colostomy bag and the sob story would be at work now at the school at the end of the road. He put the car into drive and cruised past the house towards the school. As much as he didn’t want to bother her, the woman deserved to know her friend had died—if that’s what she was.

  Pulling into the school car park, he got out and walked into the school’s foyer through its double front door, looked at the trophy cabinet that was wanting and stopped at the reception. He smiled at the lady behind the desk who glanced up from her computer and looked as though whatever Chendrill had to say was going to be the biggest inconvenience she’d ever endured. Thinking inside that the woman was a bitch and wondering how many kids over the years had dealt with her and hated her, Chendrill said, “I’ve a personal message for Suzy Black. If you are able to call her then I’ll be grateful.”

  “She’s not here—she’s off sick.”

  “May I ask when she went sick?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m her brother.”

  “If you were her brother you’d know.”

  “Not necessarily, when did you last call a family member?”

  It was a good point, thought the woman who had a stash of cookies she’d hidden in a box in the bottom drawer of her desk, which was slowly making her ass fat. She hadn’t called in a while; in fact, it had been almost three months. She said, “…She called in yesterday morning.”

  “Are my nephews here?”

  “Barely,” the woman muttered under her breath, and then not caring, said out loud, “For another couple of years—if they make it.”

  Chendrill drove back to the house and this time he parked outside. He got out and walked back towards the garden gate. Someone was in—he could hear a shitty Rock Mason action movie playing and could hear the man’s voice calling out over machine guns and grenades. It had to be the loser husband who’d taken a short flying lesson a couple of days back. Then the movie went quiet but not off as he saw a shadow at the door and a cab pull around the corner.

  Chendrill moved around the corner into the alley at the side and waited as the cab pulled up. The door opened and then closed. Then he heard the clicking of high heels, the cab door opened and closed again, then pulled away with Suzy in the back.

  Chendrill walked quickly back to the Aston and caught up with the cab two blocks up, waiting for the chance to pull out onto Hastings and head back into town. He followed it west along Hastings Street, the place changing every block as they came closer to Main Street. Junkies at the side of the road were shouting with their tops off in piss-stained trousers, women with no teeth amongst them all selling their mouths for a score, junk was all around in doorways, shopping trolleys once filled with food now filled with debris pulled from dumpsters and would have been pushed for miles. Dealers on street corners standing there trying to blend in, each with their own patch of ground, selling a ticket out for an hour or sometimes forever.

  The cab took a right on Main and stopped outside the strip club.

  Here we go, Chendrill thought as he parked up along the road and watched the door. An hour later more people had gone in for the lunchtime show, some had left and headed back down into town on foot or by cab, but none of them had long blonde hair and tight jeans.

  He got out, crossed the road and went inside, found a seat in the corner and sat down. He looked at the stage in the centre where he’d found the loan shark and Dan drunk that time before and remembered the kid banging his hand down on the side of the stage.

  He ordered a beer from the waitress and watched the girl with the nice legs prance about the stage, slowly taking her clothes off. Then as the daylight came through the front door as it opened and closed again, he saw the Italian come in and take a seat in a booth at the side. Chendrill watched as the man waited for a moment then ordered a beer himself. A minute later Suzy was there dressed like an overaged school girl coming down from up the stairs next to the rear exit. She walked through the bar, sat down next to the loan shark and kissed him on the lips.

  They stayed together as the dancer on the stage slowly got naked, twisted and turned until she was down on a silk blanket spread across the stage on her front and back giving slight glimpses of her snatch to men who stared at it as though they had just seen gold.

  Another dancer appeared as the music slowed and the DJ revved up the afternoon crowd who were not listening as the girl, still prancing, wrapped herself up in the silk blanket and left the stage. The DJ called out now to ‘Give it up ladies and gentlemen for the amazing Lucyyyy!’ But there were no ladies or gentlemen there in any sense of the word—in the evenings perhaps, sometimes, ladies on a night out with friends, out for a laugh and something different or the odd couple having fun and looking to get horny so as they can carry it over to the bedroom when they got home. But not that afternoon—just lap dancers and strippers, sad fucks, an Italian loan shark, and Chendrill.

  Lucy got up on the stage and wondered why the men were not looking at her as they had the other girl as she spun around the pole in her tight leather skirt that did little to disguise the fact she was bigger than the last girl. The guys surrounding the stage looking up occasionally but mostly they were on their phones. Chendrill looked through her on the stage as the girl danced around as the loan shark and Suzy held hands and talked. Suzy listening intently, nodding as the man spoke. Then with another kiss that was long and full the Italian was up and out, washing the walls with afternoon blue as he left.

  Suzy stood, moving along the side of the bar and sat herself down next to a middle-aged man in middle management who’d been staring at her tits ever since she’d come down the stairs. The man unable to resist the pull of her stretched lacy blouse and her purple br
a underneath showing through, and the smell of her perfume as she leaned into him and spoke for a while, smiling as she did with her hand halfway up his thigh, telling him this was going to be the last lap dance of her life so she was going to make it good.

  Chendrill watched as they both stood and Suzy took the man by the hand and led him to the stairs up to the champagne room. Waiting a minute, he looked around the bar for the next partially dressed lap dancing girl who was about to pass him by and said yes before the girl could even ask.

  They walked up the stairs next to each other, the young girl who should have known better in her early twenties. Cocaine can do that though, change a person’s perspective and make them hang with the wrong crowd. She said, “It’s $40.00 for two songs.”

  Chendrill saying straight back, “How about we stay in there till I’m ready to go and I’ll pay you $500.00?”

  The girl stopped midway on the stairs and stood there in her high heels and little knickers and semi top, trying to look sexy at the same time as she said, “It’s cash up front. I need it for the guy at the door.”

  They passed the guy at the top of the stairs whom the girls gave half their money to when they’d fleeced some punter. Chendrill looked at the door which led to the room to where dreams were made. The first song was halfway through and that meant he’d get in for Suzy’s second. He said, “Sure.”

  He paid in cash, five one-hundred dollar bills, of which half went to the house and the other went to the girl’s dealer. The bouncer at the door listening to the small earpiece connected to his security radio smiling at Chendrill as he held the young girl by her arm and pulled her to him—the big brute of a man, whispering sweet nothings to a girl he’d never get to sleep with even if he wanted to pay. They went inside. The room was dark; chairs lined the wall along with two speakers, three girls were working there already despite it being midday. Two brunettes, and Suzy with her back to them sitting on her man’s lap as they came in. Suzy working her magic, grinding herself down as the man in middle management sat there with hover hands, staring fixated at Sebastian’s friend’s breasts.