The following day, Mike prepared an information package and distributed one to each of the nine members of the IFB board of directors. In addition to the information contained in Bell’s envelope, he included a proposal to purchase fifty percent of the common stock of XG Petroleums for three million dollars. He had no intention of offering that much to Bell, but wanted approval for as much negotiating horse-power as he could get. He knew that including a proposed supply contract for 120 million gallons would make the proposal extremely attractive to all concerned.
Owen Christian gave Mike the necessary approval two days later. “Congratulations, Mike,” he declared. “The board has given you a mandate to proceed with the acquisition of XG with all possible speed. I want to wish you the best of luck with this deal, son. If you pull it off, the company will be in your debt.”
A week later, attorneys for both companies and the principals met at the head office of IFB for the signing of the formal documents—fifty percent of the common stock of XG exchanged for two and a half million dollars. With cheering and trepidation, numerous bottles of chilled champagne were opened and emptied.
Within four months, Fletcher had completed construction of bare-bones retail gasoline facilities on twenty-seven of his properties. The remaining four properties were not large enough for more than one gasoline outlet. When he opened each of his new independent outlets for business, he immediately increased the gasoline price posted at the major oil company outlets on his properties to a level that ensured nobody would buy there. The posted prices at his newly constructed outlets, on the other hand, were rock bottom.
This bold and controversial move absolutely infuriated the majors, but there was nothing within the law to stop him. One of the majors tried to stop him by building a six foot concrete wall separating its outlet from Fletcher’s outlet, but Fletcher’s customers simply drove around the wall.
CHAPTER 20
Saturday, August 26, 1970.
It was sunny and hot, with only gentle lake breezes providing a measure of relief to the guests who had assembled on board. The Iroquois had left the Gravenhurst dock at 2 p.m. sharp for the wedding of Karen Taylor to Jim Servito. A beautiful but ancient steamboat, The Iroquois glided through the narrows at the north end of Muskoka Bay before heading northward, into the open waters of Lake Muskoka. Its destination was Azimuth Island, a ten acre prominence owned by Karen’s parents at the northeast end of the lake.
Since the late eighteen hundreds, Muskoka had been a destination for the super wealthy who sought an elegant lifestyle that could be matched by none but a few resort communities in the world. In addition to providing shelter and relief, the beautiful islands around Beaumaris provided dramatic sites for enormous cottages, many of which had been constructed by wealthy Americans from Pittsburgh in the early twentieth century. The lake and its numerous rock, pine, and hemlock-covered islands were carved twenty-five thousand years earlier by a layer of ice over two miles thick. The pinkish rocks and crystal clear soft water had attracted health conscious visitors to the area for decades.
While most of the guests were out on the decks enjoying the sights, the soft music of the orchestra, and the free liquor, Karen stared without focus at a full length mirror in the stateroom. Memories of the cruel and unusual twists of fate that had prevented her reunion with Mike continued to haunt her. She frowned while examining her lace and silk wedding dress. She had often dreamed about this day in the eight years since she met Mike King, and she looked back on her former dreams with a twinge of sadness.
Patti Arthur, Karen’s life-long friend and maid of honor, sat on the couch smoking a cigarette between sips from a tall glass of red wine. She stared at Karen’s reflection in the mirror.
“What’s bugging you, babe?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Karen lied, returning Patti’s stare.
“I’ve seen that look before,” Patti retorted, shaking her head. She pulled up her pink skirt to her hips, kicked off her shoes, and leaned against a stack of fluffy pillows. She took a long drag on her cigarette, and then smiled at Karen. “Is Jim Servito as good as he looks?” she asked.
“Better.”
“You’re going to have to work at it, you know… marriage is a bitch,” Patti warned. She took a long sip of wine. She had married and divorced twice in the time since she and Karen had returned from Syria.
“As hard as you did?” Karen griped.
Patti sputtered over another large gulp. “Don’t be nasty. Jack and I just got tired of working at it. Our split was more a default than a divorce.”
“This one’s until death do us part,” Karen vowed.
Patti laughed. “Does that ever sound familiar…”
The ship’s bell rang and the boat decelerated. Karen hurried to the window and saw the guests assembling on the aft deck. The young Presbyterian minister stood with his back to the stern railing. Facing him were Jim Servito and his best man, Jerry Allison, waiting in dark blue suits for the arrival of the bride. To commemorate the occasion, Servito had allowed his black hair to grow long and had tied it in a ponytail at the back of his head. A diamond earring adorned his right earlobe.
Karen turned to Patti, her face ashen. “It’s like an incredible dream. I still can’t believe it’s happening.”
“Are you really sure you love this guy, babe?”
Before Karen could reply, there was a gentle knock at the door to the stateroom. When Patti peeled it open, Karen’s father stood on the threshold, smiling at his daughter. George Taylor was elegant and handsome in a gray morning suit. The scant strands of his brown hair were oiled and combed straight back. “You sure you want to go through with this, honey?” he asked. On more than one occasion he had expressed concern about the seemingly impulsive wedding. He had been impressed with Servito’s financial achievements, but was worried about his qualifications to be the husband of his one and only daughter.
Karen ran to him and hugged him with tears in her eyes. “With all my heart, Dad. I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life.”
He grinned and planted a kiss on her right cheek. “Then let’s go. Your man’s waiting for you.” He grasped Karen’s hand and led her toward the aft-deck. Patti gulped the remainder of her wine, butted her cigarette, and followed.
While the orchestra played “Season of Love,” Patti led Karen and her father through a narrow opening provided by the admiring guests. They stopped when they reached the spot where Servito and Allison waited. George Taylor then turned and stepped back into the crowd to join his wife.
When the music to stopped, the minister began. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in this beautiful place and in the sight of God to unite Karen and James. And in celebration of this proud alliance, may choirs of angels be sounded—may the sun blaze in the heavens. May hailstones of fire rain down upon those who would oppose this sacred union.
“Together in strength, James and Karen, may you rise up to smite any enemy who dares to intrude upon your temple of love for one another. Today, the first day of the remainder of your lives together, you have come before witnesses to proclaim your love. There are those here who have raised their voices in song and whose hearts are with you on this blessed day.”
Close to the rear of the crowd of guests, Bob Bushing finished his second martini with a long gulp and jabbed Dave Lasker with his elbow. “Did you raise your voice in song?” he asked, flashing a devilish grin.
“Fuckin’ right I did,” Lasker responded. “The crook’s getting the princess, today.”
The minister faced Servito and grinned. “James, I understand you have something to say to Karen.”
Servito turned to face Karen. He held her hand tighter. “I, James Servito, do take thee, Karen, to be my wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death do us part.”
The minister turned to Karen and nodded.
She faced Servito and held
his hand with both of hers. “I, Karen Taylor, take thee, James, to be my husband, to have and to hold from this day and forever, for better, for worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish until death do us part.”
“May I have the rings, please?” the minister asked.
While Allison fumbled through his pockets, Patti Arthur handed Karen’s gold ring to the minister. When the minister finally received Servito’s ring, he held both in front of him. “May these rings, symbols of everlasting loyalty and harmony, bind you together always and ever shield your union from discord and from those who would wish you harm. You may exchange the rings now,” he declared, nodding to both.
Servito placed his ring on Karen’s finger. “With this ring, I thee wed.” He paused, frowned. “And all my worldly goods I thee endow,” he declared with extreme trepidation.
Karen then placed her ring on Servito’s finger. “With this ring I thee wed, and all my worldly goods I thee endow.”
The minister grasped their left hands. “You have declared your consent and vows before this congregation. Let the universal resolution that exists within us all confirm your covenant, as I hereby declare you husband and wife. What God has joined together, let no man put asunder.” He smiled. “You may kiss the bride.”
As Servito took Karen in his arms, the guests clapped, whistled, and cheered while the orchestra resumed play. The anchor was hoisted, and The Iroquois resumed its journey to Azimuth Island.
The Taylors’ cottage was a rambling, three-story, white-framed structure built at the height of the island. Its interior was crafted to reflect the rock and wood surroundings of Muskoka: maple and cedar covered the walls and ceilings, while the floors and furniture were made of oak. The massive fireplace had been cut from the local rock and occupied an entire wall. The chimney towered above the green shingled roof. Many of the guests would sleep that night in four-poster beds in the upstairs bedrooms. Beside the cottage and surrounded by pine trees was a recent addition—the tennis court. The outbuildings, vestigial relics of an earlier era, included a laundry, the icehouse, servants’ quarters, and the butler’s cabin. An octagonal gazebo stood at the end of a long, rocky promontory on the southwestern shore of the island. Beyond the tennis court and at the end of a gentle slope was the imposing, seven-slip boathouse. The privacy of its upstairs living quarters was reserved for the bride and groom.
On the well-manicured lawn, which sloped from the verandah down to the water’s edge, circular tables had been set up for the guests. Each table was covered with a white tablecloth and a large pink and white umbrella. Bottles of expensive chilled champagne, each with its own engraved corkscrew, adorned the tables. Under a large yellow tent erected near the cottage, a long bar was fully stocked. Teenage girls dressed in black skirts and white blouses stood at the ready with numerous trays of finger food and champagne filled glasses.
When everyone had come ashore, the orchestra members hurried to set up their instruments on the verandah while the guests headed for the yellow tent. Jerry Allison was among the first to arrive, and Servito caught up with him there. Once Allison had been served his first scotch, Servito pulled him aside. His gray eyes penetrated Allison’s. “Remember, asshole,” he warned. “You watch that loose lip. I’ve managed to convince the Taylors that we run a clean act, and I don’t want to blow it just because you had too much loud mouth soup. You understand?”
Allison swallowed the drink that had been arrested between his lips. “You have a nice day, Jimbo. Don’t worry about a thing. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them you walk on water.”
George Taylor stepped to the microphone on the cottage’s verandah. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” he bellowed. “I want to welcome you to Azimuth Island. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is George Taylor. I’m the father of the bride, and self-appointed master of ceremonies. It’s my very great pleasure to be your host, and to have you here with us to share in the joy of this glorious day. As a departure from most weddings, I won’t allow you to be subjected to a barrage of speeches.”
A roar of approval erupted from the wedding guests.
“I will, however, take this opportunity to say a few important words. They come straight from the heart. Before I do, I would like Karen to come up here and be with me.” Karen had changed into a pale yellow, pleated summer dress. She reached for Servito’s hand and tugged his arm. “You’re coming with me,” she insisted, and Servito followed her to the verandah.
Taylor waited until the cheers had subsided. Tears filled his eyes. “The twenty-third of May, nineteen sixty-three, was a sad day. Many of you joined me on that dark rainy day for Karen’s funeral, all of us assuming she had perished in the explosion of Olympic Airways, Flight 806… I thank God that didn’t happen. Today, I’m so happy that she’s not only alive, but here beside me, and married to a man she loves very much.” He turned and hugged Karen. “I love you, honey,” he said. “I wish you nothing but happiness.”
Karen kissed her father’s cheek. Then she moved to the microphone. “Thanks for everything, Dad,” she said, tears flowing. She turned to Servito and smiled. “Jim, darling, I owe you so much. You’ve reminded me in so many ways that I’m alive. I intend to taste and savor each day with you like a rare wine, and I swear to God I won’t let one of them go by without remembering how grateful I am for your love.”
While the guests applauded and cheered, Servito removed his jacket, loosened his tie, and removed the microphone from its stainless steel post. “I know George told you that Karen loves me very much, but he forgot to mention how much I love Karen. I’m sure it was just an oversight. As part of my vows to her, I promised to love her and cherish her until death do us part. I want to assure you all, and George, of the sincerity of that vow.” He turned and handed the microphone to a stunned George Taylor. “Sorry, old boy,” he said with a spiteful glare of his steel gray eyes. “I just couldn’t leave it unsaid.” While the guests cheered and whistled, Servito wrapped his arms around Karen, bent her backwards, and kissed her, long and hard.
George Taylor waited for silence, only a slight stoniness revealing his rage.
CHAPTER 21
Life at International Fuel Brokers had become quite pleasant for Mike. He had earned the respect and gratitude of Owen Christian and the board of directors, who had responded to his success with extremely generous salary increases and perks. Christian had even indicated to Mike that he was the heir-apparent to the president’s seat.
His personal life, in grave contrast, had grown miserable. Mike continued to enjoy every precious minute of the time he spent with his daughter, Kerri, but the quality of his time with Barbara had steadily deteriorated. Their sex-life was virtually non-existent. Barbara had told him she was no longer interested in sex and probably never would be again. Mike had asked her on numerous occasions to seek therapy, but she responded to his urgings with stony denial.
He finally resolved to confront Barbara, hoping that the shock of confrontation, or the thought of losing her marriage, might compel her to action. “How would you like to go out to dinner tonight? Just the two of us,” he asked, telephoning her from his office.
“Where?” Barbara asked. No enthusiasm.
“The Ivy Roadhouse.”
“Is there some special occasion?”
“No special occasion. I just want to talk.”
“Aren’t we talking now?”
Mike exhaled heavily. “Would you like to go out for dinner or not?”
“I’ll have to get a baby-sitter,” Barbara warned.
That night, Mike and Barbara drove to the Ivy Roadhouse, which was an elegant country restaurant near their home. They maintained a less-than companionable silence until they were seated and the waiter had arrived to take their drink orders. Once the waiter had left the table, Mike leaned forward. “Barb, we’ve got to talk. I’m not happy in this marriage, and I don’t think you are, either. I suggest we do something about it.”
Barbara gave him a vapid stare. Then her face contorted into a mask of indignation and anger. “You brought me all the way to this restaurant to tell me that?”
“Barbara, forget the Goddamned theatrics and just talk to me.”
“What would you suggest we do?”
“Get a divorce,” Mike replied, his eyes fixed on Barbara’s, searching for the slightest response.
Barbara’s face reddened. “Is there someone else? Is that why you’re unhappy?”
Mike tightened his lips and shook his head. “It’s obvious you don’t understand how I feel about this situation. Something’s missing from our relationship. It’s a critical ingredient and, as far as I’m concerned, the marriage can’t survive without it.”
“You’re talking about sex again, aren’t you? Is that all you can think about?”
“When we first met, we were fantastic together. We couldn’t get enough of each other. But that’s changed, Barbara. I don’t know why you don’t want to anymore… I get lonely… And I don’t want to be the one who initiates every time. Just once in a while I like to be on the receiving end of desire. I can’t—” He snapped his mouth closed while the waiter placed their drinks on the table.
“Would you like to order now?” the waiter asked.
“No. We’ll finish our drinks first,” Mike said. When the waiter left, Mike turned again to face Barbara. “I can’t go on like this, Barbara. Sex is an important part of my life.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you felt this way?” Barbara asked, her eyes remaining fixed on her drink.
THE BRIDGE TO CARACAS: A DOUGLASS CRIME AND ROMANCE THRILLER SERIES (THE KING TRILOGY Book 1) Page 9
