by Peter Ness
Same Monday, at Jack Henton’s farm: September 17th, 1973
It was Monday, and as Monday’s go this was not a good day. As Martin Dunbar drove down the road away from the Henton farm he tapped his fingers on the dashboard of his bright green Jaguar, hard. That Jack Henton guy had refused all his overtures to help. Martin ground his teeth, irritated. Reaching over for a tape he thrust it roughly into the tape deck.
‘Darn! It’s the wrong one.’
Popping it out, he vented his frustration by tossing it onto the floor.
‘How do I convince Jack Henton to sell his farm?’ he pondered. ‘That is the burning question.’ He slapped his hand on the steering wheel. ‘I need more leverage. Everyone has a weakness, something they badly want or someone they’re willing to protect at any cost. Firstly, I praise them feeding them compliments. I let them think I’m their best friend, to make them believe that they’re taking me to the cleaners. Then, I find their pressure point and squeeze hard. After that, I cry with them as they wallow in their self-pity. Then, when they buckle up at the knees begging for mercy I go for their jugular, all the while convincing them that I’m their best mate ever while I’m screwing them for their last nickel and dime. That’s me. That’s my motto. Martin, I love you. What a clever chap you are.’ He said it to himself, eyeing off his handsome face and lush eyebrows in the mirror, then perking up and smiling. The smile faded. His eyes narrowed, growing a cold steely-grey. ‘Yet, it never worked with this Henton chap. Not enough leverage — that’s all.’
Martin eyed the rear view mirror again. ‘Yes, it’s true.’ He was a big man but not necessarily an overly tall man. ‘Look at that solid jaw. By golly what a handsome chap, well built — true — and yes — endowed with the gift of the gab.’ He looked at the reflection of the proficient, smooth, well-educated man again. A pleasant memory flashed crossed his mind so he smiled fondly.
‘I’ve a reputation of getting things done,’ he reminded himself. ‘People don’t care about the method. They’re only interested in results, and the ends always justify the means. That poor son of a witch of a mayor certainly got his. Yes, by god,’ he smiled with a wicked chuckle. ‘I own up God. I did it. It was little old me. Come on now God — Zap me with a bolt of lightning. I’m waiting, still waiting. Huh! Yes.’ He clicked his fingers. ‘I knew it. You would have done the same thing were you me.’
Martin laughed loudly reminding himself of the recently vacated mayor’s office. For Martin, an ambitious man, the result stood for itself. ‘I wonder if they’ve found his body yet? Or, perhaps they still think he is still on some tropic island with some hot bunny girl chick?’ Martin slapped his knee, roaring with laughter. ‘My god, I’ll bet he’s enjoying his new-found life in a 44-gallon drum at the bottom of the sea.’[16]
‘It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there old boy. And, we all have to eat. Me? I’m no vegetarian. I’m a carnivore with a big appetite for hot chili sauce on a medium-rare steak. That newly-fangled idea of increasing the size of the cake for win-win outcomes is a load of bull. Any cake has a fixed size. Everyone knows that.’ Martin Dunbar knew that better than most. ‘It’s all mine — for the taking. I intend to eat the whole cake, not just the largest chunk. Unfettered capitalism: that’s what I stand for, empathy only for little ol’ me. If others starve, that’s their problem.’
A car coming towards him slowed down, kicking up dust, as it approached. Martin hit the brakes and the Jaguar drew up at the intersection in a surging pool of rolling dust. Pressing the indicator lever, he waited, smiling and wagging his finger at the approaching driver in a customary sign of friendship. It was all bullshit, but all the country bumpkins did it. The car turned up the road past him and chuffed up the slope towards Jack Henton’s house.
‘Well, hello old chap. I haven’t seen you around here before. I wonder. Are you the moron who loaned Jack Henton money? If so, you’ll be keeping the mayor company at Davie Jones before too long,’ Martin said, with a bitter and twisted smile.
Someone had given Jack Henton a personal loan at an interest rate close to zero. Jack used it to pay down a part of his mortgage with Reggie Snow at the local bank. Now, all Martin’s leverage was worth a pinch of salt. Martin savored payback. He smiled, imagining the pleasure from burying the person in a slab of concrete, or hacking body parts off with a power saw while the person was still alive and writhing, screaming in agony. Body parts and barrels of human blood make good bait for catching Great White sharks. Martin imagined the person spluttering and coughing, choking as cement oozed into their mouth filling their lungs, as it flowed down over the ears until the eyes rolled and the head dropped forward. He aimed to poke the person back to life and watch their eyes widen, looking back at him, shaking with pure fear while they drowned in liquid cement. Yes. He already had a spot picked out. It was somewhere off the coast, just to the south of Justanava Island. Yes, on the other side of the wheat and barley loading facilities, near the lighthouse at Gulapinga Point. Martin laughed as he recollected disposing of other bodies in that vicinity before. The rip tides dragged the bodies out to sea where they either sunk to the bottom or floated out into the Southern Ocean, soon devoured by Great White sharks.
Plus, that unsavory union boss, the mayor, had the gall to threaten Martin. Yes, placing Mayor Chipley in a 44-gallon drum filled with cement brought back some sweet memories. That was some time ago, and as for the leading candidate for the Mayor Chipley replacement—? Well, Martin picked up the newspaper from on the seat next to him and chuckled. A few photographs of an illicit affair had somehow found their way on the cover of the local newspaper rag.
‘Oops! Sorry about that old chap,’ Martin Dunbar almost drowned in laughter. He felt better already. Martin’s face quickly narrowed. ‘But, I hate seeing children die. A senseless loss of life that.’ Not all his memories were good. It saddened him to see young children die. He wiped a tear from the corner of an eye. ‘If catch that blighter, all his Christmas’s will come at once.’
#
On the surface Martin seemed a friendly and likable chap, but also a highly intelligent man. It just wasn’t wise to cross him if you valued your worldly possessions, or your life.
‘Yes. You certainly are a friendly and likable chap,’ he said, flashing a cheeky grin in the mirror as the Jaguar roared down the road, jumping up a gear, tires vibrating on the corrugations. Of course Martin Dunbar was concerned about the local city mayoral elections, but other motives were a driving force in his life. He wanted others to like him so they would drop their guard.
‘Yes. That’s little ol’ me,’ he said, talking to an imaginary friend in the passenger seat.
‘If people like and trust me, it makes it easier to manipulate them and minimize any ill feelings after I take advantage of the situation, which I always do,’ he chuckled with a wicked snort. ‘Does that make me a bad man? Don’t answer that.’ He tapped his finger in the air. Martin could sweet talk almost anyone into any deal. Few people had such an ability to read a person’s body language, their eye movements, or tone of voice.
‘Yes. Few people have the gift of the gab like I do mate. I was born a swindler and I will con myself into heaven. Everyone thinks I’m their best friend. Even god,’ he convinced himself. ‘And—, if he doesn’t, not to worry, he soon will.’
Martin liked to use his charm offensive to convince people that they were buying the greatest invention to man-kind.
‘And it is, you know,’ he said to his imaginary partner. ‘The best deal since the advent of sliced-cheese — for me!’ he laughed again, jovially, flashing his teeth.
An exceptionally proficient confidence trickster, Martin would complain to his “mark” that his offer was ten times the value of that worthless pile of junk. Martin then offered to help Cliff Horris out, to do him a favor. It worked predictably, exactly as planned, like clockwork, every time.
‘This is a great deal for you Cliff. I’m doing you a favor. But what are friends for? You know this is cos
ting me dearly,’ he laughed, thinking about it and changing gears. ‘Doing you a favor? Pigs might fly. I’m doing myself a favor,’ he roared with laughter, wiping away the tears. ‘It’s all for the sake of friendship and harmony? What a load of bullocks. I need your vote in the local city mayoral elections, that’s all.’
If, at the end of the day, the other person was obligated and indebted to him and if Martin walked away with the shirt on their back then the negotiation was a success. In the rare case that Martin got into a pickle he spun a story like his life depended on it.
‘Yes. I recollect that time at the Siberian check point. Those Commie bastards thought I had the diamonds. And they were right — I did. They would have shot me there and then. But in the end, all it took was a few Rolex watches. A couple bottles of Vodka and a game of poker later — I walked away with all their rubbles too.’
The green Jaguar roared up the road, kicking up a pile of dust as it went. Martin turned the music up full bore and smiled, recollecting his friendly chat with Reggie Snow during a recent poker game.
#
‘Look Reggie. You need one hundred and fifteen grand to pay your gambling debts and I need Jack Henton’s property. If you jack up his mortgage premiums from 10% to 12.5% per annum[17] — and—, just in case he chats with the neighbors jack up the Hani and the Thomas mortgages at the same time,’ Martin said. ‘I’ll cover half of your debts.’
‘No. I can’t do that Martin. It’s just not ethical,’ Reggie replied, a deep furrow biting into his forehead. ‘I won’t, not this time. I’m drawing a line in the sand. This is it.’
‘Come on now, be reasonable Reggie. I’m not asking much. What’re mates for anyway? You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours,’ Martin said with a light-hearted chuckle. He pointed his finger at the bank manager. ‘I know from the sweat beads forming on your forehead and your little darting banker eyes that you’re bluffing with this hand Reggie, so I’ll call you and raise you another five grand.’ Martin pushed a stack of money forward.
‘Another shit hand. God darn it! You win again,’ Reggie tossed his cards out in disgust. ‘What do I owe you this time?’ he said with an irritated edge.
‘Not much. Just another one — sorry two — grand. Hey, don’t look at me with that forlorn, hard done by look Reggie. You dealt the crap,’ Martin smiled. ‘If it’s any consolation I only won the hand with three twos and a pair of queens.’ He flipped the cards. ‘And—, I always play honest when I play against you. You know that.’
‘You shouldn’t ask me to do it,’ Reggie said stubbornly, slamming his hand onto the table. ‘I won’t!’
‘I shouldn’t have to ask!’ Martin shot back. ‘And—, Reggie, you will! Anyway, you have no choice Reggie. It’s either that or go to jail for fraud. But, I can help you out there by buying off the cartel and clawing them off your back. Don’t look so god-darn sad about it. Cheer up. Have another beer.’ He pushed one across the table. ‘It’s not like you’re doing anything worse than usual. You’re simply marking up the cost of the Jack Henton mortgage to account for any additional risk. Your bosses will understand. Plus, I’ll help you cover a few of your gambling losses in exchange. That two grand — let’s just forget about it, shall we? That’s what mates are for anyway.’
Reggie’s creditors would be pleased — Martin smiled. He owned them anyway.
‘What choice do I have? I’m mortgaged to the hilt.’ Reggie squirmed in his seat uneasily and reluctantly agreed with Martin’s bidding. ‘Okay. But, this’s the last time.’
‘I’m so glad we sorted that out Reggie. I was starting to lose faith in you. If this current deal I’m working on pays off we’ll both be very wealthy men. When’re your other two mates showing up? I would prefer to take their money than yours,’ Martin laughed wickedly. ‘It’s just so much more fun.’
‘They should be here any minute,’ Reggie looked across at his gold Rolex. Martin fondled it. He looked up sharply, and pushed it back across the table to Reggie.
‘Sorry. I forgot. You get it back as part of our little agreement. Now Reggie, do you remember the rules of crook poker? When you pick up your glass, it means you need a jack, king or an ace dealt off the bottom of the pack. If I take one drink you fold. If I take two sips you double the bet. Now, steady yourself Reggie. We’re gonna make a killing here.’
The door rattled sharply.
‘Come in Gentlemen. Come in. Pull up a chair. We were just talking about those terrible serial killings. It saddens me to even think about it.’ Martin wiped a tear from his eyes. ‘Marj!’ he yelled to his wife. ‘Be a darling and bring us a coupler more beers.’
‘That’s so sad about those children being kidnapped and so violently murdered, isn’t it?’ Marj said, coming into the room. ‘Most serial killers are well-educated, single, white men you know. You’re married aren’t you Reggie? I thought so. Well, I do so hope they catch the man who did it. How anyone can ruthlessly kill such cute little children is beyond my comprehension.’ Marj sniffed, carefully placing a six pack of beer, some chocolate cake and cookies on the table. ‘Hey, but I’m just a woman.’ She turned quietly leaving the room, sniffing, wiping away the tears sapping down her cheeks.
#
Martin Dunbar slowed his Jaguar down at the next intersection and turned left.
#
Jack Henton sat down at the kitchen table, his hands slowly covering his head. He sighed heavily, wiping the tears from his eyes with a wrinkled handkerchief. This farm wasn’t large enough by itself to support the family. Plus, Jack had three boys, two of them in high school, who wanted to work the land. Thus, Jack had made the decision to buy the neighboring property to the south several years ago. Until recently, the debt burden around his neck wasn’t such a problem. But then the bank had increased the rates three times in as many months. The interest rate just kept skyrocketing.
A grown man crying—? He sniffed into the handkerchief and blew his nose noisily. That wouldn’t help much. People might start to wonder if he were off his rocker if they saw him crying. Drying his eyes, Jack sighed wearily. Reaching out, he picked up a photo of his wife Denny and their three boys from on the kitchen table.
Martin Dunbar had left only minutes earlier. He’d really dug the screws in this time, trying to convince Jack to sell. He offered to buy both of Jack’s farms, at a discount on market value of course. Jack wasn’t born yesterday and saw right through the confidence trickster. Martin Dunbar just laughed and shrugged his shoulders.
‘Jack—, Jack—, my old pal. Look mate, you know I’m trying to make it easy for you to say “Yes.” You cannot deny this is a good offer. I’m trying to help you save face with the bank and your other creditors. Look, I’ll see what I can do to help you out Jack, but you’re living outside your means. What can I say? The bank’ll foreclose on you before too long and you won’t get that much. We both know that.’ Martin crafted a noose from a shoe lace, looked at it and placed it in his pocket. ‘I’m on your side in all of this. I’m your friend. You don’t have many other options. Look, you can still run the farm. It’s only the ownership that changes. I can see by looking at your face that this is a painful decision for you to make. Let’s talk about it another time shall we?’
‘It’s not enough. We wouldn’t even have enough left to buy a house in the city,’ Jack replied, distraught now.
‘Well. I’m not the one to point this out Jack, but it goes without saying. You do have other leverage. You’ve a lovely wife and some nice young boys, especially young Frank.’ Martin smiled with a sociopathic grin. ‘So, maybe — we can still reach a deal?’
‘Thanks for your kind and generous offer Martin, but not in this life or the next,’ Jack replied angrily. ‘You can see your own way out.’ He pointed to the door.
‘Hey! Hey! Hey, Jack. Hold on a minute. You know I’m only joking,’ Martin held his hands up in the air in a defensive posture. ‘You know me better than that. How long’ve we known each other? We go way back. Look.
Look, I can see you’re upset Jack. No hard feelings. I’d be upset too if I were you, but as I said you don’t have much bargaining power and I really do want to help you pal. In the meantime, I’ll have a chat with both my banker and accountant to see if we can raise the offer so you end up with something at the end of the day. I too am really angry with the bank for singling you out like this. Next time I see that Reggie Snow, I’ll give him a piece of my mind. You know I’ll bend over backwards to get you the best deal possible old chap.’
‘Look Martin. We’re fine,’ Jack replied, calming down. ‘Really, we are.’
‘There is an alternative. You know that Jack. You could just sell part of the farm. That would let you pay down your loan to a safe amount. I can prepare the paperwork within a week. Anyway, why don’t you think about it, old chap?’ Martin suggested with a warm smile. He tapped Jack on the shoulder lightly, like a friend would do. Jack wiped his tears away and looked up at Martin’s sad face.
‘Look, I’ll just come out and say it,’ Jack waved his hands in the air. ‘We already refinanced part of the mortgage at a lower rate and might be able to refinance the rest, just not immediately,’ he exaggerated. ‘I really should’ve told you that before you wasted your time. We don’t need your charity Martin. I really do appreciate your offer to help though as we really are stuck for cash, but that’s only a short-term problem.’
Martin’s ears pricked up, his face went blank but he hid his feelings and forced a smile back at Jack. This disturbing news hit him hard. He felt like he’d just been knocked to the ground, kicked in the guts, and then stomped hard on the head by a crazed mule.
‘Well. That is good news. I’m happy for you,’ Martin said, maintaining a false smile, but his eyes were steely cold. ‘Anyway, if things change and you can’t refinance the rest of the loan let me know. We can chat about your other options at that time.’ Martin Dunbar rubbed his thumb gently over a photo of Jack’s wife and children and in a slow, deliberate, movement placed it back on the table. He turned and trudged slowly past Jack towards the door, and then stopped abruptly.
