A Fateful Decision
Katy Marshal was at peace with herself as she stood in the darkened law offices of Henderson, Thompson, Benson, and Sykes on a late Friday afternoon before Christmas in Denver, Colorado. The whole office staff had taken Henderson’s invitation to spend the holiday season at his condo in Aspen. Katy had made a bargain to trade her time in Aspen for New Year’s Eve with her friend Mary Jo in Las Vegas, Nevada. There was only one thing that really remained on her schedule, and that was her first meeting with Sam Kutsun next week.
As she stood holding her office’s letterhead, the name of Anderson was still present. She had known Paul Anderson very well, as she had worked as a paralegal with him the last year. However, she knew that his relationship with the law firm would not last. Paul was an ardent naturalist and environmentalist who was at odds with Henderson the whole time he worked there. It finally came — a blowup that had reverberated throughout the whole office complex.
“Big Jim” Henderson, as he was known, was a strong supporter of the oil and gas industry’s philosophy of “Drill Baby, Drill.” He was a dominating figure at 6'5" and 345 pounds, with a white beard that made him look like a highway sign advertising a chicken chain. He had a booming voice that would resonate throughout a courtroom. He seldom lost his cases when they involved individuals suing the oil and gas companies because of “fracking” activities that lessened home values near drilling platforms.
His attitude of “Let the pinkos and the commies sit in the dark, that will show them,” didn’t resonate very well with Paul Anderson. He had quit last week, and the sign outside the office building had the Anderson name removed. The sign had not been rebalanced, so the description of Attorneys-at-law was not yet centered under the remaining names.
The law office was clearly run by “Big Jim” Henderson. He would occasionally wander around the office complex in his bathrobe and slippers, singing various show tunes. Nobody in the office disputed his claim as holding the throne of Henderson, Thompson, Benson, and Sykes. They did not want to challenge this dominating figure mainly because of the large sum of money he commanded from the big oil and gas firms. As a young kid, he had even worked on the oil and gas drilling rigs as a helper before entering law school, and had developed a great physical strength, now somewhat obstructed by his huge size.
His wife was known as “Teeny”, and was also a lawyer, but she had finally retired from the law firm. It was her small stature beside “Big Jim” that made them known as the “odd couple.” She really was tiny, barely reaching five feet in high heels. At 98 pounds, she was a striking figure with Jim Henderson on the Denver social scene. Many people had joked about her having to retire because she became fatigued by the continuous wearing of too much turquoise jewelry. At parties she sometimes resembled a walking jewelry billboard.
It was her penchant for turquoise jewelry that made Jim Henderson famous. They had departed on a Caribbean cruise, first stopping in the Virgin Islands. As that was a tourist stop, Teeny had taken full advantage of the opportunity by visiting many jewelry shops trying to find some additional turquoise pieces that she didn’t already own. At one shop, she had fallen in love with everything she ever wanted.
Everything was fine as they continued with their cruise. It was on the next night at a formal dinner at the Captain’s Table, that Teeny was shocked by some revelations she discovered from a fellow diner. She had been describing her fabulous finds at the dinner table next to a young man who described himself as a gemologist specializing in gem-quality colored stones. Teeny had been waving her arms and accidentally hit the arm of the young man with her bracelet. Taking it off to show him, he took an undue interest.
His comments did more than startle her. They led to much ranting and raving on her part. “It appears,” he said, “that this jewelry is of Chinese manufacture, and is not of American Zuni origin.”
It was this revelation that had Jim Henderson foaming at the mouth. At the next port, he flew back to the Virgin Islands in a private plane and confronted the shop owner. Walking in, he had picked the owner up by the shirt and had carefully set him down on the counter. Dangling the fake jewelry in front of him, he said, “I think you and I have something to discuss.”
Teeny was absolutely thrilled by the jewelry he brought back with him.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
As Katy finally eased her car through the snow-stricken Denver streets, her mind increasingly thought about her meeting next week with Mr. Sam Kutsun, as Jim Henderson referred to him. He had told her that Kutsun had been very prominent in the Denver oil and gas community. He had started a small over-the-counter stock company, and seemed to have done very well for himself. His office was on the top floor of one of the big Denver bank buildings. Not only that, he had his own private elevator to his office complex. In the lobby of the building, a security guard sat next to the elevator and would call ahead to the 20th floor receptionist for visitor clearance approval.
When the elevator reached the 20th floor, the visitor would be confronted by a big heavy glass entry, with the title KUTSUN RESOURCES prominently displayed. The visitor would press another button, and a voice would demand his name and time of appointment. Upon entrance, the young, attractive blonde receptionist would tell the visitor that Mr. Kutsun would be late because he had so many meetings that morning. This was meant to give the visitor the time to sit and admire the expensive paintings that were hung throughout the lobby.
As Katy continued to reflect on her meeting, she reached her condo parking lot. “Well, Mr. Kutsun,” she thought, “When you reach my office, I will try to be as prompt as possible. Maybe that will give you some idea on how to treat your visitors.” As she finally swung her car into its usual parking space, the name Kutsun was starting to resonate in her head. She was certain she had heard that name long before Jim Henderson had brought it up. But where?
As Katy turned the door lock, she was prepared for the silence that would greet her. Her roommate Mary Jo had been gone for almost two months. They had met while both were in the Peace Corps in East Africa. Their tour had been cut short when fighting broke out between government and rebel forces in the remote area where they were working. The Peace Corps had then withdrawn everybody from the entire region.
Mary Jo had been the life of the party no matter where she went in Denver. She could instantly make friends. Katy, however, had been partly instrumental in Mary Jo leaving Denver. Mary Jo had awakened Katy at 2:00 a.m. one morning to give her an important announcement.
“I met a man from Tennessee!”
Katy had managed to slowly raise her head from her pillow at the news to ask, “Does he play a trombone like the last guy?”
“No, he’s a mining engineer.”
Kathy was now starting to fully wake up. “What’s so important about mining rocks?”
Mary Jo started to become incensed. “He doesn’t mine rocks, he mines minerals. Besides, he’s single, available, and very good looking.”
“Listen, if it comes from the ground, is hard, and looks like a rock, it’s a rock; a mineral is just another name for the same thing.” This argument continued into the morning hours.
Mary Jo had not made much progress with her “mining engineer” as the weeks progressed. Katy and Mary Jo had spent many weeks together in a tent in East Africa and had gotten to know each other very well. Mary Jo was a product of the deep south and had an accent that had taken Katy a long time to understand. When they first met, Katy had to have her repeat almost everything several times to understand her. Finally, as time went on, Katy found herself almost speaking with the same southern accent. At parties, Kathy would start using the same accent to amuse listeners.
When the mining engineer called Mary Jo, the conversation would sound more like a business meeting than a possible romance. Katy had answered the phone one time when Mary Jo was absent, and h
e evidently thought it was Mary Jo. Katy used the opportunity to have a more “intimate” conversation with him. Mary Jo then suddenly started proclaiming that her “friend” was really starting to get into it. Katy smiled at this revelation. She was amused as she thought, “With what I told him over the phone, I’m surprised she’s not already pregnant!”
The two young women were very compatible, but arguments would occasionally erupt. Their very first argument was over the naming of their cat. Their condo sat along a greenbelt with a sidewalk running near the back of the condo. One day, a black cat with white markings turned up and proceeded to make himself at home on the cement porch. He was always present, would puff himself up whenever somebody walked by, and would give a strong “meow.” He truly became the condo doorman.
They had debated on what to call him. Katy wanted the name “George” and Mary Jo stated that “Lewey” would be a much better name. The argument went on for a long time and centered on whether the cat would know who he was if they didn’t solve the name crisis. Pretty soon, they argued, they might have a cat who would have a psychological breakdown.
The problem was finally solved by an elderly woman in her 90s who came by the back porch door every morning with her walker and would say hello to the cat. He always acknowledged her presence with a strong meow, but would never move except to puff himself up even more. The elderly woman then started calling him Mr. Cat, which seemed to be very agreeable to him. When Katy and Mary Jo noticed how well he seemed to like that name, they finally fell in line, and forever after the cat was called Mr. Cat.
Katy had been very surprised when Mary Jo called and wanted her to meet them in Las Vegas, Nevada over New Years, as she and her engineer friend were now a couple. Mary Jo was very excited as she explained, “Las Vegas on New Year’s Eve is much better than Times Square in New York.” Katy finally agreed, she would meet Mary Jo in Las Vegas. Still, the name “Kutsun” haunted her.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
With Mary Jo gone, Katy was starting to get rather bored. Mary Jo had been the life of the party, always promoting some event. It was either a wine-tasting party or barbecue at the condo, or perhaps an after-hours party after basketball, etc. The strangest thing that Mary Jo did was play “mud” volleyball. During the summer months, two teams of young women would put up a volleyball net in a park, pour water on the ground on both sides of the net and play the game. After falling and sliding in the mud, the girls were completely covered in mud but must have enjoyed it as they yelled and screamed.
Katy had now tried the “internet dating” scene without any success. Any contacts she made were too forward and crude, not worthy of a reply. She finally tried one meeting with a “nice older gentlemen.” He had taken her to a rather exclusive restaurant, and after dinner, Katy had retired to the ladies room. As that was occupied, she stopped to talk with one of the waiters. Deciding on whether to return to the table, she glanced into the dining room and was horrified at what she saw.
The “nice older gentleman” had taken his false teeth out at the table and was cleaning them with a toothpick. This action infuriated Katy. Summoning up her courage, she marched back to the table and announced, “I’m sorry, but I have to leave immediately. One of my six children has fallen ill, and I also feel like I’m getting morning sickness again.” She could find her own cab.
The weekend was starting to be so lost that Katy was starting to look forward to meeting Mr. Sam Kutsun next week. The ping of the computer indicated she had received another internet dating inquiry, but it would be a long time before she looked at the response. She was more interested in reading her mother’s letter. She was pretty sure what it would say. “When are you moving back to Ireland?”
Katy was the product of a mixed marriage, if one could call it that. Her mother had spent almost 10 years in a catholic convent after high school graduation. The time came when she saw no future life that she would want, and joined a group of young women on a tour of Europe. She had met a darling young doctor from Israel in a nightclub on the French Riviera and fallen instantly in love. Katy was the result of that meeting. As her mother remarked quite frequently, “There’s nothing like a romantic full moon over a remote beach on the French Riviera.”
Her mother had tried living in Israel, but the constant turmoil finally drove her back to Ireland. She had been born in Boston in the good old USA, but much preferred the family heritage in Ireland and had declared that her home. Katy had tried to stay in Israel but with her hair color constantly going from red to green to purple, had made her father send her to Ireland until she got some common sense.
Katy had returned to Israel but promptly got drafted into the Israeli Defense Forces (IDF) for one year. That produced two results; first, she decided to change her last name to Marshall, a good old American name, and second, she learned how to use a Russian-made Kalashnikov AK-47 auto rifle. In the Peace Corps, she bought that rifle on the black market, which had Mary Jo becoming more and more frantic, as Katy kept it under her cot.
“What are you going to do with that thing?” Mary Jo kept asking her. “You’re not supposed to have any money to even buy anything like that.”
Katy’s response was simple. “If you think I’m going to let some rebels hack us to pieces some night with their machetes if they attack us, they are going to get quite a surprise.”
Katy had become quite proficient with the Kalashnikov AK-47 while in the IDF. An instructor would come into the barracks at night with a jammed rifle and she would have to take it apart in the darkness and have it ready to use in less than two minutes!
The five years that Katy had then spent in college in Ireland were among the happiest of her life. She had tired of the academic lifestyle, and instead of spending her hours in the library, she would head for the nearest Irish pub. When the hour grew late, Katy would jump on the bar, and swinging a pint, she would dance an Irish jig to keep the evening going with one of her favorite songs.
The singing would get more risqué as the evening wore on, and would finally conclude with different renditions of There is a Tavern in the Town.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Saturday night was starting to become depressing for Katy due to the approaching Sunday. Katy was torn between her mother’s religion and her father’s Jewish faith. So torn, she couldn’t decide between either religion. She had decided being “Jewish” was like living in a box — there were all these “dos and don’ts” you weren’t supposed to violate if you wanted to end up in paradise. It didn’t matter, of course, that nobody knew what paradise was like. There didn’t seem to be much concern about what kind of person you were, or what you believed — just don’t step outside the box.
On the other hand, the Christian religion had some problems too. If you believed the Bible, you were supposed to be known in heaven as on earth. So if you were a bum on earth, you would automatically be known as a bum in heaven. That just didn’t make sense to Katy.
As Katy pondered these questions, she decided that the best course of action would be to simply sleep in Sunday morning.
. . . . . . . . . . . .
It was after 9:00 a.m. on Monday morning that the receptionist came rushing into Katy’s office. “There’s somebody by the name of Kutsun on the phone. He’s demanding to know why nobody from this office was down there to meet him promptly at 9:00 a.m. this morning.”
Katy had to smile. Apparently, Kutsun was as belligerent as she was led to believe. When she had taken the course work to become a paralegal, she was assured that the work would involve client interviews, legal research, preparing documents for hearings, and also to draft pleadings. Nobody ever mentioned the different type of clients one would have to deal with.
“Tell Mr. Kutsun that there seems to have been a misunderstanding about the time and place the meeting was to be held.” Katy had never gone to interview a cl
ient in their office for the first meeting. She would make an exception this time because Jim Henderson had basically said to treat Sam Kutsun with the utmost kindness — whatever that meant.
The next morning there was no security guard at the bank elevator. It took more than five minutes of pushing buttons to finally get the small elevator to the ground level. A much older woman than Katy was expecting opened the door to the office entrance. She explained that she was just temporary and still finding her way around.
The receptionist indicated that Mr. Kutsun’s office was at the end of the hallway. As Katy followed her, she noticed that all the offices were empty and devoid of furniture. No paintings were in the hallway or any of the closed offices. The only office with light appeared to be Kutsun’s office.
The white haired and slightly stooped figure that stood up to greet Katy completely stunned her. She was expecting someone like Jim Henderson. This individual with a rather pallid complexion and an old wrinkled grayish suit, was not the type one would expect to be running a small company. He did have one thing in common with Jim Henderson — they both wore bedroom slippers.
As Kutsun fumbled around with some paperwork, Katy had a chance to look around his office. The office did have pictures on the wall, but only reproductions that could be rented monthly. Henderson had also rented that type of wall hangings, but changed them every month. Photos of celebrities and politicians with Kutsun were also prominently displayed. One photo showed a smiling Republican president with his arm around Kutsun. Plaques showing citizen and Better Business Bureau awards were stacked on the desk and side tables.
Under the Jamaican Moon (Katy Marshall Romantic Mysteries Book 1) Page 2
