by Peter Parkin
Mike knew that the Board would be busy counting in their minds the missing dollars, while he talked in the most soothing terms to them. And he knew that some smart-ass director trying to make a name for himself, would probably pipe up and remind the Board what a genius he was at math, and state that his calculation between Brazil and Mexico came to sixty-five million dollars for four properties that were worth only thirteen million. This grandstanding director would then remind everyone that fifty-two million dollars was unaccounted for and possibly sitting in a tax haven that Mike Baxter may or may not have access to. He would make the suggestion that perhaps Mike's travel itineraries and expense accounts should be audited for at least the last four years. The director would then close his tirade by suggesting strenuously that the matter be referred to the OSC and the RCMP.
Mike knew it would go something like that, and he also knew that in a few minutes time he would be rushing into the tiny little toilet three rows ahead, and barfing his guts out.
After that he would take the time to ponder how curious it was that the Rio law firm of Paradis and Associates also had a branch in Acapulco.
Chapter 13
"Would you like me to make some coffee?"
"No, I would like you to just get dressed and scram."
She danced her beautiful naked body over to him in her usual provocative manner, and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Now, that's no way to talk to your favorite companion."
He smiled and kissed her on the lips, slipping his tongue inside her eager mouth. Then he quickly withdrew it and bit her lower lip. This wee bit of teasing got her excited again, he could tell. She responded predictably by grabbing his buttocks and squeezing as hard as she could. She knew he liked it rough. She dug her nails into his skin and slid one finger up his anus. Just as she was getting ready to ram a second one in, he picked her up and threw her onto the bed.
He jumped on top of her and put his hands around her throat, squeezing until her face turned red and her eyes began to bulge. He let go and watched in amusement as she coughed herself back to life, gasping desperately for air.
He laughed, but just as suddenly transformed his face into a look of rage. "When I tell you to get dressed, you get dressed! Understand, you cunt?"
She nodded her head quickly, and started to cry. He grabbed her long bleach- blonde tresses and dragged her off the bed, tossing her like a bag of garbage onto the floor. Snatching her clothes off the nightstand, he flung them in disgust on top of her quivering tits.
"Now, get dressed and get the fuck out! You had better be gone in five minutes or you will feel the power of my hands once again."
She struggled to her feet and pulled on her undergarments, then wiggled into her dress. Reaching for her bling purse, she looked at him one last time before leaving the apartment. Speaking as if nothing at all had just happened, she asked, "David, do you need me to come here again tomorrow night?"
"Sure, come by around 9:00 and you can spend the night again." His voice was calm now.
She pleaded, "Can't we just go out sometime—somewhere, anywhere?"
"We will go out when I say. And right now, I do not say."
She nodded, and hurried out into the hallway, slamming the door behind her.
David Samson chuckled as he strode into the adjoining room, which he had expertly decked out into a home gymnasium. He started his usual routine of weights, treadmill, rowing machine. He was still naked; he liked to exercise in the buff so he could watch and admire himself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors in the gym. Yeah, he was still an Adonis—he knew it. In his mid-forties, muscular, just over six feet tall, and around 200 lbs. His skin was lightly tanned, kind of an olive look, but not from the sun. His hair was dark and moderately long with a wavy texture that most women would kill to have. He was blessed with a face that looked like it could have graced the front cover of a Mediterranean travel magazine.
David was a lawyer, but he didn't use his law degree much anymore, not in practice anyway. It was still handy for credibility and of course gave him the knowledge to find his way around the bureaucratic corridors. But the last five years of his life had earned him more money than he could have ever dreamed of earning as a lawyer. In fact, in just the past month alone he had earned more than all of his years practicing law.
He got dressed and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Time for some breakfast. Now he would make coffee, and he would enjoy it much more than if he had to sip it in the company of that whore. The last thing he wanted was to pretend to enjoy idle romantic chit-chat with a woman who was, in his eyes, good for only one thing. In fact, that's all any woman was good for. He preferred his own company instead.
He took his mug out to the oversized balcony of his twenty-fifth floor condominium on Toronto's trendy Bloor St. West. He had purchased the unit about four years ago for $500,000. It was now worth well over a million. He smiled at his genius. David stretched out on his chaise lounger and looked down at the lines of cars snaking their way down Bloor St., all the little people stressed out trying to get to their pathetic little jobs. He smiled again, then spit up a large green gob and sent it flying down twenty-five floors to the roof of someone's car. They'll just think it's bird shit, David thought, chuckling to himself.
He knew that his lifestyle was frowned upon by his compatriots overseas, but he didn't give a shit. They could frown all they wanted; he knew that he also brought smiles to their stupid bearded faces more often than frowns. He liked western ways, he liked the decadence, money, good food and fine wines.
He absolutely loved his seven-room penthouse condo, and enjoyed cruising around in his silver Mercedes CLK. If his friends in the homeland wanted to sleep in tents and hovels to underscore their beliefs, they were welcome to it. He didn't mind supporting the cause; in fact he felt an obligation to do so, but he also wanted to live life to its fullest, the western way. Those clowns back home could pin all their hopes on Allah giving them seventy-two virgins in paradise if that's all they aspired to. But as far as he was concerned, he could have as many as he wanted right here on earth. Why pin his hopes on a mystical promise, when he could reach out and grab the real thing, right here, right now? Well, his pickings didn't include virgins of course, but what was so great about a virgin anyway? Too messy and emotional. David also kept an apartment and offices in an old decrepit rooming house, located three blocks away from his condo. That was for his visitors from across the pond, and when he had to meet with any of his "contacts" here in Toronto. Only the whores were invited to his penthouse because he knew they were impressed by that stuff, and he never wanted to have to work too hard at getting fucked.
One of the rooms in his condo was outfitted with five separate computers, as well as a mobile satellite phone, which was the only phone he used. So far, it had proven itself to be very secure, with state of the art encryption devices, coupled with the inherent security of the digital environment of satellite transmission.
David considered himself first and foremost a "banker." Not the type one would normally think of, but the word "banker" best described what he did. It was the civilized term to describe what he did. Quite simply, he obtained and controlled money, then diverted it to worthy projects. He was one of many bankers across North America that were hiding in plain sight. Right now, at current count, he had his fingers into ten separate corporations. Ah, the thrill of reaching out and taking what he wanted from capitalism. It was the ultimate irony, he thought, considering who he really was and who he was working for.
He also considered himself a "controller," because he had numerous contacts that he had to keep under control until he finally abandoned them. Eventually, everyone had to be abandoned and it was important for him to recognize when it was time to move on to fresh meat. Kind of like the whores in his life. Each corporation and contact had saturation points. He didn't abandon them easily, however. He squeezed as tight as he could for as long as he could, because it was very labor-intensive to get new contacts going.
The continent was divided up into "franchise" territories, copied again after capitalist methods. David's franchise territory was all of Canada, because the country was so sparsely populated that it didn't need more than one banker. He had, however, an extensive team of operatives across the country dispersing the money as needed. Good plans required patience, many painstaking steps, and lots of money.
He also coordinated regularly with his banker colleague in New York City. Together, project planning was productive and could be organized in unison. There were several projects on the drawing board, and unfortunately a few that had failed.
The two cities were similar. Toronto egotistically thought of itself as the "Big Apple" of Canada, and New York was the undisputed "Big Apple" of the World. Well, as far as he was concerned, if Toronto wanted to be admired as being in the big leagues like New York, he might just do his part to make the city feel like it had finally made it. David's roster of ten companies had been extremely successful in his banking activities. But one had recently gone sour due to an unexpected turn of events. He wasn't ready to give up on it yet though, because he had a few cards to play first. But he was ready and willing to abandon it if he couldn't draw an ace.
It was time for a follow-up. He picked up his satellite phone and dialed a number in Rio de Janeiro. It rang twice and a familiar voice answered.
"Hello?"
"It is me. Just checking to see how it went."
"Not well. It was nice that you warned me he might show up, but I didn't expect a madman. He's violent. I don't like violence, David. You know that."
"You are being paid well, so quit your whining. And, how did you really expect him to react? I am sure it was a teeny bit of a shock to the poor man. Anyway, I do not think you have anything more to worry about. He probably just exploded, that is all." David didn't care to hear the details of what Baxter had done to scare the little Brazilian. If he made the mistake of showing any real concern, that would only cater to Juan's need for comfort—and more money. He also didn't intend to admit to Juan that he, personally, had some ancient history with Baxter's dark side.
"Well, for a few minutes I was worried. Then they went on to Mexico from here. From what Alejandro told me, he was a lot calmer there—kind of resigned."
"Just what I wanted to hear. He is ripe for the picking, then. Juan, keep me posted on anything else that happens, or any more contact with him or his colleagues. Okay?"
"Will do. By the way, when will I receive my next installment?"
David chuckled. "You are such a little sleaze. Not only did I have to go to great lengths to make sure you and your Mexican partner would have plausible deniability if the roof caved in, but you have the nerve to remind me of my end of the bargain? You will get your money when I feel generous enough to send it to you."
David slammed down the phone, then quickly changed gears and began browsing through his file on Baxter Development Corporation. He had a couple of ideas up his sleeve and would probably make contact again soon. He looked over the newspaper clippings of Mike Baxter; articles that had appeared over the last few weeks. David chuckled when he saw the cartoon of The Briefcase Braveheart, all decked out in animal skins. He certainly had never expected that the man would garner such publicity, but thought that it might be a fortunate coincidence that Baxter had encountered those subway thugs. Mr. Baxter now had a modicum of stature, a good-guy hero reputation that David could exploit to his advantage.
However, it was indeed a puzzle that this clean-cut executive had exploded with violence twice now, in a very short time frame. He figured that there might be some brain damage from the man's lightning accident. While David wasn't afraid, he made a mental note that he would have to be on his guard.
He poured himself another cup of coffee and stretched out on his custom leather couch. He thought back to many years ago when his organization was able to raise money so easily and without interference through their front charity, The Benevolence International Foundation. Millions of their hard-earned dollars had been frozen when the FBI, in conjunction with the RCMP, finally discovered the charity's connection to the Abu Nidal Organization. Funds could no longer be raised in the traditional ways ever since the United Nations Suppression of Terrorism Regulations, or UNSTR, came about. Did those fools really think that other avenues would not be found? Did those arrogant capitalists believe that they were the only entrepreneurs in the world?
The ring of the phone disturbed David's thoughts. He glanced at the call display and smiled. It was his mother.
"Hello, Mama."
"Oh, my Dawud. How are you?"
David winced at her use of his birth name. Even though the Zamir family had been Canadianized for a couple of generations now, the old folks still made use of homeland names whenever they could. It made them feel comfortable, he guessed. When he had finally changed his name to a western version, it made his mother sad but she seemed to understand that he needed to do it to fit into this world. More than she knew.
"I am just wonderful, Mama. How about you?"
"Oh, I have these aches and pains that just will not go away. I think it is because I do not see my boys enough."
David laughed—her same old gentle coercion. "Mama, I will be there on Sunday for dinner, okay?"
"Now, do not forget—it is always nice when we all get together."
"I will not forget. Family means everything to me, you know that." David could almost see her smiling at the other end, and it warmed his heart.
Chapter 14
Cindy rushed around the house, doing some last minute preparations. The helium balloons were floating up at the ceiling, the streamers were hanging just perfectly, and the 'Happy Birthday Mike!' sign was tacked over the front entry. The caterers would be arriving shortly, followed by the guests. At last count, she was expecting about forty people; only their closest friends and the few neighbors they actually liked. She was grateful that her three best friends, Amanda, Wendy, and Carol, had volunteered to help out. All three were busy in the kitchen, putting out plates and making coffee.
Diana and Kristy were due home from school at any moment. They were so excited this morning when they left the house, knowing their dad was getting a surprise party tonight.
Cindy was hoping this party would cheer Mike up. It had been several days since he had returned from his trip down to Brazil and Mexico, and he had seemed so despondent. He hadn't told her anything about the trip, but he didn't normally discuss his business with her anyway. Cindy figured that it must just be his mood swings again, which had become frequent since the accident in Florida.
She had asked him to come home from work on time tonight, which for Mike meant before 6:00. He promised he would—Cindy said that the girls wanted to enjoy a nice dinner with him on his birthday, and watch him open presents before they went to bed. She knew he suspected nothing. The party would be a wonderful surprise; at least she hoped he'd enjoy it. Not much seemed to give him joy over the last few months, and Cindy was cautiously optimistic that spending an evening with his friends and family would be a nice new beginning.
Mike was usually a funny and charming man, the life of the party. Those qualities had seemed to disappear afte
r the lightning accident and Gerry's death, only occasionally making their reappearance. She wanted to see those qualities again tonight, the qualities of the man she had fallen in love with so many years ago.
Cindy strolled into the kitchen and smiled as she saw her three friends fussing around with the decorations and the dishes. Everything was looking so nice. She liked things a certain way, and her long-time friends were the only ones, aside from Mike, who knew how things had to be to satisfy her exquisite taste.
She went up to Amanda and gave her a warm hug. Amanda returned the embrace and they lifted their heads back and smiled at each other. Amanda gently squeezed Cindy's shoulder. "I'm so happy that you invited me. This is the first party I've been to since..." She trailed off.
"I know. It is good for your soul to finally get out again. I'm glad you agreed to come. I hope you'll make a habit of this and also start joining me for coffee once in a while like you used to."
"I will, and maybe even later on this week, Cindy. I've been meaning to talk to you about something and I wasn't sure how to say it or even if I'm ready to say it."
Cindy frowned. "Is everything okay? You know you can talk to me about anything."
"I know I can. And I'm okay, considering my Gerry's gone." Amanda stopped to wipe away a tear, then continued. "But it's not about me. Anyway, could we perhaps get together on Friday morning? You can come over to my house if you want."
"Of course. Count on it—Friday morning."
Amanda smiled and hugged Cindy again. "I'm probably making a mountain out of a molehill—you know me, the big worrier. But I'll feel better if I share my thoughts with you."
