Russell Twyce

Chapter 13 of Shiva’s Messenger

Beating on the Wrong Drum

“Did you think I’d forget about my disciplinary threat?” Judith sat in the back seat of her own car. Budget money for a driver and limo was earmarked elsewhere.

“I don’t want to go unless I can wear a chauffeur’s cap.” Allen didn’t really want to go at all. At the last minute, Judith included him in the obligatory session with the Secret Services liaison officer.

“You’ve tried a handful excuses to weasel out of this already and that one was by far the lamest. Now drive on James.”

The unwilling participant shifted the lever into gear. He knew the route as well as he did the running trail at his woodland home. The congresswoman’s assistant had been to the proposed presidential speech venue innumerable times already and had every inch of that site fixed in his mind too.

“I’ll wait in the car.” Allen parked on the far side of the square from the building where he now held a part-time maintenance job. It would be imprudent for him to be glimpsed by a co-worker.

“You’re sulking like a five-year old brat.” She admonished but in good humor. ‘If your mother were here, she’d warm the back of your trousers but good.”

“Okay.” Powers resigned himself to the seeming inevitability. He focused on the one slender positive of netting a covert peek at his principal adversary, the Secret Service. That could be constructive but not so much so as to be worth the risk.

The politician and her aid were expecting the stereotypical non-descript man in a black suit and dark sunglasses. Instead, a woman in her mid-twenties approached. She wore the customary eyewear and her deep charcoal suit was tailored to subdue her trim figure.

“I’m Beth Withers.” After the introduction, the agent wasted no time in pleasantries. She began explaining the pertinent protocols.

[private_Chevron]Young but very competent, Agent Withers had finished first in her class in everything since kindergarten. In the current climate it had been an uphill trek to this position in charge of the advance team tasked with security pre-arrangements for the president’s visit. The president was one of the good ole boys and his current opinion was that every female should be someone’s little woman. Still, this president wasn’t known for holding fixed attitudes indefinitely.

As they walked, Allen strained at suppressing a fervent desire to watch every direction at once. This was a situation where an undue display of spatial mindfulness might seem suspicious. He fixed his eyes instead on the agent. That was also quite a lovely view. From her short hairstyle that was textured with gel to achieve a windblown effect, to a pair of square-toed black shoes that added an inch of height, the agent seemed as a brown-paper package that would yield wondrous surprises as unwrapped.

“The security screening area will be just there.” Beth indicated. “You won’t be required to pass through it.” The young woman spun suddenly to describe for the congresswoman where her entry point would be. She caught the eyes of the handsome aide on her again. Her female body felt a twinge of the standard estrogen/testosterone resonance but she wasn’t seeking. Still, a tempting smile flashed of its own accord before she continued in her detached manner.

So far in day number 6 of her mission, Beth had gone through her checklist without any major problems. The police chief offered her the minimum number of men but at least it wasn’t less, so all bases were still covered. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a shiver down her spine when standing at the place where the open-air stage would be erected. The president would be at his most vulnerable and all threads of her fastidious efforts converged like to the eye of a spider’s web on this very spot. It’s all in your head, she told herself. Or was it the fabled female intuition? Fourteen days to P-day, she performed her countdown litany to break her inner tension.

Judith Forrester casually nodded her acceptance the various established elements and inserted the appropriate banal utterances to indicate she was still following along with the narrative. Instead, her mind was largely tracking elsewhere. She noticed both young people taking discreet notice of each other. With her practiced eye and in this common situation, the cleverly disguised driving stimuli of her obscure young aide might even be discernable.

She observed the absence of a ring on Beth’s finger. Then she caught that one fleeting turbulence that contrasted the agent’s otherwise unimpassioned demeanor. Could Judith perceive that as loneliness or perhaps a similar factor? The agent had been looking at the young man when that conflicting emotional event occurred. The congresswoman smiled inwardly. The incubator of her intellect took that seed of potential insight and began to germinate a promising scheme.

As an unconscious indicator of the focused assiduousness that Agent Withers brought to her work, her hand tested the locked state of a knob as they strolled by it. The exit door in question was from Allen’s building and he entertained an ironically amusing thought. I have the master key to open that for her but it’s in the pocket of the other Allen’s overalls.

The supervisor’s ring had inexplicably turned up missing during a night shift. The security breach was unremarkable as the keys were found and returned after the absence of only several hours.

The lapsed time involved Allen’s slipping out and driving home to duplicate the prize. He already had a key cutting machine at hand. Locksmiths generally require some explanations and will often seek a confirmation before they duplicate a key marked as a master.

“In the unlikely event of an unforeseen occurrence, I’ve set up an exit and an alternative.” Beth continued her security spiel but her curiosity was drawn to the congresswoman. On first impression, Agent Withers liked Judith Forrester and her foreknowledge of the woman’s political reputation was similarly favorable. Now though, the agent was disconcerted at the sly smirks she was observing.[/private_Chevron]

Though a university had conferred a degree in political science, Judith planned on conducting a little experiment in sexual chemistry. First she had to decant the two test subjects into a suitable beaker. A quiet table at a restaurant might provide a nice environment for the human compounds to interact and hopefully combine.

“Goodness me! Just look at the time.” Judith broke off the tour prematurely by consulting her watch in an apparent panic. “I’m sorry, Agent Withers but I’m going to have to ask you to go over the balance of the details with Mr. Powers. Don’t worry, I trust him completely to give me the gist your presentation. Why don’t you two meet over dinner tonight to finish this briefing?”

“I’m fairly busy with my duties,” Beth resisted with an aside glance to see Allen’s reaction.

“I must insist. This material is crucial to me but I’m not certain when or even if I can reschedule.” Judith physically urged her driver towards the car while the agent scurried behind. She continued her ploy as they reached the curb. “I just realized, you have some extra time right now that was allotted for my use. You can simply redeploy those hours to tonight instead.” Judith posed an excuse and it was even a marginally valid one though the crafty woman had contrived it. “Busy people have to eat. Do you have another pressing engagement for tonight?”

“Well, no but—.” Beth watched the color drain from his face.

“It’s settled then.” Judith didn’t allow her to finish her refusal but went on to quickly supply them with a place and time to meet.

“Come along now, Allen.” Having achieved her objective, the meddlesome woman terminated further discussion. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to break some speed limits.”

“I didn’t know anything else was scheduled.” Allen’s thoughts swirled in a muddled spiral around a sinkhole.

“There’s no appointment, stupid.” Judith laughed out loud. “You obviously wanted to invite her out and she was dying for you to ask but since you were procrastinating, I took the initiative for you.”

“I didn’t say yes, you did that for me.” The downside to keeping his true thoughts hidden from his boss was having her misconstrue his intentions. Allen considered the prospect of an evening meal with the lovely Secret Service agent. His coffee with Jessica was an insignificant gamble compared with the highly explosive, deadly poisonous and radioactive danger that just standing an arm’s reach from Beth Withers was.

“So your refusing now would reflect badly on me.” She cinched in her trickery by one more grommet. “You can talk business for a few minutes to satisfy the pretense. Then you kids should just relax and enjoy each other’s company.”

“I have a pulsating headache and my stomach is upset.” This was the truth too but it stemmed his fear of a spike-embedded pitfall on his path.

“Then take a Midol.” Judith laughed at his latest excuse, which described the symptoms of PMS. “Now drop me off at the office and you can get spruced up for dinner. You might want to get a trim.”

“Women!” The females of the species were doomed to be the bane and occasionally the blessing of Allen’s existence. Maybe they represented the same duality for all men but for the messenger the stakes here were deadly high. He wasn’t certain if he was more furious with Judith or frightened of Beth. “My spending intimate time with a Secret Services girl is like a fireman kissing an arsonist!”
Allen viewed himself in his bathroom mirror. He had passed at least four barbershops but defiantly drove on in protest. If a way existed to make his form less appealing, he would have done so. “I should paint on chicken pox and pretend to be contagious.”

That wouldn’t work and every pretext that he could think of wasn’t plausible either. “What if I pretend to be gay?” His father’s advice was now working against him. ‘Never lie if it’s one destined to fail.’ “I’m shy? I’m sick? I’m a jerk?” He stumbled on a delicious idea. “Yes, I am an idiot.” With a cunning smile, the self-satisfied reluctant suitor snatched up the daily newspaper.

…

[private_Chevron]“Uh, hi.” Allen stammered slightly as he collected his escort at the appointed time. Gone was the dark unisex ensemble of a Secret Service agent. That look had been replaced by one of cream cheese baiting a rattrap. She wore a mid-length dress with green silk clinging in the curves and flowing over flares. The earlier brown-paper was now as a Christmas present with a shining ribbon but still with the enticing treasures lingering within. Don’t you even think about what’s inside and in fact, it’s much better not to look at all!

As they started to drive, Allen began their conversation by following Judith’s orders about sticking to business for the first few minutes. Before they arrived at the planned restaurant, he initiated his newly hatched strategy by blurting out the truth. “You know my boss ditched out intentionally to set this up.”

“Yes, I figured that much,” the girl had surmised from the smug looks and the sudden ploy, “but it wasn’t worth calling her on it.”

“Well, brainless me then. I was the only one out of the loop.” He chuckled at his own naivety. He was adept at lying but perhaps that impaired his seeing though them. “I jumped into the car planning how to dodge traffic to get us somewhere fast. Judith had to come straight out and tell me.”

“Yes, we women can be devious and perhaps it takes one to know one.” Beth treated him to a warm smile as she provided the other possibility to his missing Judith’s subterfuge.

“Well, I hope you feel like a burger because I sure do.” Allen wheeled into a fast food franchise. This should do it. First, the blunt admission of his fundamental stupidity and then the horrendously poor choice in restaurants should have her firmly convinced that coloring her hair would be much more enjoyable.

After standing at the counter to get their cuisine, which was possibly processed dumpster tailings, they got their condiments and chose a table with plastic chairs. The space had the ambiance of a factory’s assembly line where efficiency experts plotted the average bites per minute as a factor in determining how many tables were needed. The décor was carefully designed to become annoying and the seats uncomfortable after only a brief period. The buzz phrase is ‘high turnover inventory’: it turns what used to be called ‘food’ into ‘gross volume’ intended pad out the bottom line and eater’s bottoms.

“I love this place.” Beth smiled genuinely between bites. “The chicken sandwiches are awesome.”

The agent wasn’t simply saying this to be accommodating. She often did go to this particular franchise and it was always a treat.

It was refreshing to find a man that didn’t seek to impress her at some stuffed-shirt place. Beth had expected a congresswoman’s aide to drag her into some lame fancy restaurant where using correct cutlery was ludicrously significant. Tiny portions would be flourished on plates as large as serving platters. She would’ve pretended to enjoy an entrée that she could neither identify nor even pronounce. This date was turning out to be a pleasant surprise.

“Mmmm.” Allen munched his burger and feigned finding it succulent because he had chosen the place. Doubtlessly, the dangerous Beth Withers would be bolting after supper but he still had an ace up his sleeve, just in case.

“Judith mentioned you’re in life insurance.” Beth conversed while savoring her meal. “That must be interesting.”

“I just take bets on whether people will be dead sooner rather than later. You get to shoot people while you’re leaping in front of bullets.” Was describing his job in the worst possible illustration and demonstrating ignorance of hers a way out of a woman’s heart?

“That’s hilarious.” Beth crushed his spirit with a hearty laugh. She even placed her hand on his forearm in appreciation while her residual giggle trailed off. “I’ve never even had to pull out my gun once since I began carrying it. I mostly do logistics and paperwork. However, your line is exactly the way I’m going to describe my duties from now on.” She hadn’t been anticipating this at all. He was a real guy and with a sense of humor. It was stimulating.

“Don’t you vault into harms way?” Why isn’t this working?

“Well, in theory we would but in practice we don’t have to if we do our other jobs well enough.” She leaned closer to share a dirty little secret. “I didn’t vote for the president in office and I hope I don’t have to use my body to shield him from gunfire.”

“I’ll sell you some life insurance just in case?” Allen interjected a pushy sales pitch and tried to sound serious. Beth quashed his ploy by finding it humorous. I’m trying for strikeouts and keep hitting home runs by accident!

The reluctant suitor watched Beth poke the last morsel into her mouth and slowly chew. Her auburn hair was in styled disarray and it framed a heart shaped face. Now without the sunglasses, he saw her eyes as the color of tropical seawater over a coral reef and they were set off by the green of her silken dress. The only blemish in the perfection of her face was a glob of mayo on her lower lip.

“You have a goober.” Allen announced with a grin. I trust this will be deemed rude or at the very least, too forward. The young man reached across with a paper napkin and he dabbed away the offending lump of condiment.

“Thank you.” The agent smiled mysteriously. With eyes fixed on his, Beth slowly extended her pink tongue and with it, she slowly licked the full circle of her mouth. Now, the glitter of her moistened lips matched the sparkles in her eyes.

That was moderately erotic! Allen took several deep breaths. The drum of pulse beat a cadence that he definitely didn’t want his body marching to. Now she’s asked for it. Prepare for the ultimate date killer. He had found this surefire looser in the newspaper.

“I’m having a wonderful time.” Beth took his arm and gave it an appreciative squeeze as they walked to the car. “Have you any idea of where we could go now?”

“Yes I do.” He stretched the words out. “But it’s a surprise.”

“You’re such a tease. Do I have to close my eyes?”

“Nope, we’re almost there now. I chose the restaurant because it was close by.” They pulled into the Akron Speedway and Beth shrieked in delight.

“Go-karts?” The federal agent asked incredulously.

“We’re not here to ride them.” Allen callously threw a bucket of ice water to dash her slender hopes. “There’s a World Go-Kart Association race tonight and I thought we could watch it.”

“Oooh! Let’s go!” Spontaneously, she leaned over and excitedly kissed his cheek. “Hurry! Its already started and we’re missing some.” Beth took his hand and almost danced ahead. She dragged him along while he dejectedly plodded behind. “My brother use to race go-karts and I haven’t seen them in years.”

For the next three interminable hours, Allen watched race after race of kids as young as ten skidding around a dirt track while Beth explained the intricacies. In between, she hugged his arm and often pecked at his cheek.

“You’re really enjoying this.” Whether applied to her being so entirely unpredictable or elated by the event, Allen was woefully certain that they both could fit.

“You’re such a lady killer.” The young woman breathed lustily into his ear as the mini vehicles buzzed like wheeled chainsaws around the irregular oval track.

Not yet, but that’s fast becoming a tantalizing notion.

“Aren’t you forgetting something rather important?” Agent Beth Withers stood on the apron of her hotel’s main entry where her date had walked her from his car. He had taken two paces away before her voice halted his steps. By the time he turned back around, the young woman had folded her arms, cocked her head slightly and was slowly tapping her toe. “You haven’t kissed me goodnight yet.”

“I was worried you were going to pull out your gun and shoot me if I did.” He turned and trudged back to her.

“You’re safe right now. I don’t have it with me.” An abundant passion in her lips overwhelmed the seeming resistance in his. She even misinterpreted this, along with his jest of pretending to walk away as a form of humorous reverse psychology, that was working splendidly for him. “If you come upstairs though, I’ll show it to you.”

Allen took stock of his current options and he didn’t need many of his fingers to count them on. He was blind-sided by a personality he didn’t understand and his every tactic to foul the entanglement had proved detrimental. His gambits had all been blasted out of the air like a flung skeet. As the hotel room door closed and the clothing flurry began, a major complication was about to be consummated.

…

Beth awoke first. She took her shower, dressed and put on her holster: then she giggled wickedly. I promised to show off my gun.

“Allen.” The Secret Service agent whispered into his ear while holding her snub-nosed .38 bare inches from his peacefully sleeping face. She cocked the unloaded weapon. The unmistakable sound instantly banished all slumber. Allen’s eyes snapped open and focused on the muzzle. Shock of recognition convulsed his body into a seated position and his hands jerked up defensively. The girl shrieked in delight and rolled onto the bed laughing at the panicked expression on his face.

“How is it that a woman of your caliber is still single?” Allen vaguely found some humor after his heart rate returned from critical.

“Take as much time as you want getting up because I’m going now.” Looking like an angelic agent again, she pushed him back onto the bed. “Let’s have dinner again tonight? Maybe we can find a monster truck rally.” That wasn’t a joke: Beth loved those events.

“How about professional wrestling?”

“That would earn a special treat.” The Secret Service agent blew the assassin a kiss and skipped from the room.

Allen closed his eyes briefly and considered dozing off again. But there was no possible way. He was still far too pumped with adrenaline from that gun episode for sleep to be even remotely possible. How am I going to dig my way back out of this hole?

He began searching the room for his haphazardly scattered attire. The night had been catastrophically fantastic! One sock was draped over a black day timer notebook. Beside the book was the reload for her revolver. She had forgotten them in haste. The temptation of peeking in the diary was overpowering. He thumbed through a few pages then heard shuffling outside the door. Then a key fumbled at the lock. Allen snapped the cover shut and replaced his sock before Beth burst back in.

“I forgot my day timer. I was already at my car before I thought of it.” That was just the first of many small incidents of forgetfulness and inattention she could expect today. The afterglow from a long night of intense passion, especially following an extended period of abstinence, can linger on well into the following day. The Secret Service agent deliberately traced her eyes to survey his nude frame. “Are you dressing casual today?”

“I thought you were a chambermaid and wanted to be ready.”

Beth snatched up her book and turned to leave but Allen tried to offer the bullet set as well. She declined. The chance of her having to draw her gun to take even a single shot was remote and the odds of ever needing her extra clip were miniscule. She often left the spares behind and today was no exception.

“I’ll make sure I only shoot six guys or less today.” The agent punctuated by aiming ticklish finger stabs at his naked body to show precisely where her bullets would hit. The first five were mortal in the chest but the last one went badly awry and struck much lower. Then Beth turned with a giggle and this time her departure was final.

Shiva’s Messenger stared for a long moment at the door as his mind encompassed his dilemma. Oxford’s biggest dictionary didn’t have enough adjectives to accurately describe how hazardous it was. Yet at the same time the vocabulary shortfall also applied to the thrill he experienced in his young adversary. He and Beth likely personified the epitome of the phrase—opposites attract.
He turned back to the business of dressing and spurned those thoughts in favor of recalling his glimpse of her day timer. The brief snooping time precluded reading very much but one blurb stood out as important. Beth had written in bold letters, Police Chief Weiss—Major Asshole—absolutely the minimum for auxiliary support.

…

Allen soon found he was afflicted by a lovemaking hangover closely akin to Beth’s. He finally arrived at the constituency office and tried to sneak in unobtrusively but bumped into the water cooler to loudly announce his tardiness. After the tumbled bottle and the wet carpet debacle, his further attempts to appear as if nothing were out of the ordinary also failed. The story of his night was written boldly in his perpetual silly grin and underscored by uncharacteristic inattentiveness.

Judith smirked hugely at him every time she caught an inadvertent glance. Finally, when he could no longer stand her knowing expressions, the young assistant went to her office.

“Ok, you win.” He capitulated with an exasperated sigh. “Now stop taunting me with your eyes.”

“Not until you tell me everything.” Judith patted the sofa adjacent to her spot in the padded chair. A Siamese cat wouldn’t seem as self-satisfied if sitting beside an empty birdcage.

“I was stoned on Midol and took Beth to a fast food restaurant for trash-burgers.” Allen dropped onto the couch and landed nearly hard enough to bounce on the cushion. “Then, I dragged her off to watch a kiddy-car race. The night was a disaster and she finally resorted to pulling her gun on me.”

“Your condition today offers a somewhat different story.” Judith teasingly slapped his shoulder and her hand stayed there. “For instance, why are you wearing this ancient relic?” She tugged at a loose thread on his bulky homemade sweater.

“My mother knitted it for me and today would’ve been her birthday.” Allen hoped Judith would now feel guilty over her scoffing it. Without thinking, or more accurately with his thoughts dwelling on something else entirely, he’d worn a huge comfortable sweater. His other persona found in a flea market for use in the chilly ambulance garage. It was quite out of character for the Allen who always dressed in shirt and tie.

Judith stared him in the eye and hers were full of twinkles. She was tempted to capture vengeance for all the wordplays that he’d shot at her because now Allen was vulnerable. Instead, she lifted her eyebrows and let a look say it all: that was even worse.

Shiva’s messenger laughed and accepted her visual rebuke as coming from a good friend. He had to realize there would be times when he was not quite at his finest form. He wondered briefly why in the morning after Jessica, he’d still functioned normally. For one thing, she wasn’t holding a .38 muzzle at my nose with the one hand while the keys to Leavenworth clattered ominously in her other.

…

Allen was mournfully and blissfully aware of the fact that he would have to break it off with Beth very soon. Detachment from his two bosses, Judith and Brian, was also necessary. It would be difficult. His telling Bain that he was an orphan precluded all the convenient family related excuses. Beth being a Secret Service agent with almost unlimited access to government information could make any shoddy pretext useless. Suddenly, he was inspired.

“I could tell Beth I’m going off to join the Pro Rodeo Circuit and she would buy it.” Allen was probably not even exaggerating: she would just want tickets. The Secret Service agent didn’t equate him to having anything to do with her work and he had already told her boatloads of crap without jingling her lie detectors. He and Beth really knew from the outset that theirs was only a short-term fling.

“Judith and Bain are the crux.” Shiva’s messenger consulted a mental file of his dad’s gems of wisdom for an answer. ‘The solution always has to be large enough to fit the problem.’ “That could also work in reverse. I don’t need a big excuse when a tiny one will do.”

He only needed one week. After P-day, as Beth called the presidential visit, it would be safe for her to investigate. Allen Powers would be gone and everyone could backtrack the persona as it evaporated like the morning dew. Allen Wright would also have disappeared by then and a lot of people were going to be thoroughly examining the hollow paper shell of his life.

…

“Judith,” the young volunteer stuck his head into her office to see if she was busy, “can I see you for a minute?”

“Certainly, come in.”

“This probably comes at a bad time, but I need a week off.”

“Is there a problem?”

“Not one of mine.” He smiled wryly. “I have to help out a friend that got his girlfriend pregnant.” He heaved a sigh of acquiescence. “Tammy’s a bit of a drama queen and wants a fast wedding so if anyone counts back the months she can claim a premature delivery. Scott needs me to be the best man for him in Las Vegas.”

“We’ll be fine here.” Judith wondered briefly on the chances of the marriage surviving even one year. Statistically, the odds weren’t favorable.

“I won’t hear your talk in person but I’ll catch you on TV.” He gestured his eyes at her notepad. “Have you finished it yet?

“No,” Judith had emptied several wastebaskets full of her false starts. “I need a really good speech writer but I can’t afford one.”

“Do you want to know what I really think?” Her slightly cocked head answered yes, so he continued. “You’re appearing last and we aren’t sure if anyone will still be listening when your turn comes. Why knock yourself out writing something that people might not even hear? You know the background material so just wing it and talk from your heart.”

“I’d feel naked without a prepared text.” Judith shuddered just thinking about standing empty handed before that big-ticket crowd.

“Well, if you won’t try my suggestion then by all means take your own and do it in the nude. Your visibility would skyrocket.”

“I’ll think about it and I may even do it just to surprise you.” She still couldn’t envision stepping up to the podium devoid of notes.

“Naked? That’ll be an appearance to get some ratings. I’ll definitely have the TV and the VCR on in Vegas.”

“No! I won’t do it naked!” Mortified by the thought, she also knew he had misunderstood intentionally to evoke that response. He did that incessantly. “I meant that I might rip up my drafts after all. Nothing I’ve penned yet is really worth keeping and using.”

“Instead of fixating on your address at the end, concentrate on where the attention will be and shine in that spotlight. Don’t be fiddling with notes when the camera pans. Watch where the lenses are and light them up with a smile.”

“While I’m nude?”

“Yes.” His voice dropped two octaves. “That’s even better.”

Her young aide left the office. Do I dare to be unprepared? She was speaking dead last. Who would still be listening anyway? On a sudden brave impulse, the politician threw her notes into the bin. This option was definitely preferable over an oration in the buff.

Whether stripped of text or textiles really wouldn’t make any difference. Either way, Congresswoman Judith Forester’s limelight début was destined to generate an extraordinary impression.[/private_Chevron]

Chapter 12

Becalmed in Political Doldrums

Like a buyer at a stock auction, Brian Bain carefully looked over the boy who’d responded to the employment ad. A very good looking young man he was with a face and body that would have housewives squirming to pee themselves. Their moderately jealous husbands would buy a life insurance policy simply to prove they were responsible providers. Brian had started in the business that way so he knew very well how a lad like this could produce. Still, it took more than visuals to be a top life insurance agent.

“Why,” Brian glanced back at the résumé, “have you left your previous employment and come to Ohio to seek work?” Not actually reading anything on the paper, it made the interviewer appear to be studiously evaluating.

“I was in a dead-end rut and wanted to change my prospects. My friends there were working class guys and being unfettered will make my transition to white collar work much easier.”

“Why are you interested in selling insurance?” Looking up from the application form he watched to appraise the apparent honesty.

“I believe in the product and I can sell anything that I’m sold on. My father died without coverage some years ago. His unexpected death left my mother in difficult circumstances. I also want a career that builds as I work and pays me compound interest for my efforts.”

[private_Chevron]“Where’s your mother now?”

“She passed away some time ago. We didn’t have much money or an H.M.O., so she hid her illness until it was too late.”

“Do you have any other family?”

“I’m an only child. In fact, my parents were both only children and all my grandparents passed away long ago. I never really knew any of them. Actually, Sir,” the applicant smiled, “that made it easier for me to make a clean break to move here.”

“Most guys who get into life insurance start by selling to their family. I guess you’ll have to get your first ones the hard way.”

“One way or the other doesn’t make a difference to me.”

“Do you think that the job of insurance agent will be easy?”

“Frankly, yes.” Allen Powers made and held eye contact. “But I’m sure that isn’t the answer you were looking for.”

“Confidence is worth much more than any pat answers.” Bain returned his focus to the résumé but this time he scanned it. “You can start your training Monday morning at nine. You’ll have to do a two week course and then pass a federal exam before you get a chance to earn any money.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bain.” Allen stood and shook his hand with a firm, dry grip. “I’ll pass the test.”

“I’m sure that you will. See you after the weekend.” Brian watched him stand and walk out of the room. He was happy with the selection but there was something different about Allen that he couldn’t quite call to his forebrain: maybe he would deduce it later. Powers certainly did have a self-assured demeanor. That would serve him almost as well as his making the wives horny.

Allen was sporting a smug grin when he left the insurance office. He’d just landed his first real job ever and all it took was one interview. His work history information was entirely fictitious but well crafted: he had surmised that the prospective employer would focus on today. The sales end of insurance didn’t look closely at the past. They cared primarily about the present and the nebulous future when everybody would eventually die.

“I doubt Mr. Bain will even check out my résumé.” If the employer looked into it too closely, he might find that in between semesters at college, Allen Powers had taken a summer job at a lumber mill in Minnesota. Young people tend to feel that they possess immortality and are inexperienced in deciding which dangerous tasks they should refuse. In this instance, the self-impression of deathlessness was not well founded and he became an actuarial statistic during his first week.

“You didn’t just pass it: you aced the test.” Bain handed over the temporary agent’s license certificate and explained. “The card will be mailed from the bureau. Congratulations and now get busy.”

Tracking down leads did prove difficult and time consuming at first. Allen persevered and soon found he could also carve out some sales in an often-overlooked niche market. As he worked on those, Shiva’s Messenger slowly compiled a short list of special clients who were of particular interest to him.

He hadn’t lied to Bain about believing in the product. People died. Sometimes it happened suddenly, violently and without time to prepare. Those left behind were often vulnerable and needed some looking after.

…

“You wanted to speak with me.” The sales manager offered a hand to a seat.

“Yes,” the young insurance agent sat, “I’m not producing as well as I believe you might’ve expected.”

“I takes time getting started in this business.” Bain consoled. “But I’m not dissatisfied with you. You’re paid on commission so you can only disappoint yourself. If you want the big money then you have to motivate yourself to hustle.”

“That may be a liability,” Allen chuckled, “cash has never been my motivator. If I have sufficient, then it’s enough.”

“You’ll find that attitude could change later in your life.” Brian laced his fingers and set them on his desk. “But I don’t think you wanted this talk only to offer an unnecessary apology.”

“I’m told the local congresswoman is a close personal friend of yours. I’d like to do volunteer work for her and was wondering if you could put in a good word for me.” Allen went on to elaborate on how the constituency office could also find him more leads.

“I’d be happy to arrange that for you.” Brian Bain was thrilled. Judith Forrester was a dear friend and she was Republican, as was his affiliation. She could always use the extra assistance.

“Thank you.” Allen stood to leave.

“I’m more than pleased that my newest agent is showing some civic responsibility.” Brian Bain offered the customary handshake and joked as they shook. “But if you want to fit in as a good young Republican, you’d better place the acquisition of wealth a lot higher up on your to-do list.”

After that meeting, Allen Powers continued to make enough sales so as not to appear on the employment radar. He blended in as unobtrusively as he could. Only his nasty allergy to bleach-craft pulp that required him to use cotton gloves when handling paper differentiated him from the other agents. He all but disappeared into the background and that was exactly how the young insurance salesman wanted it.

…

About two weeks after Allen Powers started his job in life insurance, another boy named Allen seemed to arrive in Akron. His interest was in finding a career in Emergency Services. He had plenty of spare time to volunteer as an ambulance driver. The paramedics did all of the emergency medical stuff but Allen did get a first aid ticket. Always cheerful, he worked his shifts and simply did his job while he gained experience in hopes of being taken on full-time. Slowly here also, Shiva’s Messenger became the impalpable guy that just did his job unnoticed.

…

After Wright and Powers became largely invisible at work, Allen started concentrating effort into his work for the congresswoman. Judith Forrester seemed a genuinely good person who had entered politics for the right reasons. From what the young volunteer saw initially, she conscientiously represented her constituents. Just that alone made her a rare commodity in politics.

“Why doesn’t Judith spend more on advertising?” The new boy Friday made a casual inquiry to the congresswoman’s assistant as he collected a stack of outgoing correspondence from her desk. “An adoring public needs to see and hear her before they fall in love.”

“If I didn’t already know how new you are here, that question just confirmed it.” Nelly chuckled. “Our candidate is hampered by her own best traits.”

“Yes?” His inflection urged her to please continue.

“She speaks her opinion even when it’s critical of her own party’s platform.” Nelly obliged.

“That could make the hierarchy somewhat stingy in doling out the shared funds.” Allen interjected before she could elaborate.

“Bingo!” Nelly picked up her coffee mug and swiveled her chair to face him in what promised to be an intriguing conversation. She dropped the next nugget into the sluice. “I’ve also never seen her trade away her personal integrity on a backroom deal.”

“I suppose there aren’t many other politicians publicly patting her back for the good work she’s accomplishing.” The man parked his butt against a two-drawer filing cabinet. “Corporate sponsor’s checks might not comprise a very large percentage of the mail bag.”

“Gin!” Her single word affirmations gave a hint at the games that occupied Nelly’s off duty evenings. “You’ve basically answered your own question. Gaining popularity through the paid media just isn’t in her hand for our congresswoman to play.”

“Hopefully there’s a trump card lurking somewhere in her deck.” Allen slapped the small bundle of envelopes against his other palm. “Well, I’d better get these to the post office.”

“Was that Albert?” Judith emerged from her office with a file.

“Allen Powers.” Nelly corrected.

“When he first joined my staff, I assumed it was to suck-up and impress his boss.” The congresswoman confided. “But whenever he sees me, he just goes about his business. That really doesn’t fit the profile of a brownnoser.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Nelly dutifully offered a bland invitation for a further monolog discussion. She was well used to being a sounding board when Judith Forrester wanted to think out loud.

“Another reason for his coming onboard might’ve been to pick up women.” The politician voiced another notion. Many attractive females did seem to congregate around the trappings of power. “I haven’t spotted him making overtures so I’m tempted to discount his having a lusty agenda.”

“If anything, the reverse is true.” Nelly chuckled. “I’ve been a party to some fairly randy discussions about him in the coffee room. If there’s a complaint about sexual harassment it might be from him, instead of about him.”

“It bothers me when I can’t read someone’s motivations. I also can’t afford harboring any uncertainties about my staff right now.” Judith dropped the file she was carrying into Nelly’s ‘in’ basket. “Please schedule me time to have a personal chat with him.”

“I think you may find that an enjoyable prospect.” Nelly quietly offered an opinion but Judith was walking to her office and might’ve missed hearing it. The assistant recalled her impression of the new kid. He didn’t seem of a similar type to those she’d watched her boss chew up and spit out.

…

“Allen, you must think I don’t value your contributions because I haven’t sat down and spoken with you before.”

“Not at all, Madam. You’re an important person with demands on your time. I don’t feel slighted in any way.”

“Please, let’s not be so formal,” she admonished him cheerfully. “Working here earns you the right to call me Judith.”

“Thank you, Judith.”

“So, which of my opinions do you especially support?” she asked with a smug smile. That question would definitely winnow the wheat from the chaff. She waited for the inevitable waffling.

“None of them.”

“Then what,” Judith was taken sharply aback, “are you here for if you don’t like any of my opinions?”

“I hold them all more or less equally.”

“Don’t do that to me! I’m your Boss.” She wagged a finger and chuckled. How many times had she sent someone up a wrong track with a switch like that? “I guess I have to mind my questions better with you.”

His utterly phony innocent smile was a clear yes.

“What is there about my platform that you don’t like?” Judith tried to get at the same general information but from the opposite direction. She prepared to pounce tooth and claw if he tried to wiggle out on another ambiguity.

“Actually, I’m not passionate about any particular political issues. I’m more interested in the qualities of our leaders and the decision process. The one thing that I like least about you is your situation. You deserve to rise because you’re the cream in a vat of curdled milk. But forces beyond your control are holding you back.”

She cocked her head slightly and her opinion of him climbed up several notches. That was a juicy reply. With hints of corruption, intrigue, a complement delivered in a manner that was anything but favor-currying and a few more tantalizing word usages, he served up about ten tennis balls at once. She could only volley back one and chose the intrigue. “What forces would those be?”

“Media trade winds follow the path of the most currency. That leaves your sails flapping in the doldrums. The flow of the public’s attention is diverted through a myriad of weirs. Opportunists can portage at a whim to stronger currents but your raft is steadfastly in the stagnant channel of your principles of good governance. The democratic process is a boat race but the whores who can afford the biggest oars usually win it.”

“It seems a hopeless situation.” Judith chuckled wryly. “Should I pull the scupper plug and scuttle, or just wait for a torpedo?”

“You’re the master holding the tiller bar.” A slight nuance of Allen’s eyebrows lent just a hint of lasciviousness. “I’m just your man slave with a paddle.”

“I quite liked your analogies of our capitalistic electoral regatta.” The congresswoman backed sharply away from the slave boy quip. “Shall I put you to work as my speechwriter?”

“I’ll do anything you want.” Allen’s unconditional promise was delivered in earnest.

On that, Judith Forrester was suddenly recalled of a notation found at the unknown border of early European maps. ‘Here be dragons’. People don’t make promise they can’t or won’t keep and sound so sincere about it. Physically attractive young men certainly didn’t offer unreserved obedience to unmarried women twice their age and sound so convincing about the pledge. She studied his features but could find no hint of ulterior intent. I suppose though that nobody sees the dragon until flames show.

The congresswoman steered the further discussion into the much safer, well-charted waters of small talk. By the close of their meeting, she quite liked him. She still had no clues of what made him tick and her probes were all skillfully rebuffed. He just waltzed her down alternate conversational streets. Too often, those ended abruptly at another faintly ribald ambiguity.

“I’ve enjoyed our chat. Let’s do it again.” Unfortunately, time was at a premium due to the exhaustive groundwork involved for the upcoming presidential visit to her district.

“I’m just a call or a beck away.”

She watched as he walked away. I can see why he’s the talk of coffee klatch girls. Besides the physicality though, he also had wits enough to have kept Judith on tiptoes throughout their interview. He was just what she liked in a debate sparring partner. About the only way to schedule some time though, was to include him in her preparations for the looming political extravaganza.

…

“Hold on a second.” Nelly covered her phone while she flagged him down and signaled him to wait. “No, she’s out of town until day after tomorrow. Goodbye.” She cradled the receiver. “It seems you’ve made a favorable impression on the boss.”

“Good.” His choice of coming to Ohio was strictly for the political importance. The reason for his charitable work was in the insider information he could glean. Allen would’ve gladly even done unpaid work for a scumbag sycophant to meet his overall objectives. That Judith was such an atypical gem was a treat.

“That’s a matter of opinion.” The woman chuckled. “The more Judith likes you also means the harder she works you. You’re being assigned extra duty.”

“No problem. Sleeping and eating are just frills anyways. What’s my new assignment?”

“You have a choice.” Nelly showed him a short selection. “I’d steer clear of this one though. Its long hours and it could get nasty.”

“I’ll take it.” His eyes followed her fingertip to a chore that fit his mission like plug in a socket.

“You’re either brave or stupid and I don’t know you well enough to guess which.” The woman laughed and handed him the file. “Judith will want you to go over this with you and then will likely vent her frustrations on you. I hope you’ve had a few frills lately: you’re not going to have more for about the next 36 to 48 hours.”

Allen just grinned and shrugged.

“I appreciate your doing this. You’ve saved me from being an ogre on tasking someone else or worse yet, having to do it myself.”

…

“I’m told that you’re the unfortunate who pulled the short straw.” Judith watched her newest assistant saunter in.

“You were informed wrongly then. I had first pick and choose it from the list.” He held the folders at his full arms extension as if they were unexploded ordinance. “I’m glutinous in the punishment department.”

“Give it over.” The congresswoman held out a hand.

Allan draped himself nonchalantly on her plush office divan to await her reaction.

“Pardon me while I vomit!” She offered a gracious comment on the list of names that read like a who’s who of her least favorite politicians. “When I leave the stage I’m going to need a shower.”

“You should push to get a team of janitors with brooms and shovels to clean the podium before it’s your turn at the mike.”

“I know you’re operating on zero sleep right now but can we go through the rest of your material now?” Judith asked. His task was to exhaustively ferret out details on each person so they could build a strategy in differing eventualities. She took a closer look at him. “I have to say, that you look amazingly good despite your ordeal.”

“Sure.” Allan deferred commenting. In fact, it had reduced his workload and he had enjoyed ample rest. His own research was on the same vein and he had much of it done already. Shiva’s Messenger needed to know which person he could feel comfortable in killing. As interviewing in person was impossible, research was the only other alternative. Until he got this extra duty, his field of potential speakers had been much wider.

“Let’s start by trying to deduce what order we’ll be speaking in.”

“You’ll likely be last.” He spoke the unkind truth

“Alright, so that was the easy part.” Judith shrugged off the remark as what it was—a bluntly accurate assessment. The president wasn’t coming here to support her. The senior congressman for the area was owed the political favors. Her being on the same stage was due only to her current position as a congresswoman who happened to belong to the same party.

“Then what’s next?” He already knew and was eager.

“Now we’ll have to decide who’ll be just before me. I’ll be expected to say something nice about them and to find that I might have to search back to the cradle.”

They knuckled down to work and Allen carefully drew out her impressions on each personality. Judith was the perfect research tool for the moralistic assassin because she had dealt with most of them and could relate tidbits not housed in any archives.

“At least the vice-president won’t be there. He’s the worst of the lot.” As they finished up, Judith removed her bifocals and tried to pinch the start of a headache from the bridge of her nose.

“Yep,” he’d been concentrating on finishing up his mental list and her comment only partially registered. Allen shuffled his notes back into a semblance of order and closed the file. “We’re done.”

When Allen said he was finished, it announced finality in all aspects. The political intern Powers had completed his assigned task and Shiva’s Messenger had satisfied his preplanned objectives. He could continue to work for Judith but he didn’t require anything else from her. Now, he was free to play any games he wanted.

“And an ugly task it was.” Judith put her glasses back on and joked. “Did you bring in any good news to take the edge off it?”

“As a matter of fact I did,” Allen concealed a malicious smirk, “you’re scheduled to take a thrilling political junket.”

“I don’t have any time for frivolous travel.” The congresswoman jerked alert. This was the first time she had heard anything about a trip. “Where am I supposed to go?”

“All expenses paid to beautiful downtown Akron.” Allen grinned puckishly. For such a smart lady, Judith was easy-pickings for him to sneak up on at a gullible moment. “The Secret Service wants you to go over the security arrangements with them.”

“You’re such an imp,” the congresswoman abused her volunteer aide with a punch in the shoulder while laughing, “I’m going to reduce your salary by half. How much are we paying you? Zero? In that case, make it by 90% so it really hurts.” She did enjoy having a non-pandering assistant to keep her grounded in reality. “On second thought, I’ll punish you worse by making you escort me over there. We can endure it together.”

“I know you’re against the death penalty so I’m shocked at your support for corporal punishment.”

Chapter 9 of Shiva’s Messenger

A Nifty Twist on the NAFTA

After enjoying a meal in the Via Rail dining car, he went back to his seat. The young traveler reclined and watched the scenery for a few minutes. The tracks went through industrial sections of urban areas but between centers, he could watch the rugged Canadian landscape slipping by. With a berth to sleep in, this was definitely better than driving. As Sam had predicted, he arrived in Winnipeg well rested.

Shiva’s Messenger took a taxi to an address only one block from the car lot. Renting a stretched limo and putting Mexican flags on the hood had been an option that he’d considered briefly but he didn’t want quite that much attention.

“Hello Garcia Monterey,” the impeccably dressed man viewed his reflection in a shop window as he walked by. Garcia adopted a swagger in his step that only prestige can purchase or practice may imitate. With an air of aristocracy, he strode onto the lot and stood still in the exact center. Taking out his video camera, he began to pan it about, while providing a Spanish commentary.

After only a few seconds, a grinning salesman emerged from the office. His step was lively and his polyester suit flapped as he walked. Garcia gave the man a disparaging look from head to toe and didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“I do not deal with underlings.” Garcia turned curtly away to dismiss the salesman entirely.
He remained in place and continued to view the cars. It only took another brief moment before Garcia heard a heavy shuffle of feet coming up behind him. Turning, he saw a grossly obese man approaching him in a waddle. His ensemble was better made than his salesman’s was. To find something off-the-rack to encircle his expansive girth, the man would’ve been in a tent and awning shop as opposed to a big and tall men’s wear one.

“You are the owner of these automobiles?” Garcia asked with only a slight trace of a Mexican accent. He had also dropped the contractions in his speech. A man of Monterey’s noble breeding and classical education would not use them.

“I do. In fact, I own the whole lot.”

[private_Chevron]“Very good, then may I be honored with your name?”

“Uh, Frost, Andrew Frost. That’s why I named my business Frosty the Car Man.”

“I am Señor Garcia Monterey.” He extended his hand and Andrew quickly took it into his sweaty grasp.

“You put my salesman in a huff by dismissing him so abruptly,” Frost noted this for its amusement potential. “What can I do for you, uh—Senior Monterey?”

“Lower people should accept their station in life.” Garcia’s terse reply exuded how little he cared whether he had offended an employee. “In your country, you have allowed the distinction between classes to become blurred.”

“I tend to agree.” Andrew tittered and the mirthful action was accompanied by undulations in his flesh rolls, “Our social structure is more subtle. It comes down to whose money talks the loudest.”

“Then I shall shout at you.” Garcia smiled wryly but his voice remained at the same pitch. “What is the best car on your lot and how much are you asking for it?” He could have easily answered for himself as the prices were affixed to each window in two-foot day-glow colored signs.

“That one.” He pointed out a recent model Lexus and launched into his pitch. “It’s a sweetheart of a deal at only $48,900. Only one previous owner and low mileage.”

“I will take that car.” Garcia interrupted the sales banter. “My intent is to purchase other vehicles from you as well. However, as I will be spending a substantial dollar amount, I would prefer that this money went more towards buying the cars and less towards the revenue coffers of the national government.”

“I can arrange that for my good customers.” Normally Andrew knew the buyers better before suggesting the backdoor way of tax avoidance but the thought of selling the Lexus and the intimation of other sales was far too tempting to pass up.

“What I just asked you to do is not legal in your country,” Garcia noted casually. “Yet you agreed to it without a qualm.”

“I’ve got an expensive lawyer.” Frost felt a twinge of regret in having responded candidly but he bragged his way out with a well-worn quip. “He can bring anything in the grey area back onto the sunny side of legal.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” Garcia scrutinized him with an intensity that nearly made the man squirm. “Regardless of your barrister’s fee schedule, he cannot turn this shade of pitch into anything lighter than a deep charcoal. The laws of government taxation are very clear and more jealously enforced than even murder.”

“I, um—.” Andrew’s tongue tripped over his teeth. He mopped his face frantically with his handkerchief while he struggled for a response to extricate himself. He saw no option except to try to brush it off with some truth. “Well, in this country the indigenous people have special dispensations, so we can conduct sales through their tax-exempt status.” Andrew was relieved by the smile and the knowing nod he received in return for this answer.

“I understand.” Garcia paused for a long moment to allow Andrew to believe that he was now in the clear. Finally, he closed the trap on the salesman. Taking a small step forward, Garcia slightly invaded the fat man’s space and the disparity of their height lent an even further intimidation.

“What I fail to see, though, is how you and I, that are non-indigenous, can perform a transaction that does not accrue a tax liability? Even performed through an exempt third party, there is still a tariff that must be disassociated.”

Like a free-range cow herded into a stockade, all Andrew could do was to stand chewing a non-existent cud. He craned from side to side looking for a way out but he knew that there wasn’t any. He had walked into an ambush and this well-dressed man wasn’t a customer. This had to be a federal agent and Andrew’s own tax bill had probably bought his fine clothes. “You’re with the government? I want my lawyer.”

“I am not a member of your government. Now please answer my question.” Garcia figuratively had him gripped by the short curly hairs. “Who incurs the debt for those sales tax remissions?”

“If a man has dug himself into a hole, then the smartest thing to do, is to stop digging.” Visions of prison swam in Andrew’s mind, but at least it was only going to be his word against his accuser. There was still a possibility of escape, especially if he quickly destroyed his records before a search warrant could take them.

“Andrew, I am afraid that the pit you have excavated is far beyond an acceptable depth already.” Garcia lifted the camera from his side where it had remained, to his shoulder level. The recording LED shone like a red beacon of doom in Frost’s face. The cornered rat blinked rapidly and his face fell as he saw his reflection, even more rotund than in reality, in the convex lens. “Now Mr. Frost, what do you have further to lose by answering my question? Perhaps the mole that ceases his burrowing fails to find the escape tunnel that might be only a shovel’s distance away?”

“I—.” Andrew paused and swallowed hard. The camera sealed his fate. There wouldn’t be a need for even the records. Still, the aristocratic young man had just offered a glimmer of salvation. He couldn’t detect any other way, so he dropped his eyes to the ground and blurted out the rest. “The taxes are owed by the native, but they likely won’t pay it and generally, they aren’t even aware that the transaction has been done in their name.”

“Thank you.” Garcia’s demeanor transformed from threatening to genial. He clasped the man’s slumping shoulder in camaraderie. “That was not so hard now, was it?”

“So, what do you want?”

“I have a transaction that I wish to do but I needed to find a partner willing to exploit the underclass of society as the resource that they are.” Garcia switched off the camera with slight audible click and the tension in the air swiftly dissipated. “I have evaluated you and determined you are worthy of engaging in business with.”

“What business are we engaging?” Andrew constructed a clumsy sentence out of words heard recently. He was reeling from the emotional swings the gentleman had pushed him through.

“Are you intending,” Garcia chided in a friendly manner, “to discuss commerce while standing in the middle of your car lot?”

“Uh, no, would you like to come into my office?” Andrew was always ready to discuss a potentially profitable deal, even if it was illegal as this one might be. Make that especially if it was illicit, as those usually paid the best.

They walked to the office through the sales floor area. The receptionist was a woman that showed she once had beauty, but sedentary life and pampering had eroded it. She was bedecked with ostentatious jewelry and her makeup was gaudy. Given the fact that there was no paperwork at her desk and the salesman actually did the reception in the lot, her position was seemingly inconsequential. By a wedding ring on her finger that was all carats and no class, Garcia guessed she was Andrew’s wife. Difference in their comparative ages suggested she was the trophy of a long ago matrimonial contest but now neither one was a prize.

Her appraising gaze followed Garcia as they continued into Andrew’s inner-sanctum. The Mexican noble suspected that she would know almost the exact value of every article of his clothing. Garcia had nothing to worry about there, as his designer clothing wasn’t imitation. Andrew’s wife could evaluate and her estimate would only strengthen his position.

“What kind of venture are you proposing, Senior Monterey?” Frost lowered his mass into his plush office chair to a straining of air as it hissed out of the seams.

“In private, you may address me by my given name.” The elegant Latin American man settled into the hard-backed chair normally occupied by petitioners seeking a price negotiation.

“Garcia,” Andrew’s ego swelled at being afforded this privilege by the aristocratic young man, “let’s talk turkey.”

“Our discussion may be poultry, but not paltry. I want to buy 200 cars.” His demeanor was casual as if he were asking to buy nothing more valuable than a carton of eggs. Countering Frost’s banality with his originality, Garcia elevated himself to a higher plateau. ‘Stupid people panic when confronted with intelligence.’

“Two hundred!” Frost almost swallowed his coffee-stained dentures. “I don’t have that many.”

“You do not need to have them, as the cars are already in my possession. What I do not have are sales slips for them so that I can export to Mexico. The North American Free Trade Agreement does contain legal requirements that must be observed.”

“Uh,” Andrew thought for a moment before continuing. Issuing sales documents for stolen automobiles was as bad or even worse than dodging taxes by unloading them onto status Indians. “We’re talking about stolen cars?”

“Andrew,” Garcia feigned some slight indignation, “How can you honestly believe a man such as I could deal in purloined vehicles? My status here is that of Trade and Commerce Legate for the Federal Republic of Mexico. I am a highly respected citizen of my country and I am a privileged guest in yours.” Garcia smiled as he managed to slip this title nonchalantly into the conversation. He noted that it had the desired effect.

“Then why do you need someone to issue transfer documents?” Andrew was puzzled but somewhat in awe, that such a high-ranking person was actually in his office.

“Well, maybe,” Garcia continued with an ironic smile, “it is possible the vehicles were misappropriated at some time but the serial-numbers they currently wear were obtained from salvage yards. Mexican car buyers are not so discriminating as Canadians on whether a pre-owned automobile has been in an accident.”

“That’s different.” Andrew Frost sat for a long moment in stunned disbelief. This was the possibility of a huge score and it was falling straight into his lap. “Why me?”

“I know that the population of Manitoba contains a higher than proportional representation of status individuals. That is why I chose to come to Winnipeg. Since this is the link in the chain that ties my name to the cars, I need to establish a purchase that is beyond reproach. For this I require a business associate who knows that lesser people only have value as the resources of their masters. I assume you have a file of throw-away names that can be utilized.” Garcia watched carefully for Andrew’s reaction.

“Yes! Of course I do and if I don’t have quite enough I can get more.” Andrew glanced to his corner safe where he kept his file. He swelled at being considered worthy by such an esteemed gentleman as Garcia Monterey and was completely dazzled by the brilliance of his scheme. “You intend to sell your vehicles to my consignees untraceably for cash and then purchase them back to receive the legal documentation?”

“That is correct. My certified check to you establishes my fully legitimate ownership and in this transaction there is no grey zone.” Garcia smiled as he felt the firm tug on his line, indicating the hook was now bitten. “Once the automobiles are safely in international waters, it is too late to physically compare them against secondary serial numbers.”

“I really like this!” Andrew rocked back in his chair with a smug grin. He began to perspire profusely in anticipation. “When do you need them and what’s my commission?”

“I presume then, that you intend to sell me the cars I require?” Garcia rose to his feet effortlessly and extended his firm dry hand to take the clammy fat one Andrew presented from his seated position.

“Yes, we have a deal. Now let’s fill in the blanks.”

“You have to fill in the blanks on 200 forms—from a list of cars with make, model, year, price and serial number information. I want them ready by Friday. The ship is being loaded and should leave port on Monday. As this is short notice, I will offer a commission of 25%.” Garcia remained standing casually but towering over the desk.

“Uh, 25% is fine.” Andrew initially thought that he should bargain but reconsidered: he didn’t want anything to risk this deal.

“The profit must justify a cost of acquisition and transportation. Paying expenses that are exorbitant may give an impression of impropriety.” Garcia parted with the rational he had prepared in case Andrew tried to negotiate. Again, the height intimidation had helped pre-empt further dispute.

“What are the exact dollar figures?”

Garcia spoke again with apparent unconcern for the amounts. “There are 200 cars and the price should be an average of $15,000 per unit. That is around 3 million. With your 25% added, the amount is 3.75 million. With the sales taxes included, I will give you certified checks in the amount of approximately $4,000,000 dollars.”

“I’m confused about the taxes. You said in the lot that you didn’t want to pay them.”

“I said that only during my evaluation of your suitability. My dealings with your business will be above reproach in every respect. The total amounts on the paperwork will exactly match the payment on my check and that includes the appropriate taxes. Whether or not your status consignees remit, is of no concern to me.”

Andrew was momentarily speechless. His keeping the sales taxes for himself boosted his commission to 30% overall. His broad smile pushed out his fleshy cheeks and made his face look like he had inserted a whole cucumber into his mouth sideways.

“So I need three million dollars to give you?” One million was an extraordinary profit for a day’s work, but Andrew’s mind grappled with the up-front cash. “Canadian dollars?”

“If you prefer, we could conduct the transaction in Pesos. Does this amount present a difficulty for you?”

“Ah, no, no problem at all.” Andrew lied quickly and waved it off. He’d have to cut his lawyer and maybe a couple of his fellow car dealers into the deal for a minor share to swing it. “And dollars will be fine.”

“Then I can expect the completed documents by Friday evening?” Garcia fished a packet of notes from his jacket pocket. Compiling the serial numbers of 200 vehicles from the motor vehicle accident records had taken several hours at the archives.

“Make the purchaser information to match this.” Garcia set his passport on the desk and it was truly a thing of absolute beauty. The imitation Mexican diplomatic passport Sam had crafted looked, felt and even smelled like the real thing. Sam’s attention to detail went so far as to providing Garcia with many country stamps and diplomatic visas.

As he finished transcribing the information, Andrew Frost’s attention fell onto the video camera and he suddenly recalled the incriminating evidence. “Garcia, what’re you doing with that now?”

“You have nothing to worry about with this. I can delete it now if you like but I do have some video notes to my uncle. Would you like to see the cars you are selling me being loaded onto the ship while we find the point on the tape to begin erasing?”

“Sure.” Andrew propped his elbows onto his desk and watched intently as Garcia rewound the tape. Although he couldn’t follow the commentary, the subject matter was unmistakable. If there remained even the slimmest of lingering doubt, it now vanished completely. The passport and video absolutely locked in the barbs.

The young angler smiled at the big tuna that hung torpidly on his line with the hook swallowed so deeply that it offered no irritation. This one wasn’t even giving a wriggle of a fight as he was being reeled in. Garcia had no regrets about erasing the tape. A judge & jury didn’t need this evidence because the verdict was already in and the sentence would be carried out swiftly enough.

“Now, what about my Lexus? I would like to take it today while keeping the current registration. I had my limo drop me off so that I could attend to this, my non-official business. Add the price of the car to the overall amount.”

“Absolutely.” Andrew levered himself out of the chair to obtain the keys to the car. “It’s in the name of Thomas Cardinal and the plates are valid. It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Sir.”

After bidding farewell to his very welcome new associate, Andrew settled back into his seat with a double sigh that emanated both from his lungs and the chair’s tortured upholstery.

“What an incredible deal!” When a fish takes an angler’s hook, instinct or appeal has driven it to trust that the lure has sustenance value. But more often the bait is just a flashy painted spoon, holding only visual flavoring. The primitive fish brain then has a quandary. Can it accept conflicting data from the tongue, when it believes that the eyes don’t lie? Frost had snapped at a tasty looking lure that glittered with apparently genuine dollar signs. Now the thought couldn’t cross his mind that the word ‘incredible’ was also dictionary defined as ‘not believable’.

“I wonder if I’ve just had a future president of Mexico sitting in my office?” Andrew mused. It was amazing that one so young held such a high-ranking diplomatic position. He was obviously very well educated but his family still needed to have substantial clout within the government. Señor Monterey offered a certified check but Frost would’ve gladly even trusted a personal one.

Now Andrew Frost had to give some thought on how to retain for himself as much of the profit as possible. He would take out a very large loan. Commission that his partners got could be trimmed to 20%. Grinning, he absentmindedly massaged the billowing rolls of his jowls. Then, he picked up the phone and got to work.

…

Garcia Monterey also sighed as he left but his was one of relief. The man continually perspires from every conceivable portion of his gross anatomy. His teeth probably even sweated when he smiled in the sunshine. He carries a cloying air envelope around him as tart as a half-time locker room.

Garcia gunned the engine of his nearly new Lexus and the wheels chirped as he headed for a desperately needed shower.

The hotel room’s mirror watched another transformation, as Garcia became Roger once more. Audrey would need some good legal representation. Proof to exonerate her was in Andrew’s safe: Frost confirmed it with a flickering glance on the mention of throwaway names. Hammerhead Faraday was unsuitable for the task so Roger needed to go shopping for another. If only Jessica Ellis were here: for her lawyer abilities in addition to her other pleasurable attributes.

In Winnipeg’s uptown area, he found a large legal partnership. It was a posh office with a staff of attorneys. Roger Connors had considered whether to use this identity for this application. It didn’t feel quite right. I should’ve switched names on leaving Creston.

His current appearance no longer matched the identification. The name was also a thin but unbroken strand that linked to Dr. Cindy. Still, since Audrey knew him still as Roger, her lawyer should as well or immediate questions would pop up. His father supplied the phrase that finally swayed his decision. ‘Pressing concerns should take priority over potential problems’.

“Miss, I need your advice on which lawyer to choose.” The handsome young man placed both hands flat on the reception desk and leaned forward slightly.

The young woman blushed, knowing that she had a rehearsed response at the ready. “I’m not qualified to give legal advice.”

“Suggesting a barrister isn’t legal advice. It’s just giving me your personal opinion.” Roger had anticipated her reply, from a script.

“They’re all good lawyers.” Slightly flustered, she shrugged and stayed with her pre-authorized text. “This is the number one firm in the city.”

“Ok, that makes them all competent.” He set his elbows on the counter to put his face on a closer level to hers and lowered his pitch to suggest intimacy. “I want to know which one treats you the nicest?”

“That is an easy answer.” The query was also not covered by her reply list. “Darcy Leach. She’s really junior though.”

“I’d like an appointment with her then, please.” He treated the receptionist with an appreciative smile.

Moments later, Roger Connors was ushered into an office only marginally larger than a walk-in closet. Darcy stood and rounded the desk to shake his hand. A siren wailed a warning into his mind. Danger! Exercise extreme caution and don’t be an idiot this time! She appeared to be similar in age to Jessica. Winnipeg is reputed to house a disproportionate amount of exceedingly beautiful women and Darcy was certainly one that supported that testimonial.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Connors?” Darcy came straight to business but with a charming, white-toothed smile.

“A friend needs better representation than she’s previously not enjoyed.” Roger’s eyes were on the lawyer’s but peripheral vision showed him there was a diminutive chair in front of her undersized desk. Sitting in that would make him feel like he was attending a tea party in a child’s playhouse.

“Tell me about her situation.” Darcy noted that he had stalled in place after the greeting. She often got that when men entered her office and presumed it was a male reaction to her appearance. She leaned casually back against her desk to converse while standing.

Roger described the bag lady’s circumstances. Although Darcy expounded generally the same points Anthony had raised, it wasn’t done condescendingly. He countered with his firm belief that while many in the same situation may be guilty, Audrey wasn’t.

“Her sentence is finished and she is free,” the young lawyer asked, “so what can be done for her now?”

“She’s no longer incarcerated but Audrey is anything but free. The prison stigma, over and above background prejudice regarding her race, hampers her attempts to find steady work. Without a job, she can’t get her child back and without her son, Audrey is prone to a despair that impairs her employability. She’s locked in a hopeless cycle that was initiated through no fault of her own.”

“My firm normally doesn’t take these cases.” It was beginning to interest her though, as was the client. Much too junior to flout the rules, there was still a temptation.

“Possibly because they pre-assume the client’s guilt and don’t want to partake in the misery for the meager payments that legal aid offers?” Bottom feeders like Anthony Faraday thrived on the scraps a prestigious firm found distasteful. “If a sufficient retainer was posted on Audrey’s behalf, would we then have to flip to a different page of your company’s policy manual?”

The lawyer had to think about this for only a flicker of a second before parrying and smiling deliciously at a deceptive double thrust in his phrasing. “Maybe to the first. And then yes for the next.”

Roger cracked a corresponding grin. You’re sharp as a rapier, Ms. Leach. This fencing interchange was the ideal proof he had found the right lawyer to represent Audrey. It also demonstrated that the hazard signal that sounded in his head when he saw her—was well merited.

The balance of the short interview was spent talking about things Darcy should also do for Audrey’s case. These included helping her navigate the fetid quagmire of the child welfare system to get her son back and giving moral support in recapturing her self-esteem. Darcy agreed to give the case priority and to peruse the file before the weekend. A meeting with Audrey was set for Friday afternoon. The retainer was paid in cash but the amount wasn’t sufficient to evoke more than a slightly curious look.

“Audrey had a winning wager on the dark horse when she met you.” Darcy took his hand again to terminate the meeting but she enticingly held it significantly longer than business decorum merited.

“That good luck is para-mutual.” Rein away stallion, before the lord of nature’s dance spurs your brain in a mare’s nest again!

…

Shiva’s Messenger went to see Audrey one last time but she wasn’t in her room. He inquired at the front desk and was directed to the motel laundry, where he found her washing sheets. “Are we having fun yet?” He startled her from behind.

“Roger?” She took a second to recognize his new look.

“Are you working here now?” He was very pleased to see that Audrey had cleaned herself up so nicely. It was difficult to picture her as the bag lady huddled in the cold: such a short time ago.

“Just part-time because I’m staying here anyways. It’s nice to be doing something again.” Audrey grinned and spoke down in a conspiratorial tone. “I’d do the work even if they weren’t paying me.”

“You have an appointment with a nice lady lawyer.” He handed over a card. “She’s agreed to look at your case. If all goes as it should, Darcy can help get your son back from foster care.”

“I can’t afford a lawyer.” The rekindled slender hope of seeing her boy again brought a heavy mist into her brown eyes.

“Don’t you worry about that. I talked to Darcy and she’s agreed to do it for you. She knows what you can and can’t afford, so you just let her do her job.”

“I didn’t have to pay for my last lawyer either.” The skeptical look spoke volumes about the quality of service that the double-breasted reef cruiser had provided.

“I didn’t find that one for you. I guarantee you’re really going to like Darcy and she’s going to do only good things for you.” He paused and then told her the rest. “I have to leave today and I probably won’t be back any time soon. I’m going to give you enough money to get you set up in an apartment. We don’t want your bringing your son back to live in a motel. You’ll have to start looking after yourself after that. Maybe you can get regular work here. Perhaps Darcy will vouch for you. I think you’re doing fine. All you have to do is think positive thoughts to keep yourself on the straight path.”

“How do I repay you?” Audrey had been trying to keep track of what he had spent but she suspected the lawyer cost something. Now, he was talking about giving even more.

“This is my pleasure.” He placed an affable hand on her arm, “You paid a debt that you didn’t owe. I’m just refunding it for you.”

“You’re not the one that did those things to me, so why are you the one paying me back?” She lowered her chin to look curiously at his face, “I still think you’re an angel.”

“No,” he found her misconstrued opinion of his benevolence just as funny the second time, “I’m your collection agency.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Could you figure out the bad events that happened to you?”

“No.”

“Then why do you have to grasp the good ones? Just accept them and be happy.” After planting a kiss on her forehead, he left.[/private_Chevron]

…

Garcia Monterey phoned Frost’s car lot on Friday morning. “Are the transfer documents ready?”

“I’m really glad you called.” Andrew puffed slightly like picking up the phone had put him out of breath. “I was just about to call your embassy in Ottawa.”

“They would have just patched you through to me here.” Garcia was fortunate this was a phone call. His hugely relieved reaction might have shown in person. “Is there a problem?”

“No. I’m just calling to set up a time for our meeting.” Andrew seemed to forget that he hadn’t been the one that dialed. “I also wanted to ensure that you had the exact figure to put on the check.”

“How about eight thirty?” Garcia then jotted down the amount.

Garcia Monterey hung up the phone. Then after a quick glance at the wall mirror, Roger Connors picked it up again to dial Darcy’s cell phone. “Have you read the file yet?”

“Yes.” The lawyer then went on to excitedly report her finding something bemusing. Audrey had sold the cars to different people, but the same sales lot had filled out all the paperwork. “I expect I’ll have an interesting discussion with the owner.

“That intriguing.” Roger feigned surprise. “You might consider getting a search warrant first or he’ll have an opportunity to destroy any evidence.”

“Please, Mr. Connors,” she chuckled at his presumption of her nonexistent naïveté, “I was born at night, but it wasn’t last night.”

Shiva’s Messenger keyed in the numbers and an imprinter Sam had provided cranked out a perfect check. He minutely examined the finished product under the desk light. From the intricate logo of an import & export company to the embossed dollar amount and certified stamps, the forgery was a masterful piece of work. Of course it had to be, Sam Levi was a peerless craftsman. Tossing away the other beautiful blanks was almost a dirty shame. Still, having too many was always better than not quite enough.

He donned the same slightly oversized suit jacket that Romero had worn and strapped on the same shoulder holster. The identical Ruger model to the one from Creston was again the right weapon for the task. It was quiet and deadly. Again the fit was invisible and he practiced his draw a few times until the motions were engrained into his muscle memory. He looked in his mirror.

“Hey there Garcia. Why don’t we go and put a new clause into the North American Free Trade Agreement.”

…

[private_Chevron]The Lexus drove into the Frosty the Car Man lot at precisely twenty-five minutes after eight. Garcia took several deep breaths. His attention was only on the air filling his lungs. Now centered, he was prepared to react instantly to developing contingencies.

He counted only three parked cars that weren’t plastered with stickers and soap writing. The main door wasn’t locked and Garcia entered the sales floor area. The kitschy receptionist with wealth-detection radar was absent and so was the cheap suited salesman.

Andrew Frost heard the door buzzer as his guest entered but winching his hefty carcass off the sofa without a beef-butcher’s hoist had taken a little time.

“Garcia,” Andrew checked his watch as he waddled. “You’re right on the button.”

“I am always punctual.” The Mexican diplomat stood with hands clasped behind his back in hopes of the posture discouraging the customary handshake ritual. Frost was performing for the audience of his own ego though, so there was no getting around it. After releasing the sweat soaked grip, Garcia casually rested the palm of his gun-hand against his pants to let the cloth soak up the moisture.

Andrew swagger-stepped into his garish headquarters with the illustrious guest in tow, as if he were a recently knighted lord with a royal patron. Garcia wondered how the man rationalized his inflated self-image. Maybe Frost viewed himself better than others saw him. ‘A mind sees what the heart believes’—and, as per usual, his father provided key to understanding.

“I have some men for you to meet.” Frost swept a hand at a couple of occupants in the office but neglected mentioning names. “Two of my contemporaries are putting through some of the sales.”

“If I had known there were more participants in the deal I could have divided the amount into separate checks.” Garcia nodded to the two other car lot owners in acknowledgement of the nameless introductions. Since the men aren’t of similar age to Andrew, the word contemporary was misused. Shiva’s Messenger didn’t need their names and the timeframe didn’t permit his establishing their individual morals. Their involvement here and the company they kept had to peg their relative value. Garcia relegated both to the same level of contempt as they held for the natives housed in their expendable names files.

“That’s fine,” Andrew was animated in hamming his role. “My colleagues and I have agreed already that I’ll cash the check and divide up the funds appropriately.” He looked slightly askance at his fellows that he had again misclassified, as none were professional or skilled coworkers. Frost had lied to them in specifically saying that Garcia Monterey had stipulated for only one check.

“My banker sent this other gentleman.” Andrew indicated to the corner of the room behind the door, where a muscular hired thug had his gun holster worn brazenly over his t-shirt. “He insisted on having some security due to the large amount of cash.”

“Then let us get to it.” The diplomat smiled and punctuated his statement with a clap of his hands. Garcia glanced back at the guard, sizing him up and noting his exact location. The term gentleman and banker were applied as inappropriately as the other phraseology. The Mexican aristocrat then turned away from the loan shark’s thug without even a nod, as if he was a peon and his presence meant less than a dead parrot hanging from a perch. ‘Take out the ones with the guns first.’

“Here are the 200 filled out transaction forms.” Andrew crossed to the desk and opened the cover of a thick file folder. He fanned out the papers like a blackjack dealer would with a deck of cards.

“All appears to be satisfactory.” Garcia only flicked his eyes at the desk. Whether there were errors or if the forms were even filled out at all was irrelevant. The diplomat plucked a certified check out of his inside jacket pocket and placed it on the desk but saw no need to announce it or dramatize it.

“They are all in order, I double-checked each myself.” Andrew shuffled around the desk and squatted by his wall safe: his knees popped noisily under his weight. After spinning the dials, he opened the armored door to withdraw two briefcases that he set on the desk. Whether by oversight or by his intent to put the check in a secure location afterwards, Frost neglected to close the safe’s door.

“Three million smackeroos!” Andrew continued his theatrics by flourishing a hand over the neatly stacked bundles of Canadian banknotes. “I counted this myself three times and it was the most fun I’ve ever had.” There’s the epitome of a thrill-filled life. Andrew chortled both in response to his own sparkling humor and his Oscar caliber performance.

The outer door-warning buzzer sounded but Andrew gestured his audience to relax. “That’ll just be my lawyer. There’s dollars on my desk so he’s right on cue. Garcia, you might want to occupy yourself with some counting while I bring him in.”

“I believe I will.” Shiva’s Messenger drew his gun while he spun on his heel. The arrival of the legal ray of sunshine that brightened up Frost’s grey scale transactions meant Garcia should finish his current job before meeting the next. “One-two,” the assassin tallied in a whisper as he put two evenly spaced rounds above the wide eyes of the guard’s shocked expression.

Andrew didn’t even miss a step. He hadn’t heard the muted reports over the slapping of his thighs and his labored breathing. Garcia didn’t stay swiveled to watch the bodyguard fall. Instead, he pivoted back and fired four more muffled rounds. “Three-four and five-six.” The two nameless businessmen were now as deceased as they were anonymous.

‘Always count the shots that you take forward and the rounds you replace backwards. Reload as often as practical and always before you’ve shot your last. Never be caught with an empty weapon’. Garcia recalled one of his father’s favorite truisms. He turned to face the door and held his gun casually behind his body.

“Bravo!” The assassin could not ask for a grander finale.

“You?” Anthony Faraday stared agape at the young man he’d spoken with a few days ago. His puzzled look transmuted to one of horror as he noticed that neither businessman showed signs of life.

“What the—?” Andrew also noticed that the mortality warranty on his associates had suddenly expired. His head turned quickly to stage left, where his protection had stood only moments ago. The ruffian now lay as a heap of costume and props in the wings.

“One has to just love a good coup de théâtre?” Garcia adlibbed. “This little plot twist has left you with no rebuttal.”

Like a gaffed tuna, hauled flopping onto the deck of a trawler, Frost blinked frantically and his mouth soundlessly fluttered like it was trying to find water for the gills. His eyes bulged questioningly at the deadly aristocrat but before a flabbergasted brain could frame a succinct query, two lead sinkers dove into the grey matter. Now terminally out of breath, Andrew’s fleshy fillet splashed onto the blue threadbare carpet, never to sweat again.

“I’m not one of them.” Anthony found the overdrive gear for his lips and quickly tried to distance himself from the slain.

“No,” Garcia rounded to his last victim and his voice was colder than a Winnipeg winter, “you are much worse than them. You’re the Ketaki flower: you claimed you came from the top of the fire column for your clients but you didn’t. That is why I am going to let you suffer a bit. Seven, eight and now nine.” Shiva was bang on target but I’ll be off the kill shot. He aimed low and squeezed the trigger.

Anthony screamed as the hypersonic bullet devastated his left kneecap. The lawyer fell and grabbed at his tortured limb.

“These other filth just used names for their profit without caring who got hurt.” Garcia continued his soliloquy. “You looked into their faces and recommended, as their defense lawyer, that they plead guilty for expediency. You knew they were innocent—because you were profiting from their supposed crimes.”

“I’ll help your girlfriend’s aunt for free.” The shark man pleaded.

“Can you imagine my delight at seeing you walk in this door?” Garcia disdainfully ignored the worthless offer and pulled a handful of .22 caliber rounds out of his pocket. He slowly refilled his gun while deliberately allowing the shark to savor his bitten tail fin. “I found you callous toward the people you were paid to represent but that wasn’t enough to justify my killing you. Luckily for me, your greed couldn’t keep you away.”

“I can pay you.” Anthony was desperate.

“More than three million?” As if to punctuate, Garcia slammed the lids down on the cases and clasped them. “Now as your only remaining council, I recommend your expediently pleading dead.”
With a double-tap, like a gavel on his forehead, justice was carried out swiftly and with no grounds for an appeal.

Garcia collected all eleven spent casings and tucked the check back into his pocket with them. In the reception area, he flipped the receiver off the cradle with the back of his hand. He used one of the spent rounds as a tool to stab the numbers 9-1-1 on the keypad. There was no sense giving Mrs. Frost time to empty the office of evidence or to close the safe. The killer was so far away by the time the police responded that he never even heard the sirens.[/private_Chevron]

Chapter 7 of Shiva’s Messenger

Reflections of the Ferryman

There was room in the drive behind the two prestigious cars but Romero parked on the street instead. He pressed the doorbell and received an almost instantaneous response. Watson’s nose must have been behind a curtain. The young Columbian was ushered into the living room.

The lawyer already does quite well for himself but he obviously yearns for more. The whole house was luxurious and very well kept. Watson’s wife, whose striking face he could see in a picture on the mantelpiece, had done a nice job of decorating. They could be standing in a page pulled from a home décor magazine. Seated on the stuffed leather sofa was a balding, overweight, middle-aged man: he wouldn’t have been pictured in any stylish publications.

An enameled coffee table held a bottle of cognac, three brandy snifters and a huge ashtray. Four legal documents were arranged with caliper precision around a golden penholder.

“Mr. Romero Escobedo,” Watson began a formal introduction, “I’d like you to meet my very dear friend and business associate, Dr. Frank Thomson. Please call him Frank or just Doc.”

“I’m pleased to finally meet you.” Romero extended a hand still wearing leather driving gloves. “I’ve heard many things about you.” None of them were complementary.

“All good things, I trust.” Frank Thompson’s hairline appeared frontally assaulted by the opposed team of male pattern baldness. The few remaining hair follicles were protected behind defensive halfbacks of protruding ears leaving a tonsure like laurel wreath made of steel wool. The man obviously cherished what was left and allowed it to grow long and bushy. The wild tufts at his temples gave the doctor’s head an apparent football shape, with his joined eyebrows as the stitching.

Watson motioned everyone to sit. The lawyer took his seat on opposite end zone of the sofa from Frank. That left the large leather upholstered chair as Romero’s bleacher seat.

The host poured cognac into the three snifters. They talked casually for the first few minutes. William and Doc each had several belts of liquor while Romero deferred. Instead, the Columbian in the audience attempted to steer the conversation to Dr. Thompson’s medical practice and his other exploits. Frank wet his mouthpiece with some alcohol and tooted his own horn.

“So I gave the guy the purgative,” in expounding some unsavory anecdotes, with himself in the lead role, Doc intentionally portrayed himself as moderately reprehensible, “and she had the aphrodesiac. Then the girl spent the night in my bedroom while her fiancé was back at the hotel seated on his toilet.”

“That’s interesting Frank.” Romero commented on the last story told but it was also to himself. Due to my being a drug lord, he believes that the worse person I think he is: the more I’ll like him. Doc Thompson was making the evaluation far too easy.

“Shall we get on with business?” Romero ended the small talk. Please cease the color commentary now Frank! The newest player had enough marks posted on the plus/minus board, for the ringer to happily zero the Doctor’s balance.

[private_Chevron]“Here are the corporation’s papers that we first discussed.” Watson picked up the first legal sheaf. It was impeccably printed and bound with a brass stud. “Please read and sign.”

Romero took the proffered document and swiftly perused it. Picking up the pen, he affixed his signature on each line indicated with a ‘sign here’ sticky.

“This one is the agreement for our partnership in your venture with a commission schedule.” Watson was almost trembling with anticipation. He handed the second document to Romero then stood to access a safe hidden behind a painting. “I’ll get the cash. As you’ll see, we managed to raise 1.5 million. With the half price rate you offered, that doubles our minimum.”

“Bill said these contracts were comforting.” Thompson asked as the lawyer worked the combination dials. “But I don’t understand how having my signature on this should bring me ease.”

“It’s not for your benefit.” The Columbian appraised the query as not showing remorse but selfishness. “It’s my blackmail against your staying faithful to our verbal agreement. You will have to ask William to explain why it’s reassuring.”

“The banks complained about parting with this much of their cash float but we do have sufficient local stature.” Watson heard the exchange and changed the subject. He planned to discuss later how the client’s request for incriminating proof showed the intent was for a long-term arrangement. It was yet one more encouraging sign of the deal’s legitimacy. “We both counted it but you may too.”

“There’s no need for that.” Romero set the case down flat on the coffee table and snapped open the clasps. It was full of neatly wrapped bundles of Canadian banknotes. “I’m certain it’s all here.”
Romero closed the case and set it down beside his chair. Picking up the pen again, he began to sign where indicated on the partnership document. That copy and the next two were signed in a rapid succession. When finished, the Columbian leaned back on the leather upholstery to watch both other men autograph their own death warrants.

As the men were signing a subtle shift was occurring within the protégé’s thoughts. It’s like a two for one Tuesday sale at the victim supply depot! Prior to now, Romero’s persona believed in his ability to deliver the drug cash. His in-character performance improved in the same way a method actor’s would.

The assassin shifted his thoughts effortlessly from his breath’s rhythm, to the cadence of his heart. On entering the realm of spatial consciousness, he could feel the weight of the Ruger nestled snugly next to his armpit. The room took on ethereal quality along with a sensation of time traveling in a slow-motion thunder of seconds. The Columbian cocaine baron methodically removed his driving gloves and he slipped them into his pocket.

“Gentlemen,” Romero began to slide his right hand under his jacket but was interrupted by the rich melody of a door chime.

“I’ll get rid of whoever that is.” Bill was also surprised by the interruption. “It’s probably a salesman or canvasser. Peddlers tend to gravitate to this affluent neighborhood.”

Neither Romeo nor the Doctor spoke during the brief absence but Frank Thompson suddenly didn’t feel as confident as he had in the moments before. He nervously looked about and avoided letting his eyes rest on the young man who was now a source of disquiet.

When Watson re-entered the room a short moment later. He was ashen faced and closely followed by a uniformed police officer. Though shorter than William by at least 4 inches, the Mountie still outweighed him owing to the pickle-barrel shape of his upper torso. A service sidearm was held loosely but aimed at the lawyer’s back.

“Sit down.” The officer pointed with the barrel of his handgun and paused while Bill apprehensively took a seat on the sofa. “I’m fully aware of what this meeting is about and I’m here for my take.”
“Sergeant Roberts is the local detachment commander,” Watson offered. “I don’t know where he’s gotten his information.”

“I have my sources.” Roberts offered a hackneyed cop phrase. In fact, he’d heard from Irene Smith, the Administration Officer for Watson and Associates.

This type of thing never happened in Creston and Roberts had been thrilled by the disclosure. It was an Irish Sweepstakes pay off, with a ticket gained on the Scotch. It couldn’t have come along at a more opportune time in his life. He had his retirement plans to consider. The clever sergeant wasn’t about to miss this chance to capitalize on his position. The Columbian cartels have prospered because they know bananas ripen better with the correct fertilizer on the appropriate palms.

“So am I in or do we all take a drive downtown?” Roberts loved melodramatic police tripe and always wanted to have an opportunity to say that particularly cloying banality.

“This is an interesting development.” Romero spoke wryly and he targeted his next statement to the two men on the sofa. “It’s your town so it’s mostly your decision. Do we cut Sergeant Roberts in for an equitable share, or not?”

“I vote yes!” Dr. Frank Thompson spoke first and confidently. The appearance of the law was actually a minor comfort for him as in the last moment he entertained doubts about the drug lord.

Sergeant Roberts turned towards Watson to add the weight of his ominous presence to the barrister’s decision process.

“I say yes also.” William was rattled by the jolt of this rock on the smooth road.

Romero moved as the policeman swiveled. His gun slipped quickly out from underneath his jacket and stuttered twice in rapid succession. He paid this graft with two ounces of the heavy metal of lead in lieu of gold. Two smallish wounds showed on the Sergeant’s left temple. Officer down! The young killer mentally added a final bit of police jargon as massive internal damage beyond the visual marks crumpled the policeman’s corpse to a heap.

“Motion carried.” That was rather easy. The first kill since his father had been without the slightest hesitation. Romero swung his gun to face the sofa.

“In fact, I’d like to table another ballot.” There followed another double-punt from the Ruger’s suppressor. Frank Thompson’s head kicked back over the uprights of his two ears. Two blood red scores were posted above the one long dash of his single eyebrow. Touchdown! The body remained seated but with eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. Doc’s lifetime clock had run down to zero and his team’s spirit would now be watching the soul’s instant replay.

“Who agrees that we give Dr. Thompson his rightful share of the take right now?” Romero turned the gun to face Attorney at Law William Watson, Esquire.

“W-Why?” Watson sputtered in shock. Disposing of the cop demanding payment for a crime license, he could understand. But he couldn’t comprehend what motivated Romero to also shoot the doctor, unless he was next? One look at the deathly resolve on killer’s face and a perfect view down the black hole of the muzzle added up to a sum that William hadn’t ciphered into the equation. Uncontrollably, his bladder let go.

“Why is a very good question and the answer will surprise you.” Romero was cool as a concrete slab in a shady arbor. “You are a greedy man. Who gets hurt for your personal gain doesn’t matter to you. Drugs ruin people’s lives but that wasn’t important, as long as you got your piece of the profit. Your friend the good doctor was just as unscrupulous as you. He knew the harm cocaine causes, yet was eager to reap the financial rewards of complicity. I would’ve had to kill the policeman regardless but I was comforted to find he wasn’t just an innocent man doing a dangerous job. The RCMP doesn’t need corrupt opportunists like Roberts.”

“Why me? Why here?” William had several quick rejoinders for the jury foreman’s surprise verdict. “Many people are immoral.”

“More good questions that I’ll be happy to answer.” Though Romero continued to move and gesture normally as he spoke, the gun remained as immobile as a bronze statue. “Here is as good a place as any for a lesson to be taught. The societal value of Cindy Smart practicing medicine again, greatly outweighs any money you and Dr. Thompson could make at her expense. My motives aren’t complicated. Only my methods are.”

William Watson recalled the malpractice case. He’d made a lot of money and got plenty of free publicity out of ruining Dr. Smart’s career. Thompson had helped him fudge the medical testimony. Looking back, he realized there were many other things in his life that he should have done differently. Now sitting on his Chesterfield in a puddle of urine, the time for atonement was past.

The condemned lawyer studied the killer’s dispassionate face. The elements of the sting fell neatly together—just slightly too late. “Your name isn’t Romero and you probably have never even been to Columbia. You might not even be Spanish.”

“No, Romero’s not my name.” John dropped the persona and the accent with it. “I’m neither part of a cocaine cartel nor a Latino.”

“We’d still be here now,” The lawyer looked sadly at his money, “even if I had flipped the coin and won.”

“That offer was my dice roll and it came up snake-eyes when you refused it. You crapped out and it also gave me Dr. Frank Thompson as a side bet windfall. Now I don’t have to assume a doctor persona, to meet him at a medical seminar.”

“Have you killed Jessica to keep her silent?” The lawyer tried a new tactic. His life was all in on the table against the highest trump of the gun. Perhaps a reprieve could be found in a push with a wild card of feigned concern for another’s welfare.

“Dealing Jessica as my queen of hearts forced me into playing a dangerous bluff but I can’t regret that.” John saw through the ploy. “My time spent with her was more rewarding than the cash or Frank combined. Your worry for Jessica sharply juxtaposes with scheming to manipulate and demean her. If Cindy Smart wasn’t motivation enough, Jessica Ellis taught me the true measure of your character.”

“Who are you?” William folded his hand and asked to see the winning hand even though he had no chips left to call it.[/private_Chevron]

“I’m Shiva’s Messenger.” On seeing a puzzled expression, John added. “At your final destination you’ll understand perfectly.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Even a cold wetness in his trousers was bliss compared to the prospects awaiting him. “I haven’t lived a very good life and I’m sure where I’m headed won’t be pleasant.”

“You don’t have to fear death or what’s beyond it.” John’s consoling voice was as unwavering as his gun hand. “We all go to a better place, no matter what we’ve done. I’ve been there and back, so I know this to be true. That is also comforting to me because I can hasten your mortality while still retaining my morality.”

“Can I talk you out of it somehow?”

“We both know how this conversation has to end. I doubt you would enjoy your continued existence very much, even if I allowed you to live. Two dead people are in your home and you’re the focal point of the drama. But I’m not speaking with you now to negotiate for your life. I’ve only given you an opportunity to prepare yourself.”

“Thank you.” William couldn’t quite rationalize why he’d just thanked the man who was about to kill him. Somehow, it seemed appropriate. He thought about the inevitability of his death. There was no way to dismiss the specter. It was now upon him. Would it be a good place—even for him? Why would the messenger lie now, when he had dropped his other pretenses?

Glancing one final time at the murderer, the lawyer thought about his money in the case. He’d paid a dear price for a smooth crossing of the River Styx. But as his fear of the unknown ebbed away, he felt the Ferryman was delivering a fair exchange.

“I’m ready now.” William Watson looked back down the barrel of the handgun. He briefly registered the first muzzle flash but was oblivious to the second.

[private_Chevron]John ejected the magazine and refilled it with six loose rounds from his pocket. The clip slammed home and the Ruger dove back into his holster. Nothing had been fingered without gloves in this house and he now put them on again. As he collected his six spent casings, he considered other things he may have handled. In the law office, he’d used public door handles where prints were now obliterated. With all documents, he’d only touched the edges. If Jessica were to allow her body dusted in any number of places, his jig was up. That thought produced a smile.

After picking up the briefcase full of money, he took one final look at the bodies of his victims. He hadn’t balked as his dream at the springs foretold. His kills had been both effortless and without the slightest remorse. My mind’s gem produced a pure laser beam. In his heart, John believed he had done the right thing. His father killed while retaining his honor and so had the assassin’s protégé.

“I’m not exactly sure where I pulled Shiva’s Messenger from but it is appropriate.” John explained the name to the unappreciative dead. “Operation Shiva was originally postmarked at Dallas in 1963 and I’m the letter carrier tasked with delivering the overdue reply.”

Since he was wearing his gloves again, there was no problem locking the door of the beautiful upscale home behind him. A police unit was parked in the drive where it blocked the path of both luxury vehicles. He climbed into his own sports car and drove away.

“Those two can’t phoque with you anymore.” As he passed the convenience store, he saw lights in the apartment above. “Good bye, Doctor Mom. Go back to the career you love and deserve.”

“Where to next?” John wondered as the BMW Z5 wheeled out of the town of Creston and headed for the Trans Canada Highway. “Now that’s an exceptionally good deception: they’ll see where I’ve been but even I don’t know where I’m going.”

…

Oddly enough, none of the three dead men were reported as missing. The bodies went undiscovered until Saturday afternoon. A neighbor grew concerned about the parked police car and called the detachment. Finally, a patrolman peeped in the windows and that saved Lenore Watson from witnessing a grisly scene on return from her shopping weekend.

An event of this magnitude doesn’t remain a secret very long in a small town. Irene Smith came forward immediately on hearing the news, relating the probable drug connection and of her reporting it to the recently deceased detachment commander. While that tidbit pointed at a potential suspect, it also raised speculations regarding the officer in question.

The police department issued one “cannot comment until confirmed” after another. The local newspaper covered the story on the front page for four issues in a row: that’s a long time for a weekly. The story even got some airplay that lasted a couple of days in the rest of the country. Then it was over and forgotten, everywhere but in Creston.

…

“There are still uncomfortable shadows in here for me as well.” Jessica noted Cindy’s eyes roaming the office that was previously William Watson’s. The young lawyer had moved swiftly in making an offer on the business. The Widow Watson was eager to keep the practice operational with herself as a silent partner, as her husband had drained all funds from their accounts before he was killed.

“The only specters I’m concerned about might be lurking in yellow striped pants.” Cindy had also been quick about capitalizing on her opportunity. The town had been left critically short of medical practitioners. She arranged an appointment with the lawyer on a sham of reestablishing her professional corporation but that could wait until her more pressing issues were resolved.

“I’m already intrigued.” Jessica went to the sofa with her very first new client. The other accounts were included with the package along with the office fixtures. “I’ve found myself occasionally driving behind you, so I know it’s not regarding speeding tickets.”

“Was that you honking?” The doctor saw the results of crashed cars and piloted her vehicle with due caution—and then some.

The casual ease between the two women might seem odd to people in larger centers. Their acquaintance was only to the depth of a nod and a smile in a grocery aisle. Yet each could likely recite accurate histories of the other, from the casual chats with a web of shared contacts in a small town. Jessica’s aunt was a cheerleader with Cindy in high school. Cindy’s late husband’s nephew was also the young lawyer’s previous boyfriend. Ironically, Doctor Smart had even treated a teenaged Jessica Ellis for late-onset Measles.

“As seen in the perspective of life’s rearview mirror,” the doctor got to the critical topic after the pleasantries were finished, “many mysterious details fit together in a previously unimaginable way.”

Cindy told the tale of Roger, from a collapse in the store to the odd offer of repayment at parting. Being wanted by the law would make him as leery of a hospital as a Jehovah’s Witness. Perhaps the young fugitive had even known the store’s proprietor was the physician he desperately needed. He had called her ‘Cindy’.

“The only thing I can truly attest about him is that his Measles were defiantly not a put-up job.” Cindy finished the elucidation.

“This puts you in a situation.” Throughout the retelling, Jessica had noted many similarities between Roger and Romero. The key one being that probably nothing was factual about him either. “Have you spoken with the police?”

“Not yet and I’m of mixed feelings about whether I should.” As a wise precaution Cindy wanted legal advice first. Who better could she ask than a lawyer currently in the same tenuous situation?

“I’m to understand you are also wavering in stance. At first people were suggesting you suffered from Stockholm syndrome but recently your accounts reflect a suitable suffering at hands of a murderer.”

“Psychological trauma to a point of sympathy with captors isn’t treated with pills so I’m not going to trade medical advice for free legal services.” She retorted to Cindy’s obvious awareness that the response to casual queries Jessica gave, had changed intentionally. Many people, especially those prone to gossip, didn’t accept that a pleasant seeming man could commit a horrible crime. The victim had inserted some fictitious sinister elements to avoid the invariable follow-up questions.

“Nor would I ask.” Cindy smiled. “I’m here mostly to compare what we know, to ascertain if my Roger was also your Romero. If the two personalities mesh, I have some difficult decisions to make.”

The two professional women, one older and the other younger, talked through some shared impressions. The similarities in sense of humor, overall body type, hair length, facial features and amicable personality traits swiftly emerged. On the converse side were the accent, skin and hair color along with numerous other differences.

“If Romero was only pretending to be a Latino, the performance was masterful.” Jessica recalled how he spoke in Spanish with one waiter with the apparent ease of a native tongue. “Even in the night, at particularly intimate moments, he still had the inflection.”

“Skin could be darkened at a tanning booth over the elapsed week.” Cindy recalled his base tan and imagined it intensified. “Did you notice lighter colorations—uh—anywhere?”

“He didn’t wear swim trunks at the beach.” Jessica smiled at a blush of embarrassment on her client’s cheeks. “Retrospectively, his palms didn’t match but I discounted it as a racial peculiarity. I’ve seen people of African decent with a marked difference on their hand’s flipped sides. That calls to mind his hairs color. Romero’s was black as midnight—everywhere. As his doctor, did you ever catch a glimpse of Roger’s—nether regions?”

“I would’ve seen that prominently even if I was his accountant.” Cindy’s abashed discomfort skyrocketed and she regretted where the word ‘prominently’ was placed. “He had an aversion to clothing. His sun-bleached hair in a light brown tone matched as if natural.”

“A nudist tendency is another similarity.” Jessica also recalled the day on the mountain where Romero stalled putting his clothes on until the last possible moment. “He was so close to the highway that a turned face in a passing car could’ve seen.”

“Should I take my evidence to the police?” Cindy took a deep breath for a possible plunge into a law-enforcement piranha pool. Their discussions still hadn’t concluded linkage—with all certainty.

“I’ll take your last words as your own musing. If you bluntly ask me the question you were pondering, my professional ethics would dictate advising disclosure—even if I personally felt you’d be much better off remaining quiet.” Jessica worded a careful answer. “You have compelling reasons for not mourning the deaths of Watson and Thompson. I also don’t miss William and personally, I found Frank creepy. On his frequent visits to Bills office, his eyes on me almost caused him to walk into walls. The only time I saw him medically, it bordered on a groping session in a theater’s back row.”

“I often heard that about him with attractive female patients.” Cindy’s mind though was more on her present dilemma. “I suppose my civic responsibility—”

“You didn’t allow me to finish.” The lawyer interrupted. “You and I each benefited from the killings. Anything we officially say will be used in evidence.”

“Could be used,” Cindy corrected, “if we had complicity.”

“Maybe, but the officer’s death hugely changed the situation. The police are slavering for any conviction to avenge the loss of one of their own. Even pinning an unwarranted accomplice tag would help slake the bloodlust.”

“The street talk is he was dirty,” Cindy offered, “but was he?”

“Irene Smith informed Sergeant Roberts personally. Cops, like wolves, tend to operate in packs.” Jessica digressed to answer. “So why would he be there without any backup? He went stealthily in like a ‘graft-y’ fox. That’s not officially confirmed and it won’t be.”

“An investigation would still prove my non-involvement.” She caught the stressed keyword but Cindy decided against further talk on the tangent course.

“The reverse is far more likely. Police never investigate as per any dictionary definition of the word. They play a matching game to draw lines connecting a crime with a suspect—with their crayons.”

“I’m not sure I understand.” Cindy’s expression could’ve asked.

“After a blaze, a fire department investigates and studies every detail. Sometimes it’s arson but on other occasions something else like electrical was the cause. If police methodology investigated fires, it would always be determined as arson because that’s all they want to find. A shorted junction box would be discounted as if not seen, because it doesn’t support the desired firebug theory.”

“Even if the police think it was arson they still don’t have a fire starter.” Cindy countered.

“If a bystander says ‘I had a match but only lit my cigarette’, the police just hear the ‘I had a match’ portion.” A factor in Jessica’s choosing her profession was her once seeing an older cousin wrongfully convicted. “Police supply the crown council with material and it’s always in support of a guilty verdict. The role of police is to get convictions and objectivity cuts the chances of putting a perp in the slammer—even if the perp didn’t perpetrate.”

“If I go to the police they’ll start trying to prove I requested the murders.” Cindy was certainly glad now that she came to Jessica before making a costly mistake. She was relieved that she hadn’t even told her mother. That would’ve meant the whole town would know by the day after.

“Aggressively so because a cop is dead.” The lawyer added.

“What will I say to the police when they come to me?” The doctor had another thought and with it a worry. “I can’t lie.”

“I don’t think you need fret that.” Jessica chuckled, as she was about to show her further contempt for RCMP abilities. “Here, the death of the officer even helps your situation. A real investigation might attempt to ascertain if your benefiting was a translation of your complicity. Even if by some miracle one of the officers thought to look deeper, he probably wouldn’t. They don’t want to see if Officer Roberts was guilty. The police knew I was with the killer before he acted and I’ve been a beneficiary but the surveillance on me stalled at my cleavage. If they haven’t contacted you yet, I doubt they will.”

“They did check out your alibi, didn’t they?” Cindy mused.

“They didn’t ask me for one.” Jessica’s eyes suddenly went wide. “Oh my God! With everything else I never thought of that!”

“What?” The doctor started.

“He left it on purpose!” The young woman’s mind up-shifted. “The policeman wasn’t expected but Romero handled the situation. The graft element complicated the situation but that’s not the pivotal piece in the police investigation—or lack thereof.”

“What is the important part?” Cindy urged as the girl paused.

“Romero left the signed contracts at the crime scene.” The whole town seemed aware of each fact but in this instance Jessica had first-hand knowledge. She was shown the documents and asked to confirm Watson’s signature and the company letterhead. “Why did a Columbian drug lord, if he was that, leave his name in evidence? If it was just a million dollar sting, as is more likely, why would a con artist leave the incriminating papers either?”

“He forgot them in haste or panic?” Cindy offered a guess.

“Romero was neither jittery nor rushing. I felt some information was missing about him, as you did, but at the very most I might’ve expected it to be a wife and kids at home in Columbia. That makes me judge him as a consummate professional. He wouldn’t overlook contracts and in fact, why did he even bother to get them signed? Why didn’t he just shoot, grab the money and run?” Jessica’s admiration for the criminal soared to a still higher plateau. “Roger or Romero, intentionally supplied the proof for yours and my benefit. He took the blame onto himself by leaving an irrefutable motive.”

“I’m not comfortable with the motive.” Cindy wasn’t referring to the contracts but to the other implied reason. “I’m not happy about my blessings being at the cost of three lives.”

“We can’t be certain that was foremost in his mind.” Jessica could empathize as she felt a tiny pang of that too. “He also walked away with a lot of money but maybe that wasn’t all of it either. I don’t know about your Roger but my Romero had depths of strata that I wasn’t even close to core sampling into yet.”

“If we can see several reasons then the investigators can too.” She swallowed the main motive issue for now but as a ruminant cow would, Cindy’s mind intended to later chew it like a cud.

“The RCMP aren’t any smarter than their horses.” Jessica felt the assessment may even be insulting to the mounts. “They often can’t fathom a single motive. It’s up to the trial process to ascertain that. A stallion’s hoof tapping out the value of pi is more likely than police following all tracks from a multifaceted scenario. Not asking for my alibi shows the police are trotting along a line of placed carrots.”

“You display an awfully harsh opinion of law enforcement.” The doctor allowed many to slip by but the equine IQ merited comment.

“My plea is guilty as charged.” Jessica grinned grimly. “A path to my career swerved around the easier route of starting off in crown council. I couldn’t stomach the RCMP on a daily basis. We should get together over a lunch and I’ll tell you horror stories.”

“I accept and gladly.” Cindy felt the same growing rapport that Jessica displayed in her invitation. “So, our session is done and the advice is to just shut up and enjoy the boon?”

“Doctor Smart, that is an excellent piece of advice that you just gave me.” The lawyer intentionally misinterpreted the non-definitive question as a statement. “Jessica Ellis will personally follow it.”

“The physician will take her own prescription as well but Cindy Smart expected her legal bill would absolve her of that decision.”[/private_Chevron]

Chapter 6 of Shiva’s Messenger

Dipping into the Hot Salsa

Romero’s BMW Z5 arrived at the lawyer’s office at ten past ten. His being slightly late was accidental but it also fit the role. The drug store had been busy and then he spent some time fixing an addition to his manicure. His research into the role had found a peculiarity that fit well but yesterday it would’ve given an impression he didn’t want. Today though, it should be ideal.

“Did you kidnap my employee?” Watson joked but he was also wondering. Jessica was conscientious about work but this morning she hadn’t even answered a wake up call to her home—in fact three of them. “I sent her to coffee and I haven’t seen her since.”

“I clearly recall your saying that she could take all the time she wanted.” The Columbian smiled at the slightly peevish employer manning his reception counter himself.

“That was yesterday.” The lawyer suddenly wondered if his clever trick had worked better than he expected—but not actually as he wished. “Did you give her too much caffeine to sleep?”

“What I gave, in an overabundant quantity, isn’t your concern.” After what the boss had done, Romero enjoyed this but he spoke casually as they walked to the inner office. “Jessica will be back, without a ransom demand, either when she chooses or after the open-ended date you tasked her with, finally ends.”

“Oh.” William’s experiencing a major pang of jealousy cut off any possible reply. Now he wasn’t even sure if his clever trick would do him any good. Jessica was supposed to be promised lure not the already received reward. He certainly hadn’t expected his young intern to—on a first date. Watson’s envy flared even further as his mind pictured the incomparable young woman with the Columbian.

[private_Chevron]Watson gestured at another staff member as a pre-arranged signal for her to start brewing. They entered the lawyer’s sanctum and the men took the same seats as yesterday. The two manila envelopes on the coffee table were the room’s noticeable change.

“Before we begin,” during a discussion with his friend about a possible sweet deal in the works, questions had arisen, “may I ask you why you’ve chosen a small town for this business?”

“You can inquire but you won’t like the answer.” Romero smiled wryly. “I surmised that a lawyer swimming in a shallower pool of clients would be desperate enough for business, to give me the priority of service that I demand.”

“Oh.” Again William was stuck for a ready reply. To disagree in his defense, was effectively chasing the client away. The young upstart was certainly correct about the not liking it portion.

“However, that’s not the only reason either. Do you wonder why a man so young as myself has such an elevated position within my organization?”

“I’m sure it’s due to your competence.”

“I suggest ambitious is the optimum adjective.” The Columbian confided. “My father is a very influential man and I aspire to his rank but I also have older brothers. This project is my conception and it could be my elevation as well.”

“From what I’ve seen of it so far, the idea is an excellent one.” William wasn’t just schmoozing. Having a business that did rentals as opposed to sales could hide a huge cash influx without alerting any suspicion. The earnings weren’t traceable through supplier sales either. The infrastructure details Romero briefly discussed yesterday had the business doing accounting, reporting income and paying taxes. Governments like taxes and are less likely to snoop too closely at revenue sources. The scheme was brilliant.

“I trust you don’t mind.” Having noticed William neither smoked nor had an ashtray, Romero had brought some large cigars. He removed one from the tube and torched it alight. This Columbian didn’t habitually smoke but many Latin men did. A few puffs without inhaling shouldn’t hurt my health too much.

“By all means.” Watson left the office to find a saucer and in a moment returned to an odorous atmosphere. A somewhat older female employee trailed behind. To be prepared, the law firm had purchased a top quality espresso machine, a gourmet blend of beans and the appropriate demitasse set. As she bent to put a coffee service on the table, her eyes fell on the new client’s hand.

Looking up with a smile of thanks, Romero was slightly taken aback by the woman’s dagger-throwing glare. Perhaps she didn’t care for the menial task of serving coffee, his cigar was offensive or maybe rearranging the pre-empted appointments was bothersome.

“Thank you, Irene.” The lawyer dismissed the woman.

Irene fanned at the stinking fumes as she backed out. Her sour glance at the door could’ve curdled chemical coffee whitener.

“Have some?” With a hand gesture, William indicated Romero should help himself, as the tray was situated directly in front of him.

“Yes, please.” The client intentionally misinterpreted.

The host was forced to partially stand, in able to serve his guest. “Oops.” His awkward positioning brought a tiny spillage that stained the top envelope.

“Is that what you wanted me to see?” Romero’s eyes took full advantage of the small gaffe by riveting onto the brown droplets. ‘Off-balanced men seek to regain footing and lose perspective of where they’re toppling’. Another of his father’s lessons applied.

“I began by drafting up a simple corporation as we discussed yesterday.” The clumsy lawyer avoided the ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question as both fit too well to choose. He handed a now filled cup to his guest. Then, he wiped the liquid on his pants and withdrew the papers.

Since the lawyer had gone to the trouble with the beverage, Romero made a point of not even sampling it. He set the demitasse down without having taken a sip. Instead, he pinched two fingers as scissors onto the proffered notes.

“It was an uncomplicated task and mostly just boilerplate stuff.” The attorney pretended not to notice the slight and continued his spiel as Romero perused the documents. He noted the young man even held the papers in an elegant way. Two sides of his fingers on his left hand acted as a staple in the upper corner. The right edge of the papers rested against his right palm and the side of his thumb flipped the pages. His two fingers of that hand also held the cigar. Romero had obviously handled many contracts but would never smudge the ink of a single letter.

The young client’s peripheral vision caught William animatedly picking at the other envelope, demonstrating eagerness for the next topic. Romero remained unhurried. His method of holding papers was quite unnatural and awkward. Making it seem casual had taken plenty of tutoring and practice under a topic of fingerprint avoidance.

“Then while I was working,” Watson could no longer restrain his eagerness and forced an unplanned blunt segue. The client had taken an awfully long time sifting through routine material. William felt he should take care with clauses, as Romero carefully monitored them. “I was suddenly struck with an intriguing notion.”[/private_Chevron]

“This is what I wanted.” Romero placed the documents on the coffee table. With a deliberate pause he allowed some tension to build before allowing the release. “So, what’s this other idea?”

“I know you do require the corporation as I’ve outlined in the first brief.” As a toy propeller with an elastic band wound to knots, Watson’s tongue spun over-fast when freed. He had to consciously slow himself down but his whole delivery lacked the pace and poise he’d practiced in his mirror. “But I wondered if you required the additional expenses of a branch office. You’re not warehousing or distributing, so you don’t need a facility for that. As you indicated, most of the rental payments would simply have to be dropped off or mailed into an office. I know the market here and I don’t think your finding suitable premises will be easy.”

The Columbian client sat quietly looking impassive, even when the lawyer inserted a pause for question or quip. The performance was going poorly enough without further foiling required.

“Currently,” William took the pages from the second envelope but his stage cues were off on that as well. Instead of looking like his brandishing important evidentiary support, it seemed more as fanning a perspiring face. “I have enough space in my office area to hire extra staff to coordinate the collections, the banking and the disbursements. I’ve jotted down notes on a viable structuring.”

At an almost painfully expectant hesitation on William’s part, Romero deferred a comment again but he offered a hand for the notes. It was becoming too embarrassing to watch the exaggerated theatrics of the fluttering papers.

“As I see it,” William resumed and handed over the notes for Romero’s scrutiny, “having an infrastructure as I’ve outlined—” Watson stopped his presentation in mid-sentence as Romero held up his hand for silence. The jostle knocked a thumb-width of tobacco ash onto the lawyer’s carpet.

“A good cigar must be allowed to divest itself when it is ready, and not sooner.” Romero offhandedly explained without an apology. “Would you have one?” He pulled out another one of his stogies. The young Columbian read while Watson lit up.

After the long forced march of his monolog, now the lawyer was suffering an unnatural quiet. The young businessman methodically scanned the set of papers. He glanced up at each mildly dramatic page turn to judge the attorney’s discomfiture. The non-smoking William was chain puffing his cigar and a few hiccups showed he was inhaling some by accident.

Finally, Romero tossed the handwritten documents to a scatter on the coffee table, as if discarded. He stared into Watson’s eyes for a long interval. Poor withering William struggled uncomfortably to maintain a fixed return look.

[private_Chevron]“Do you have a radio of some kind or a stereo in this office?” The Latino asked the question but didn’t release the lawyer’s eyes from his riveted gaze.

“Yes.” Gratified at an excuse to break away, Watson leaped to his feet. Slightly dizzy from inhaling the unaccustomed smoke and getting up quickly, William realized he didn’t quite understand why he was now standing. “Uh, would you like it on?”

“Sometimes it’s prudent,” Romero’s words were whispered, “to have background sound dampen any possibility of being overheard.”

Watson adjusted the volume. “Is this loud enough?”

“It’s fine.” The drug lord waited until Bill returned to the sofa. Then he leaned forward and spoke in a muted tone. “I don’t think you’re a stupid person. I therefore assume you hold a suspicion of what our Latin Dance Music could really be.”

“Since the first moments of our meeting I’ve been fairly certain of what your product is. This is not a problem for me.”

“I came to your office proposing to set up a business.” Romero leaned back comfortably in the chair and set his arms on the rests. “The simple representation of our interests from a strictly legalistic position would have been lucrative in itself to more than compensate your efforts. Am I correct?”

“Yes.” Watson imagined a guillotine above his couch poised to sever his aspirations from his pocketbook. He nearly winced as his own cigar ash broke and struck the coffee table.

“What you’re proposing in this draft is far in excess of that mandate.” After examining the lawyer through a pause, Romero continued. “You’ve got cajones and I like that in an associate.”

“Yes I do.” From some vacations in Mexico, Watson’s internal Spanish phrasebook contained only two items; ‘una cerveza por favor’ and ‘cuánto senorita’. However, from the context he guessed that possessing such was good and he assigned a likely translation.

“Now we’ve reached the spot where both of my reasons for choosing a small town lawyer could pay off.” Romero tilted his head back, as if he were making a critical decision. He drew a cavernous mouthful of smoke and blew tiny puffs toward the ceiling. A lengthy minute elapsed before the drug lord retuned his attention to the barrister. “I’ll use your phone for a few minutes in private. You can go and get us something stronger to drink. I prefer cognac.”

“Uh,” Watson paused briefly, then stood to leave the room, “my office is yours. No one will interrupt you until you open the door.”

After the lawyer left, Romero finally sipped his coffee. He savored the sweetness of both the drink and the moment. ‘Greed is a strong motivator for the corrupt.’

Romero had seen the lawyer’s hesitation and guessed what caused it. He used a fingernail to lift the phone and noted the extra wire. In a profession that uses phones regularly and where the root of the industry is based on mistrust, recorded conversations were commonplace. A look in the desk drawer confirmed the tape was running. Perfect! This next stage would’ve been useless without.

Carefully picking up the receiver, he cradled it on his shoulder while dialing with his knuckle. Romero hardly needed fingerprint caution. Since a large portion of a law firm’s billing is structured around phone calls, this appliance was probably handled more than the washroom door at a busy bus terminal.

The Calgary number connected with a cell phone manned Spanish-speaking actor working an easy gig that paid well in cash. The two Hispanics proceeded to have the conversation Romero had carefully scripted. Only one ash managed to land on William’s desk. After hanging up the phone, Romero put his feet on the blotter pad and leaned back as far as the recliner’s mechanism permitted.

“She walks in beauty, like the night
, of cloudless climes and starry skies.” Romero closed his eyes and he saw Jessica walking through his night before. What am I doing quoting Byron here? The answer to that question returned quickly but that only made it worse. A silly smile graced his lips. Poetry became part of Romero persona from the moment Jessica evoked it in him but that character aspect didn’t need to surface in this office.

The Columbian walked to the table but stubbing a phallic cigar into the saucer conjured a vision forefront in recent memory. Focus! Romero mentally slapped himself. He snooped at office nick-knacks to hold his mind in the present while awaiting the lawyer’s return.

“To good deals!” William saluted his snifter but the speech was short. He was breathing heavy from running out for the liquor.

“That’s a very good toast.” Romero left his glass untouched on the table. Leaving extra prints wasn’t necessary and it sent a signal of who received the salutes in this arrangement. “Your proposal has received tentative approval. I have the autonomy to strike whatever accord we can come to terms on.”

“Which parts of my proposal do you want to modify?” Watson drank so excitedly that a small amount dribbled onto his chin.

“On paper, none of them.”

“Then what numbers are we negotiating?” William’s voice was tentative. It seemed to quick to be at the financials already.

“We’re not ready to talk dollars yet.” Romero’s demeanor was weighty. “Perhaps your mind downplayed the reasons why I chose you. I can assure you that I was quite serious.”

“Your influential father,” William struggled to recall that far back in the conversation, “and uh,” he couldn’t think of a self-flattering way to say the other.

“The uh was proved when you presented your proposal.” The drug lord smiled briefly and then his face was grim again. “This deal will increase your personal revenues by a factor of at least five. Why would I just stop in and drop that in your lap?”

“Because,” the lawyer was stumped and the serious tone of the talk was disconcerting after being so excited about getting approval, “you need me to establish your enterprise?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I could arrange it anywhere. The other reason isn’t my father, the crucial elements are my older brothers.”

“You won’t inherit the position.” Watson saw the crux. “How can I be of assistance?”

“When the time comes, I intend to be in a position to take the torch from my father’s hands.” Romero leaned close. “I’ll negotiate as favorable a deal as I can—on paper. You and I can discuss how we split that amount and how much you’re ready to upfront to buy into the deal. Now if you’re ready—we can get to the numbers.”

“Are your brothers a danger?” William grabbed his drink and downed it for a bracer.

“Would you like something more effective as a nerve calmer?” The drug lord laughed abruptly and brandished the long fingernail of his left pinky. The keratin nail plate extended far enough to serve as a coke spoon and indicated extensive dealings with cocaine. He pantomimed taking a dip of the powder and pushing it at the lawyer.

“Uh.” Watson could almost see the illegal narcotic in the imitated action. He hadn’t noticed that fingernail before. “I think I prefer not.”

“That’s a wise decision. A good businessman doesn’t want to become overly fond of his product. That’s especially so with ours as soon one is unable to dance to any other tunes.” He looked at William to gauge a reaction to the confirmation of cocaine’s addictive qualities. Obviously, the proceeds to him were well worth the harm to someone else.

“Yes, my siblings are a threat but you’re in an enviable position. My call granted me the authority and I also have the responsibility. From the other end, the local representatives have the risk. All you have to do is collect the money—and skim some for me.”

“Ah!” Now the attorney saw the whole scenario and it was a gem. The younger brother began accumulating wealth to be ready and he used people eager to get in, to assure himself of their loyalty. “Count me in!”

“How much of the action do you want?”

“All of it.” William answered in a nanosecond.

“That’s not going to happen.” Romero chuckled.

“How about I take as much as possible then?” Retrospectively, Watson could see the young drug lord’s good sense in that as well.

“Let’s put it into a formula and you can decide. I’ll negotiate a cut of 5% but you’ll only keep three of that and you have to handle your own expenses.”

“Agreed.”

“For each 20 million of yearly gross, you’ll get one million and I’ll sell you the action for an upfront of 100 thousand. You decide how many blocks you want.”

“The one million is mine,” William’s mind spun around his wallet as he tried to calculate the return on investment—it was big, “and I pay the one hundred yearly.”

“No.” Romero watched as the lawyer scribbled the formula on his pad. “From each million, you get 600 thousand and I get four. The 100K is only a one time buy in and it’s only as a fair way to establish how much you’re coming in for.”

“If I bought in with two hundred thousand—” After a minute of pad scratching, the lawyer began a supposition but was cut off.

“That’s not even worth my operating expenses.” Romero gave a disappointed look. “Multiply that by five or there’s not much point discussing it further.”

“I’d need a partner to come up with that but I know someone trustworthy. Frank Thompson is like-minded to myself.” Watson immediately thought of his friend and gushed a fast résumé. “And he’s more than plenty of cajones as well.”

“Really? I think any more than two testes would feel like an uncomfortable cluster.” Like-minded to William, that was exactly the praise needed to include the doctor in the deal. “Even if Frank has a full billiards rack, I’ll still need to meet him and your friend should also sign onto the agreement when we do.”

“We’ll do the million.” The lawyer offered hopefully and looked for the response. “When can we begin?”

“This isn’t a start-up business.” The drug lord smiled. “I turn a tap the and the cash starts arriving. The pertinent question is when can you arrange your end?”

They discussed the details for an hour and it was decided that the contracts could be signed on Friday night for the cash to start flowing on Monday. Given the nature of the transaction, it was more prudent to meet at William’s house and he would send his wife to Calgary for the weekend.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way.” Watson really didn’t know any other than badly but he had to ask. “Is there any method of confirming this?”

“As I see it, there are two ways.” The Columbian had expected this. “The first is you do the deal and have the money start pouring in. The other is for me to walk out the door. If it’s any consolation, for every dollar you’re trusting me with, I’m counting on you for six and my family are on the line for two hundred.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Watson couldn’t imagine a possibility of his contacting a Columbian drug cartel to check a reference.

“I have an idea.” Romero dug a coin from his pocket and set it on the coffee table. “I think I’m a good judge of character, so I’ll put my million on a coin flip. If it comes up heads—we do the deal with no upfront cash at all. If tails—I leave and find another partner. Shall we both risk it all on a fifty-fifty?”

“Are you serious?” William Watson stared open-mouthed. The one meant a multi-million dollar deal for no prepayment. The only downside was the other meant nothing at all. Then suddenly the lawyer realized: Romero was only risking one million and a couple of hours wasted. William would be putting up all or nothing, on ten million per year—it made the cash seem like chump change.

“Take the toss.” The young man dared.

“No,” for Watson, just the fact the Columbian was ready to take the chance, meant that he was on the level, “it’ll be as discussed.”

“You’re not a gambler.” The drug lord teased. “I’ve lost eight million in a casino on one night and had a blast doing it.”

“Eight million!” The amount was staggering.

“Think about it for a minute, though.” Romero explained. “I’m in the business of turning money legit. I lose the cash one night and it’s no big deal. I come back the next and lose the same and it’s no problem because when I do win, the casino pays with a check. The money is legal and that was my intent when I started gambling.”

“Can I come to a casino with you sometime?” Bill asked in a jest.

“Not unless you undergo a sex change operation and have an extreme makeover.” The Columbian joked but then his face grew wistful. “But speaking of someone who I would take anywhere—”

“As in my absent receptionist?” With his imagination’s view all but eclipsed by mountain of wealth, Watson had forgotten all about the girl. Half a million per month could set up housekeeping with a mistress ready to do it dictionary style, between mattress and Mr..

“I’m to understand Jessica is very close to becoming a partner in your firm. Where exactly is she in her apprenticeship?”

“I’ve probably procrastinated but I’ll correct that tiny oversight immediately.” The decision on that took only the time for Watson to think one phrase. ‘Dollars can sate my lusts but lust won’t bring me dollars.’ “Her internship papers will be signed off and sent by close of business today.”

“I expect Jessica will be suitably ecstatic about the news when I give it to her.” Romero doled out his statement with relish.

“If Frank and I find we are able to afford more units? I presume I could adjust the contract numbers to reflect actual amounts?”

“Yes, the river of cash flow my authority diverts is sufficient to float whatever sized boat you can push into the stream.” Romero confirmed then appeared to do a small mental double take. “And, you showed me your quality when you declined the fifty/fifty chance to get in free. I’ll reward you for that. Monies above the minimum million will buy double.”

“There’s a good incentive.” The lawyer watched his Columbian connection depart but the young man’s ambiance seemed to linger on with the acrid aroma of cigars. Watson moved to his desk and brushed the ash onto the floor. His eyes fell on his phone. The coin toss offer and then the story of the gambling had already sold him but there was still even one more proof available.

William opened his desk drawer and accessed a tape recorder. He didn’t understand Spanish but the overheard conversation’s tone comfortingly sounded exactly as he envisioned it should. Lawyer Watson even chuckled. It was rather vindicating to hear the forceful Romero as having to defer to someone with even more power. The eavesdropper’s cheek muscles were strained from having to hold up a smug grin through the entire listening. After replacing the cassette with a blank, he destroyed the evidence.

…

The Friday appointment meant Jessica had to be sequestered from Creston until then. It’s a gruesome assignment, but someone has to deal with it. Romero beamed all the way back to their shared suite where she was in the same delicious state that he’d left her in.

“How can a girl sleep the whole morning away?” The young man asked but there was no movement or response. He didn’t feel tired but thought to nap until the girl awoke. Romero stripped quietly and slid under the sheet—to find she really wasn’t slumbering at all.

“I’ve got a few days until my next meeting.” Romero noted later. “Why don’t we go to Calgary?”

“I need to go back home and pack my bag.” Jessica advised.

“Whatever for?” Reclined on his back, the young man looked askance arrogantly but it was intended as a tease. “You’ve hooked into a wealthy guy. Just coax me into buying whatever you want.”

“I’m not a gold-digger.” The girl wasn’t indignant but wished to stress that she wouldn’t be treated as less than an equal.

“I was eagerly looking forward to extensive mining operations.”

“My prospector is trekking to the bonanza.” Jessica marched her fingers slowly through sparse chest hair towards the belly.

“There are strange things done in the midnight sun,” Romero found Robert Service appropriate, “by the women who moil for gold.”

“If she finds there’s already a stake in the pay dirt,” Jessica’s eyes impishly looked at the golden destination: ‘haughtiness begs for naughtiness’, “she may just uproot it before jumping the claim.”

…

They checked out later in the afternoon and drove at a leisurely pace. There was no reason to rush and too much fun to have along the way. Stopping to overnight in the touristy town of Invermere, they took a swanky suite at a Rocky Mountain resort hotel. It was a much more luxurious hotel than the one in Cranbrook. Complete with a huge jacuzzi tub, they had more room to play.

With the morning dawning clear and blue, it promised to be a beautiful Indian summer day before the winter chill fully took hold. Romero brought a picnic lunch in a knap sack for a hike in the alpine above. They pulled the car off the road and climbed a trail up the mountain. Bighorn sheep had blazed the path on their way to lick the road salt from the highway.

The ascent took over an hour but they finally reached the level where the trees refused to grow. Two cradled arms of the mountain formed a sheltered glen of lichens, scrub brush and flowers. In the lee of an outcropping, there was little wind. The air was rarefied but the sunlight was warm and strong. A trickle of icy cold water off the permanently snow topped mountain collected in a small pool.

“This is beautiful.” Jessica surveyed the splendor of the vista. As far as the eye could see, the stone bones of the earth were as row upon row of jagged white shark’s teeth. She turned away from the view and was surprised to find Romero had pulled off his boots, socks and shirt. He was now working on removing his pants. “You are like a rooster in a flock of only one hen.”

“In my opinion,” the semi-nude man tried sounding sage, “there is only one way to maximize the utter enjoyment of nature. It’s not what is pecking and scratching in the filthy coop of your mind. My skin loves the sunshine and small breezes with nothing to muffle the sensations.” With an enticing grin, he added, “You can join me if you like. Suit, or un-suit yourself as you please.”

The last time Jessica went skinny-dipping was sometime in her early teens. It had been quite enjoyable then but she had matured since then. Yet, it was also sinfully fun and she didn’t want to be called a chicken. To go him one better, the female bird plucked off her plumage with the flare of fan dancer.

When her burlesque show was finished, Jessica experienced thrills from the nippy gusts on uncovered flesh. She stretched out her arms and turned graceful circles, savoring subtle temperature changes from shade to sun on her exposed anatomy. Though only in her early twenties, the young woman felt like a little girl again.

“I feel so free and alive!” Jessica yelled to the empty mountain. Jumbled words echoed back and everything was perfect. Then she entertained a depressing thought and everything wasn’t quite so completely excellent: she was unemployed. This interlude was only a pleasurable respite between time wasted working for a jerk and starting an internship over in a new job.

“Why so glum?” He saw her suddenly pouting mouth.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jessica forced a fake smile and refused to allow that antique dork in Creston to intrude on her current bliss.

“If you won’t tell me willingly, I’ll tickle it out of you.” The young man slipped behind and gave her ribs a brief sampling of the torture she would have to endure until the inquisition was fruitful.

“I was just thinking about the stuff I’ll miss, after I move away from home.” She squirmed around to face him.

“So don’t leave.” Romero wished the interrogation had lasted long enough to retaliate for the claim un-staking episode. “Now that you’re a lawyer, creepy Bill can’t push you around.”

“I told you that I’m not certified yet.”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” The young imp feigned forgetfulness. “I asked William about your current eligibility for advancement to the next level.” He nuzzled his face into her neck to whisper the rest in her ear. “Your boss signed the documents yesterday.”

“What?” Jessica pulled his face up to look at him.

“I was looking forward to telling you,” Romero’s eyes laughed, “but I must’ve forgotten while I was screaming in agony.”

“That seems like an awfully important detail to simply overlook.” She cocked her head slightly and examined him through squinted eyes. “I was there so I know exactly how much pain you were in.”

“Why did Bill sign my internship just because you asked him about me?” In addition to the gold panning, Jessica planned to start drilling an exploratory shaft for nuggets of information.

“Oh, thy bright eyes must answer now,” Emily Bronte 
had better words for weaseling out of a question, so Romero used hers, “when reason, with a scornful brow, 
is mocking at my overthrow. Oh, thy sweet tongue must plead for me, 
and tell why I have chosen thee.”

“Is the answer really in there?” Jessica chuckled. Romero fit the ‘tall, dark, handsome and mysterious’ phrase like it was written for him personally. Just now, those bright eyes she supposedly must answer were innocently blinking.

…

A last night in Calgary was sweet sorrow for Romero. This was definitely said better by Robert Frost but he couldn’t recite this one out loud. ‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep, but I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep.’ That summed it up.

He made a promise to his father. There was also a debt owed to Cindy and the repayment precluded the probability of his seeing Jessica again. This time had been exhilarating for both but the love poem had to be a couplet instead of an ode.

Romero was reclined on his right side and Jessica on her left but they weren’t facing because heads were at opposite ends of the bed. He was behind.

“I never expected that I’d like long hair on a man.” The woman reached back with her foot to rake her toes, like fingers, up through his locks. Usually he wore it a ponytail but just now it was free.

“I didn’t know I’d enjoy sole food either.” The playful man licked the ticklish instep of her other foot. He also took three quick nibbles before she shrieked and curled her knees up.

“Can I ask you a few questions?” Jessica flipped around to a face on position. The length of his tresses wasn’t the only thing she liked—a lot. “I know we agreed not to talk business but I want to renege on that deal.”

The two had enjoyed many conversations about current events, childhood anecdotes, politics, and a wide range of topics. They just didn’t delve into Romero’s work or especially the affairs with William in Creston. At first, that was suitable but Jessica was growing very attached and aware that he was too. The taboo subjects seemed pivotal to where their relationship was headed.

“I have to wrap up some things tomorrow so I’ll take off in the morning.” Romero hated himself this but Jessica wasn’t supposed to be part of this plan. “Make a reservation at the nicest restaurant in the city and I’ll answer anything.” But I won’t be there to ask.

“Now I’m going to be stuck for what to do all day.” The girl was already eager for tomorrow night’s date.

“I could suggest going on a shopping spree with the nuggets in your sluice box,” the young man put guarding hands in front of the last previously targeted area, “but the mine shaft is still bruised.”

“Since I’m now a lawyer,” the smirk suggested that Romero was fortunate she was choosing to ignore the comment, “I suppose I can look at some cars before mine falls apart.”

“Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow.” After a tender last couplet that involved no words, Jessica thought of his being gone for the day but looked forward to reuniting. The young woman offered one of the few famous verses she knew. They were from Shakespeare’s Romeo & Juliet. “That I shall say good night till it be morrow.”

Had the room not been dark, she would’ve seen sadness in the male lead to match the tragic play but it wasn’t acting. He was thinking the more apt line Juliet says just before those. ‘Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.’

…

In the early morning, Romero awoke, showered and dressed. He would leave his luggage behind so it would still appear he was coming back. Jessica was sprawled on her belly and the sheet was off her one leg. He gently kissed the tattoo on the small of her back then reluctantly, covered her up.

Jessica moaned softly, moved appreciatively and woke up a little. “Come here.” It was little more than a mumble. She craned her face back and got exactly what she was hoping for when he nuzzled in to kiss her neck too.

“I miss you already.” Jessica spoke after smacking her sleep dried lips. She took a satisfied breath and went back to sleep. Her next awakening could be expected sometime around noon.

“Never seek to tell thy love, 
love that never told can be. 
For the gentle wind does move
 silently, invisibly.” The words were only a whisper. Romero Escobedo tiptoed out of Jessica’s life, forever.

[Farewell for now, my star-eyed Shakti.]

“You just stick to being a god of destruction and we’ll be fine. I’m not extremely comfortable around women yet, so your Lord of the Dance aspect makes you Shiva the Distracter.” Romero muttered to his brain’s roommate. “Now I’m not sure if my making such a wonderful error was your fault or mine.”

Romero went to his mini-storage once again and selected a Ruger Mark Two with an integral suppressor. His thumb ejected the ten-shot magazine loaded with .22 caliber rim-fire rounds. The weapon balanced comfortably in his hand. With his loose-fitting suit jacket over his shoulder holster, the gun was almost invisible. He pulled out the weapon and aimed. The movement felt natural but he performed it several more times attempting to increase the speed. Gunfighter quick wasn’t necessary but efficiency was.

After leaving Calgary, he stopped in a secluded spot to fire off a few practice rounds. Page after page of a fashion catalog exploded as targets and male models suffered terminal head wounds as his neglected skills returned. The handgun recoiled only slightly and his muscles quickly learned to compensate. The built-in silencer made a sound: it wasn’t Hollywood spit but it was definitely quiet.

He continued until he was able to consistently hit five targets at a 5-meter distance with a double-tap each and empty his magazine within ten seconds. He could change clips and have another ten rounds ready easily within another five seconds.

“Okay.” Romero blew gun-smoke off the muzzle before sliding his pistol back under his arm. “Let’s see if Wyatt Watson and Doc Thompson are waiting at the Creston corral.”[/private_Chevron]

Chapter 5 of Shiva’s Messenger

Biting for Allure

“I’m here to see William Watson,” with an air of unconcern, that almost failed, the elegantly attired young man announced his arrival to an exceedingly attractive receptionist. The milk chocolate of her eyes and the smooth crème frâiche skin combined to make a tart so savory to look at, that his tongue nearly refused the words. My zone keeps attention on the task! Not keenly on distractions!

“Yes,” the spectacular girl looked up and flushed slightly. “He’s expecting you.” She led him to the office.

Romero may have been walking through a pea soup fog. All he could see was the swish and sway of her long brunette hair that flowed like a shining waterfall down her back.

After knocking with two sharp raps, she opened the lawyer’s door. As she ushered him in, the dazzling girl turned sideways in the doorway. Her firm upper chest under a silky blouse brushed one and then the other across Escobedo’s upper arm as he passed. His eyes closed in a prolonged blink as the stirring contact was made and he detected a small check in her breath. Romero felt a slight vacuum as she backed out and quickly closed the door behind him.

“Welcome.” William Watson stood behind his rich mahogany desk to greet his new prospective client. He wasn’t a short man but he still had to look upwards to meet Romero’s eyes. The lawyer was in his late 40’s or early 50’s. Though generally in fair health, he still didn’t spend enough quality time in the gym. He sagged about the waist and his hips had flared to a middle aged girth. He golfed often to keep in shape but always used a power cart and his club bag held a bottle of scotch that needed refilling more often than the spare balls pouch.

“The pleasure is mine.” At least it was certainly my bliss back at the doorframe. Now it was business. The two men shook hands.

“Please have a seat.” Watson indicated for him to take a seat in front of the desk.

Romero kept silent and remained standing. I’ll decline at sitting as a petitioner on an inferior chair. He glanced over at the sofa set and coffee table in the other half of the office.

“Of course, Mr. Escobedo,” Watson quickly corrected, “we’ll be much more comfortable there. Would you like some coffee?”

“I take it exceptionally strong.” Romero looked lackadaisically around the room and spoke as if to an unseen servant.

Watson rushed out to order his staff to dump out the stale coffee and brew up a quadruple strength pot. He returned to find young Romero Escobedo examining the framed diplomas hanging on the walls. The room was somber and reeked of brass, varnished wood and distinction. It held an air of permanence that can only be found in the offices of barristers and undertakers.

“I’m wondering, Master Watson,” Escobedo began, he was still standing and his eyes were locked on like a jury, “whether you’re adept at corporate law?”

“Please, call me William,” Watson flinched slightly at a use of a formal honorific taught only by foreign education systems, “or Bill.”

“William it is then,” the young Columbian now roamed his gaze over the lawyer like he was examining the physique of a racehorse. His eyes panned from the patent leather shoes up to the hair that was non-descript dark as from a Grecian Formula bottle with some distinguished grey left at the temples. “I’m Romero to my friends. So tell me, in what aspect of law do you specialize?
There aren’t many attorneys in the Creston yellow pages.”

“No, there aren’t.” Watson forced a strained laugh at his clients quip and tried to suck in his paunch. “I’m a small town lawyer so I’m as comfortable in a courtroom as I am drafting a contract. I’m sure I’m capable of accommodating your needs.”

“I wish to set up a business venture here,” Romero crossed arrogantly to the settee area and settled into the most comfortable chair. Efficient and direct, he spoke as he moved. “This enterprise will rent CD’s of Latin dance music to our client base that is already established.” He spent several moments explaining the particulars. “Could you handle setting up such an entity?”

“I’m sure I can set up a company exactly to your specifications.” Perching on the sofa, Watson had the glint in his eye that lawyers get when they detect money. “However, I confess that I wasn’t aware there was much demand for Latin dance music in Creston.”

“I can assure you,” Romero leaned forward to suggest intimacy, “the demand for our music is higher than you may have imagined. However, we don’t cater only to British Columbia. We also rent our tunes to clients in the northwestern United States. The demand is very lucrative there. Still, we’re interested in locating in a smaller community in Canada where laws are more favorable to our operations but that is still accessible to the larger market.”

“I see.” Watson was certain the dance music was drugs. He suddenly had a vision of huge quantities of cocaine moving across the border from Creston. William wasn’t sure if he wanted to have anything to do with that. “So you plan on using your local facility as a distribution hub?”

“Not at all.” As Romero spoke, he idly adjusted his diamond cuff studs. He saw Watson’s eyes following his hands and there they lingered. “We keep our circulation arm well separated from the financial. The tapes will bypass Creston and be drop-shipped to our many local agents.” The Columbian businessman explained how the enterprise worked on paper. “Many, in fact most people who enjoy Latin dance music prefer to pay in cash.”

“I see how that could present some difficulties but a successful business must make accommodations for good customers.” The lawyer almost salivated at a vision of millions of U.S. dollars flooding through a quasi-legal currency laundry. His brief qualm with drugs had passed. The product could be child prostitution but after the transaction was done, it became cash. He now had to find how best to divert some of the flow into his revenue stream. “I have some ideas already on—.”

A patter from outside the stained walnut door interrupted.[/private_Chevron]

…

[private_Chevron]Jessica Ellis had too many things going wrong lately and felt especially grumpy. Recently, she had broken up with her boyfriend. He worked at a local beer plant and started acquiring an obsessive taste for the product he received with his paycheck. She could do much better than that.

She started working at Watson’s firm after university and had known from the interview that her icky boss was a letch. When he offered the job his eyes were focused on a spot between her chin and the resume on his desk.

“I’m here to see William Watson.”

“Yes,” Jessica lifted her attention from the computer monitor. Oooh, here was an interesting sparkle in an otherwise bleak day. “He’s expecting you.”

The young woman felt pride in her best walk. She didn’t need a mirror to know his eyes were locked on her rearview: she could feel his vision burning through the back of her panties like twin laser beams. Being an aspiring lawyer only went so far. She was still female and young enough to enjoy life. What was the point of being attractive if she couldn’t flaunt it occasionally?

While turning to allow the handsome Latino to pass, Jessica misjudged the width of his shoulders. In a seeming slow motion, he accidentally dragged his arm across her very sensitive chest. She couldn’t suppress a slight gasp as a pleasurable shock wave sent a seismic tremor through her upper physique.

“That was thrilling.” The girl leaned her back on the now closed door to gain support for her unsteady knees. An after-sensation of the body contact sent a quiver along the same network of nerves that were already excited. Her mental eye traced back to the only glimpse she had of the new client’s face. “He tried to look so cool and smug. It should’ve been me flustering him instead!”

A minute later Bill rushed out frantically seeking someone to make a batch of special coffee. “I’ll do it,” Jessica volunteered and then smiled wickedly at his retreating back.[/private_Chevron]

“This crud is going to be truly vile.” The girl giggled as she followed the instructions—exactly. Unfortunately for the Hispanic heart-throb, though, he wouldn’t even notice the taste because he was going to be reeling from the shot of cleavage she intended to fire at point blank range. “Sorry, Romero Escobedo, but how can you be a playboy if some girl doesn’t play you like a boy?”

“You prefer your coffee strong?” The extra grounds were intended to make the coffee ooze out like hot tar but instead the vicious barista found the water didn’t flow fast enough through the overfilled basket. Chocolate brown slurry welled over the filter and washed some grounds into the carafe. “How about chewy too?”

She poured the noxious concoction into two of the firm’s mugs. After an adjustment of her female ammunition, Jessica switched off the safety selector by unfastening two more buttons. “It’s payback time for Mr. GQ magazine.”

“Ah, the refreshment is here.” Bill shuffled to the door to admit the fetching coffee girl in the pastel blouse.

She snatched a cup from the tray and pushed it offhandedly to her boss holding the door. Then, the girl walked with careful steps to arrive at a precise point near the coffee table. With her distance perfectly measured, she leaned in with malice and delivered the full double salvo out of the muzzle of her V-neck top. “Cream?” She waited a tantalizing pause before adding, “Or sugar?”

Romero tried his best to maintain an aloof composure as the girl sashayed in but she was simply too drop-dead gorgeous. Then the young woman bent down. Don’t look! His eyes rebelled and refused his mental command not to drop. His vision was transfixed by the heavenly cleft. His pulse spiked and his blood pounded into his ears so strongly that he could barely hear her sultry voice. She said “Cream” first. That was exactly the thought running along his currently one-tracked mind. “Or sugar?” Breathe! Now aware that he had stopped, Romero hoped it wouldn’t require a ventilator to restart his respiration.

“Black—thanks.” Having managed an intake of breath, his reply was after a slight pause. He wrenched his gaze up to her smiling face as she straightened. His face felt as hot as the steaming coffee. Will my tan obscure my blushing? Sitting back on the sofa, he crossed his knees and tried to appear composed while taking deep breaths. She couldn’t have affected me more if she had done that on purpose.

‘Deuce!’ Having caught the effect of her barrage, Jessica was pleased to note her brilliantly served ace had now brought the hormonal tennis match to level.

[private_Chevron]William took a gulp of the steaming sludge. “Mmm, thank you, Jessica.” He fought back a grimace.

On the edge skirt of panic, Romero focused his eyes on the cup she had so dramatically set in front of him. He fixed his mind on his father’s identity evidence avoidance drills in an attempt to regain his composure. This mug had a large and nearly square handle so he inserted his four fingers past the second set of knuckles into the opening. By spreading his fingers as far as the handle permitted and curling his knuckles carefully, he could appear to be holding it normally. But only the top of his index finger and the underside of his pinky were contacting a surface. Romero took a relaxed breath and lifted the cup to his awaiting lips.

“This is horrible!” Some of the concentrated caffeine sprinkled with grit made it into his mouth before he halted his drink. He spit it back into his cup and looked up into the server’s brown eyes. “The coffee maker should be promptly stripped and serviced.”

“Oh really?” Jessica misinterpreted his line as alluding to the maid that made the beverage, instead of a faulty machine.

Romero didn’t answer because he didn’t view it as a question. He didn’t realize that his words held an alternate possible meaning. The young man poked out his tongue and used his forefinger and thumb to pinch off the remaining grounds. Of course, this innocent action had a completely different connotation from her perspective.

Has that ultra crude pick-up technique ever worked for you? She was reminded of some of the supposedly clever come on lines that other guys had assaulted her with. Many of those seemed to come out of desperate male self-help books and were similar to the verge of pathetic: that one bottomed the list though.

“I have a good idea.” Thinking quickly at the exchange, William conceived a plan. “Jessica, why don’t you take Romero over for an espresso? We aren’t equipped to brew it the way that he likes. We are about finished with our business, right Mr. Escobedo?”

“Yes.” Romero was still slightly flustered and wasn’t sure if his response was assumed as the answer to the question about matters being concluded or in blanket agreement with the entire statement. Spending time with an entrancing girl was intrinsically dangerous to his scenario.

“Um,” Oh-oh, her caffeine sludge trick had just backfired: Jessica searched for an excuse, “he’s your client. You should go.”

“I have to make notes while things are fresh in my mind.” Bill turned back to Romero after rejecting his receptionist’s suggestion. “Why don’t I work on my ideas and we can meet again tomorrow?”

“I’ll be in this vicinity for a few days. We’ll get together at ten o’clock.” Romero had peeked at Watson’s day planner while the lawyer was out for those few minutes. He knew that William already has another appointment booked for that time slot.

“Ten it is.” Watson glanced briefly towards his scheduler. His brow furrowed but he said nothing.
The girl swiveled away on the balls of her feet. She managed take two casual steps toward the door—and her escape. But a voice behind her slammed the trap shut.

“Jessica, put everything on my tab and because you’re doing me this favor, you can take as long as you like.” William inwardly beamed at his craftiness.

“Thanks.” The young woman’s reply dripped with sarcasm. By not coming up with a better excuse fast enough, her silence was deemed as a ‘yes’. Now it was too late to say no and she would be stuck with fending off a man trying to trifle with her. At least it was only for espresso. A dinner date would have been interminable. On second thought, that would’ve been terminated before it began.

…

“You moron!” Romero berated the man looking at him out of his mirror. “You made it through coffee without blowing it and then exacerbated the problem by opening up your big stupid mouth.”
Sadly, he was right but he had as much chance of avoiding Jessica as a magnet’s south end has of steering clear of a north.

“So what’s the smart thing to do, besides standing her up? Do you have any suggestions here, Father?” The store of proverbs and maxims from his training should have provided answers to almost everything but he drew a blank on this one.

The strategy that Jessica devised, worked out precisely as she had calculated. From the moment the young man saw her in the wispy black frock, Romero was outmaneuvered. In engagements of opposing hormonal forces like this, men really don’t have any viable defense capabilities.

As they walked to his car, she finally had the libidinous libertine she anticipated. That was demonstrated by a dragging of his hand across the small of her silk clad back as he helped her into the seat. Wanting to see how deeply into despair she could drive him, Jessica stoically endured the delightful sensations his touch engendered.

At the quaint restaurant, he could have had a plate of festering compost in front of him because all he could taste and smell was the delicious dish sitting across from him.

With his every eye movement Jessica could feel heat tracers scorching across her flesh. I have you in my scope now, Lothario. All she needed to do was decide when best to hammer down on the anti-aircraft triggers.

“You said earlier that you are close to becoming a lawyer.” The young man probed for armor chink. “What’s the next stage?”

“That’s a matter for my fire and ice.” The Robert Frost rhyme had haunted her. It’s never so bad as a world’s end but anger and disillusionment are both self-defeating. Jessica had even printed a copy from the Internet but reading it sounded in her mind, as the Latino’s voice. “My internship’s signature seems tied with distasteful strings. The knots have just tightened so I’ll snip my laces and find some new climbing boots. It’s not the end of the world.”

With his underhandedly offering her as harem temptation for a visiting sheik, Watson brandished the final straw. The inspirational elegy offered encouragement against being a broken-backed camel. She would take her humps and find her oasis by a different caravan.

Romero Escobedo, now truly the alpha wolf on the prowl, took her moment of apparent vulnerability as an opening to get the nubile female onto the dance floor. As Jessica melded her body against his, the final confrontation that neither could hope to win or to lose, was joined. Like matched battleships cruising across each other’s flanks and with all nature’s guns blazing telling broadsides into badly smitten young hulls, both vessels were going down.

“Your boss is a jerk but don’t let him diminish us.” Loath to break physical contact, Romero trailed a hand caress lingeringly down her arm, to retain a fingertip touch as they sat back down. “What he did today was wrong but we’ve had a wonderful time.”

The girl was hopelessly ensnared in the same mesh trap she had laid for her quarry. Of it’s own accord, her hand extended to facilitate his protracted touch.

“So,” Romero chirped as he looked at the selection of after dinner treats, “what would put the ideal cap on our repast?”

“We could go to your hotel.” Jessica gazed over the menu and floundered in his blue depths. With a final qualm toppling as a ball-shattered mast, she offered her much better selection for dessert.

“Yes.” No reservations could be strong enough to resist such a mouthwatering pastry. The regatta Mother Nature had charted from a first intimate brush in the doorway rounded a last buoy and keeled for the finish horning. “Or we could go to my place.”

When the suite’s door closed, nothing his father ever told or taught him could’ve prepared him for the intensity of the emotions and sensations he was feeling. He didn’t need any training manuals as much older words are written into human instincts with indelible ink. Shiva and Parvati also knew which passages to highlight.

…

Early the next morning, Romero awoke with an exquisite form sprawled across the bed beside him. She looked superb, even with hair in disarray. How do I love thee? Let me count my blunders.

Standing in the bathroom, he smiled at his reflection. His father would have been at least proud of his son’s attention to detail. ‘It’s the smallest of things that can give you away.’ The protégé was glad he had taken the time in Calgary to also dye his body hairs jet-black to match. That would have been a dead giveaway.

“You’ll be late for work.” As he emerged now fully dressed, the Columbian mentally crossed his fingers. He watched as she stirred and stretched luxuriously with a heavy morning sigh. Could I get away with postponing my appointment?

“I’m not going in today.” Having made her decision last night, Jessica was going to stick with it. Even if William signed her papers today, she would still be working with a slime-bag tomorrow.

“You stay exactly as you are and I’ll make an excuse.” Yes, a smile from good fortune had been forthcoming. He didn’t want her in the vicinity of Creston.

“I couldn’t care less what you tell him.”

“I’ll say something fairly big came up,” Romero mischievously grinned, “and that you felt compelled to get right on it.”

“You will not!” With a shrieking giggle, she fired a pillow.[/private_Chevron]

Chapter 4 of Shiva’s Messenger

Nursing Mom and the Apron Strings

Returning from her late night mercy mission, Cindy found her worst fear confirmed.  The young man wasn’t alive.  She knew on only a glance but wouldn’t give up yet.

“Wake up!”  She yelled at his slack, peaceful face.

Cindy pinched his nose and tilted his lifeless head back.  Sealing her lips over his, she blew a breath into his lungs but felt the resistance of the fluid inside.  Her fingers groped his neck for the pulse point to prove his flat-line.  She pounded her fist down onto his chest in a hard pericardial thump.

“Breathe!”  Cindy resonated to the newly deceased.

She slapped his face and pinched him.  Listening to his chest, she could detect a flutter of a heartbeat.  She blew him another life-sustaining breath but this time she forced as much as she could into his lungs to dislodge some congesting phlegm.

“Where’s that will to live?”  Picking up the bucket used to wash him, she dashed it over his upper body.  The water had now grown cold.  He convulsed and the next shallow breath he took on his own.  Her fingers found the carotid artery again.  The throb of life was there but tentative.

“Show me some backbone.”  She spanked his cheeks hard enough to make them pink.  “You’re not going to die on my watch.”

[private_Chevron]Roger opened his eyes wide and struggled to focus.  He looked into her face with bewilderment and then clenched his lids shut, as a wrenching pain throbbed in his head.  He tried to speak but was interrupted by more coughing and then unconsciousness.

“How long were you out for?”  Obviously, he couldn’t know but the question to satisfy her primary concern.  Had he suffered brain damage?  She wouldn’t know until he was alert.

“The blood needs a richer brew.”  After placing the ventilator over his nose, she started the oxygen flow.

“That immune system needs to fight back with reinforcements.” The doctor administered the antibiotic injections.

After performing the active measures necessary, Cindy reclined on the bed beside him.  She propped a pillow under her arm and monitored his condition.  It was would be a long night but the woman smiled.  In taking care of someone, Dr. Cindy Smart was doing the one thing she missed more intensely than a lost childhood pet.

…

A metallic twang of the bottled air flavored John’s first waking breath.  His lids flickered enough to see light but he didn’t open his eyes yet.  He was surprised at being alive but was uncertain about whether to be happy about it or not.  Death wasn’t what I imagined it to be. Casually supposing the end of life would be only a long darkness, he’d been amazed at eternity’s vibrancy. The fledgling assassin’s kittenish condition permitted only a weak smile.  I have my own rock crystal.  The facets might be cut differently than my Dad’s but mine can bend photons to emit the cutting ray.

“Death so young would’ve been tragic.”  Cindy detected the eye movement and took it as indicating consciousness.  In response, the patient opened his eyes and focused.  The doctor removed his oxygen mask.  “Are you back to stay this time?”

“I hope so.”  His voice was almost a gasp.  Looking at her for almost the first time, John saw her hair was honey blond, cut shorter than mid-length and curled up at the ends.  Her appearance still marked her more as a professional woman than a store clerk.

“You are one exceedingly fortunate boy.”  She smiled at the gross understatement.  His collapsing in a convenience store staffed by a doctor of medicine was somewhat more than just convenient.

“What time is it?”  His eyes traveled the room and the sunlight streaming through the windows caused him to squint.

“It’s late afternoon.  You’ve slept for over 12 hours.”

When his condition stabilized, Cindy had allowed herself to catch a few brief periods of sleep while remaining close at his side.  Now that he was speaking lucidly, she was relieved his brain hadn’t suffered from too much oxygen deprivation.  That made a prognosis good for a full recovery.

Cindy made him some more broth and gave him juice to drink, but he needed to urinate.  After helping him to stand, she supported him on the walk to the toilet.  Still extremely weak, he was trembling from the exertion.  Being nude, he wouldn’t have to fumble at a zipper but he nearly swooned while reaching for himself.  With his one arm draped around Cindy, he needed the other hand against the wall for support.

“I’ll help.”  Seeing his inability to perform a vital function, she took hold and aimed him at the bowl.  As a medical professional, she wasn’t prone to squeamishness regarding the intimate service.  Strangely, the young man didn’t seem embarrassed by it either.  Cindy’s mind added another question mark to her growing list.

Her womanly hand holding his masculinity in a supportive way caused him to look and thank her with his eyes.  Cindy was bathed in a nearly horizontal afternoon ray and an unreadable expression graced her smile.  “You seem a goddess of the sunshine.”

“Uh,” given the current highly intimate touch, the female doctor hesitated at how to respond to such a compliment, “thank you.”

“How can I repay you for everything?”  After he was finished relieving himself, John was assisted back to the bed.

“There’s no extra billing on human compassion.”  The attending doctor smoothed a cool fresh sheet over his chest with a maternal caress.  With the back of her hand against his forehead, Cindy felt that his temperature had dropped marginally.

“It was more than just that.”  The touch of her warm hand on his skin comforted John in a manner he had never experienced.  “Most people would have turned me away or simply called the police.”

“I almost did.”  Cindy stirred the broth and prepared to nourish him again.  “I thought you might be either drunk or on drugs.  Then I recognized your symptoms.  You have pneumonia and I can confirm your self-diagnosis.  I’ve seen plenty of Measles before.”

“Luckily, I stumbled into someone who knew what was better for me, than I did.”  He stammered.

“Were you a nurse?”

“A nurse!”  She feigned indignation with a playful slap on his chest.  “Why you sexist little wretch!  I’m a physician.”

“A doctor?”  The patient already knew this before arriving in Creston but this was a good segue into the topic he really wanted to discuss.  “Why are you operating a convenience store?”

“This is my job.  I don’t even own the store.  I just manage it for wages and free rent on this apartment.”  How many times had Cindy now explained her situation?  “The reason I’m not working as a doctor is a long sad story you don’t have to hear at this moment.  Right now, you need chicken soup for your health.  The Canadian Medical Association may not recognize the medicinal qualities of consommé but I do and I’m the doctor.”

John’s eyes smiled as the woman helped him to eat it.  Her insistence seemed such, that the spoon would’ve gone in whether his lips opened or not.

“Now you’ll get some more sleep.”  Cindy collected the last drop from his chin before putting the spoon and bowl aside.  “I‘ll nap on the chair.  So just holler out if you need anything.”

“That doesn’t sound comfortable.”  John budged over.  “This is your bed and you can sleep beside me.  I’m too weakened for you to fear anything from me.”

“Maybe you’re too feeble to be worth much.”  Cindy quipped but judged the space on the bed as much better than a lumpy chair.  For a while, she listened to his breathing grow deeper.  She briefly dozed and on awakening found, he had rolled onto his side.  An arm was draped over her. It felt nice sleeping in someone’s embrace again, not for sexual reasons but for a human feeling of closeness.  Doctor Smart sighed.  A tenderness of contact and her bone weary tiredness, gave her the best sleep she’d enjoyed in years.

…

Cindy awoke to a masculine scent, absent so long from her life, now it was better than the smell of coffee brewing.  A naked young man was in her bed and she didn’t even know his name.  She giggled but tried to do so without jiggling.  With careful movements, she extricated herself carefully to avoid waking him.  Sleep was exactly what he needed most.  She noted his vital signs then adjusted the flow of oxygen.  Mentally the doctor moved her patient onto the recovering list.

After picking up his scattered clothing, she carried them over to her laundry area.  As she emptied the pockets of his jeans, Cindy noted only some small change and a set of keys in one pocket.  Strangely, the fob just held vehicle keys.  Her collection looked like a jailor’s ring and she had no idea what half of them unlocked anymore.  In the other pockets, she found a motel key and a wallet.

“Roger Connors.”  She peeked at his British Columbia driver’s license.  Why had he refused a hospital?  Her assumption on that he was an American was obviously false.  Cindy threw his clothes into her laundry machine and bustled to domestic duties foregone since his arrival.  An employee was manning the store below.

“Wake up, Roger.”  Later, the doctor jiggled her patient’s heel.  “How are we feeling this morning?”

“I feel like crap.”  John rolled onto his back and stretched.  He caught the use of his name and thought about his pseudo-identity as fast as his fuzzy brain allowed.  “I feel like I died and shouldn’t have been brought back to life.”

“Feeling like crap is a vast improvement over the other night.”  Cindy pulled the curtains back, sending a shaft of sunlight into his eyes.  “Should I bring you breakfast?”

“No, I want to get up.”  He blinked at the dazzle then inched out of the bed to use the washroom.  His identity ritual was performed in the vanity mirror with a whisper.  “Good morning Roger Connors.”

From his face, his eyes drifted to his chest where the itchy pox pulled at his fingernails like electromagnets.  He fought gamely back and restrained the urge with only gentle rubs.  His head still ached but not as badly as it had.  He coughed hard and the action brought up chunks of lung mucus so big he almost had to chew before spitting.  Yuk—there’s another nasty to be pushed out of mind!

“Tell me something about yourself?”  Cindy heard his shuffling feet in the nearby bedroom.

“There’s not much to tell.”  While he hunted for his clothes, he recited some of the quick ‘facts’ that Roger knew and a reasonable chain of events that brought him here.  He ended his monologue with a plausible excuse.  “My family are Jehovah’s Witness but I needed my own answers.  I guess I’m trying to find myself.”

“Just look in a mirror.”  His tale had pre-empted what her next question would’ve been.  Not believing in blood transfusions would make someone of that religion leery of hospitals.

“I won’t see a reflection in the glass until I satisfy a commitment first.”  Roger offered and then regretted, as the comment made him sound like Count Dracula.

“Are you a vampire that religiously can’t take blood?  That’s too funny.”  Cindy had her back to him while cooking the ham and eggs.  She turned to find a male sitting casually buck-naked in her kitchen.  “Exactly what do you think you’re wearing at my dinner table?”

“No shirt, no shorts, no service.”  He sheepishly quoted his Dad.  “My clothes have disappeared and since you’ve already seen me—I just didn’t think about it.”

His father had chided him about not being dressed for a meal but other than that, he had no problem with the preference for being natural.  ‘If you’re comfortable in your own skin then everything else fits like a glove.’

“The human body is beautiful,” she couldn’t help laughing, “but surely your mom or at least your minister told you to put something on at mealtimes!”

“All the time but what boy ever listens?”  Oops, maybe being too casual was a slip up.  Other than that Jehovah’s Witnesses shunned blood transfusions, the only other thing he knew was they worshipped on Saturday instead of Sunday.  Maybe they were puritanical zealots that believed they were born already in a diaper.

“You must’ve had a sheltered life.”  Cindy was still chuckling as she fetched her pink robe for him.  Her knowledge was also limited but it was odd to see a member of any creed quite so unabashed.

“You’re fairly old to contract the Measles.”

“We lived in an isolated place.”  He went on to tell her about the little girl at the hot spring.  Then he confessed about the frosty dips in beckoning lakes and streams.  ‘Use truth in liberal quantities where you can with specifics changed to protect the identity and purpose.’

“Oh, to have back the immortality of adolescence.”  She sighed wistfully.  “I know your ID says you’re 20 but your innocence makes me conclude you’re more like ten.”

“Actually, I’m only one day old because having died, I’m on life number two.  Cats get nine.  How many do we humans get?”  He felt reborn but with a new vision from having seen life from both sides.  Death is a gift.  It was as his father’s promised reward on completing his mission.  He wouldn’t focus on it but embrace it when it arrived.  Just realizing that was a liberating feeling.

“Then you’ll be about my age before you’re legal to drink.”

“I’ll use fake I.D.”  Roger almost gagged a telling such a bald-faced truth on an identity issue.  “I think I’m strong enough now to give you back your bed.  I’ve got a motel room.”

“No you are not!”  Cindy voice left no wiggle room for argument.  “You have Measles and pneumonia.  Your temperature is still way above normal and you’re on antibiotics. I’m not taking you off the oxygen until I’m good and certain your lung function has stabilized.”  She added finger wagging.  “You’ll stay right here until you’re well.

“Okay.”  The patient meekly accepted her rebuke but his eyes misted over.  He knew Cindy was trying to be the doctor but her scolding seemed more as what a mother might sound like.

Over the next few days, Cindy nursed him back to health.  She made a steam tent with a sheet and some chairs, to sooth his lungs with mentholated moisture.  Interspersed with foul tasting spoonfuls of medicine, they had pleasant conversations.  He had magazines by the bundle when she worked in the store.  The motherless boy reveled in being coddled by a motherly hand, for the first time.

When she wasn’t working shifts, his proxy parent entertained him with games of Scrabble.  Both were pleasantly surprised by the others extensive vocabularies.

“What’s that?”  Roger laughed as the doctor, who possessed decorum to the point of elegance, placed her letter tiles.

“It’s a legitimate word!”  She prickled with embarrassment but the points provided at this pivotal stage of the competition, made it worthwhile.  She’d never say this four-letter word out loud but in Scrabble, it was a perfectly acceptable—if it tallied to a good score.

“If you mean the French word for seal, the aquatic mammal, I believe p-h-o-q-u-e is the proper spelling.”  Roger refused to let her get off quite so easily.

“This spelling,” Cindy’s cheeks glowed a color of sealing wax, “is an English slang term and it’s in some dictionaries.”

Sometimes he invented some good stories to tell but enjoyed listening to her true ones better.  Finally, he begged the ex-doctor to relate the long sad story of why she no longer practiced medicine.

“I had a patient about your age.”  Cindy sighed resignedly and repeated the sordid tale.  Despite her best efforts, the motorcycle accident victim had succumbed to his major injuries.  The parents had sued and an aggressive lawyer used tactics that were straight out of Hollywood scripting.  With expert testimony, the litigator won his case and a huge settlement from her and the clinic’s malpractice insurance. Cindy attempted to give the grimy story a bubbly ending.  “Bankruptcy and unemployment builds character.”

“The financial loss is understandable but why can’t you still work as a doctor?”  Roger mined a vein he’d assayed at the library.

“I’m an unacceptable liability for the clinic.”  She paraphrased words the senior doctor had used.

“The case set a president and if a tongue depressor hits a tonsil too firmly, I might be back in court.”

“Why would patients be expected to complain to a lawyer?”

“This is a small town and everyone knows what happened.  People know the lawyer is ready to pounce at the drop of a scrub cap and the expert testimony set to leap in support.”  She resignedly sighed.  “A lure of cash tends to overbalance decency and patients might even come lurking for a rich settlement.”

“Can’t you move your practice to where you’re not vulnerable?”

“Creston is my hometown and I like it here.  My husband and my father are buried in the cemetery.  My mother needs my help.  Managing a c-store isn’t as satisfying but it keeps the wolves in the hills.  Some friends are still my patients.”  Cindy forced a chuckle she hoped would conceal her hurting.  “I also have the odd stranger collapsing in my store to keep my skills honed.”

“What would happen if the lawyer left town?”  Roger pressed with a feigned innocence.

“That would help but he’s not the only problem.”  Cindy had mused this topic before but the question had never popped up in a conversation.  “The clinic’s senior practitioner would never approve my reinstatement either.  His billing base of patients deepened when I left the practice.”

The talk was swiftly overwhelming her attempt to look stoic and Cindy pressed for an end.  “I have to be content with my life.  Bad things happen and that’s simply the way of the world.”

“Jehovah prefers the nasty things happening to bad people.”

“Dream on.”  As engaged in the process of getting up from her chair, Cindy missed a sly look on her patient’s face.  “And speaking of which, I’m off to dreamland.”

“Me too.”  As Roger followed he peeled clothing to sleep in the raw, as usual.  They had continued to share the comfortable bed.

“If I got you some pajamas, would you even look at them?”  His accustomed birthday sleeping suit wasn’t offensive but as he grew healthier it seemed—slightly disconcerting.  Cindy didn’t expect any unwelcome advances.  Her modesty just wasn’t as liberal as his.

“Probably not unless ordered.”  The young man casually shed the briefs and climbed under the covers.  “Why?  Are you worried I might be caught unprepared for fending off a wild cougar attack?”

“I know a young buck that deserves a good flank biting.”  Cindy chuckled and swatted him on the bare buttocks as sharply as her facing away position awkwardly permitted.

Cindy closed her eyes but a fleeting thought inspired by their earlier conversation gave her an odd memory.  She recalled keeling in prayer at her bedside when she was a little girl.  The vision was a wisp and then gone but it sent her mind somewhere pertinent.

“Did you,” she turned her head slightly up towards him, “have a death dream on your first night here or were you even aware?”

“Yes and it was vivid.  But I really can’t tell you about it.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”  Now she rolled completely over to study his face in the dim light.

“That’s hard to describe,” but he was game for attempting it.   “Some aspects were common elements of other reported post life events but there are no words to fit the more important features.”  It took Roger a pause to find an example to cite.  “Say we are two people with differing languages and we lack the right phrasebook.  We point to objects and assign them words but how do we transmit an invisible concept?”

“I think I might understand that.  My husband passed away very suddenly from an undiagnosed brain aneurism.  We were watching TV and I wasn’t looking at him.  I just knew Dale was gone before I possibly could’ve known.”  Her eyes widened in a mild surprise as she realized, “I’ve never even told my own mother about that.”

“Your comfort with confiding in me, was it due to an awareness, that I wouldn’t scoff?”  Roger began only musing but it turned into a question.  Her eyes answered, yes.  “Was that intuition even akin to the way you knew of your husband’s passing?”

“I’m not sure,” the woman searched her feeling, “maybe.”

“The soul’s sense of certainty behooves description to those who haven’t experienced it.”  Again his further elucidation took a stretch for the illustration.   “It’s like trying to talk about true faith, to a person who can’t find it or to who only pretends.”

“A better description might be describing the sensation of love to someone who has never felt ardor.”  Cindy offered.

“Using faith and love as examples still doesn’t cover it because everyone knows what those are.  They’re natural to us as children but I think adults can outgrow the capacity for one or both.”

“A discussion on that is far too deep for this venue.  We may even have to argue from the same side.”

“Then I just say, no.”  He grinned.  “I don’t think you’re a wacko for sensing a resonance transposed over life.”

“Talking about things outside the physical realm is inviting a nasty label.”  Cindy thought of a groaner to end on.  “Given my non-practicing status in my profession and claiming to possess a non-certifiable esoteric ability, I might be called a ‘quack quack’.”

“That was double fowl.”  He wrinkled his nose and gave her a small cuff on the shoulder.

“Goodnight.”  She captured his wrist and rolled away taking his hand, where she tucked it under her cheek.  Remembering the pain of loosing her doctoring career brought a tear before she slept.  It rolled too quickly to staunch and splashed on his knuckles.

Roger felt the warm moisture and imagined the astringency of the salt, even long after it had dried.  A compassionate and decent person was misused for greed’s sake.  The prospect of a few more dollars into bank accounts is not worth her continued misery.

By her breathing, Roger knew she was now asleep.  Slumber for him would take awhile longer.  In contrast to the strong woman that had saved his life and tended to his recovery, now she felt vulnerable under his bicep.  When Cindy shared her tragic story, she had tried to spare his hurting in sympathy.  The tear was an indicator of the extent of her sorrow.  She works for low pay and free rent when she’s qualified and capable of a career she loves.

“My father left me the means to assist my new mother.”  His words were without even a hushed voice and meant only for himself.  Roger Connors began formulating his plan.

…

“Let me take a look at you.”  Doctor Cindy Smart examined her patient.  His resilient young body had cast off the pneumonia.  The pox marks were fading and with his having rebuffed the compulsion to scratch, they wouldn’t leave permanent scars.  As a doctor, Cindy was aware that she had to release him from custody but as a friend, or even as a mom, she really didn’t want to.  “I’m declaring you fit enough to start earning your room and board—do you want a job?”

“I can’t stay on.”  Roger invented a girlfriend in Vancouver and his mental picture of her was almost tempting enough to drive there.  Creston might’ve been a nice place to gather some life experience but a solitary saline droplet washed that prospect away.  “But I will repay your kindness.”  After hearing his own words, he fumbled for his wallet to cover the small slippage.

“I don’t want money.” Cindy pushed his wrist to set the wallet back into pocket but it seemed like it hadn’t been a full-hearted attempt.  She shrugged off further payment by claiming a value was already received.  “Sleeping with you reminded me of my husband.”

“If you won’t be a cougar,” the ex-patient’s eyebrows flicked as if a flirt or a dig but his face was thoughtful, “then be a bobcat instead.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know that urban term.”  Sophisticated women chasing younger men are often called cougars.  Cindy tentatively bit on the doubtlessly lurking jibe.  “Dare I inquire after the bobcat?”

“Plenty of bucks have already seen a few ruts. They aren’t the ones rattling antlers and drawing puma from the hills.”  His hunter’s hinterland wisdom proved a fitting analogy but Roger’s grin was due to his switchback. Being sagely serious as she’s expecting a witty burn is as enjoyable as is the reverse. “A linx might seek the well-seasoned stag with velvet fully rubbed off his rack, just nibbling the foliage unaware.  Our bobcat’s grown contented with just rabbits but she’s more than capable of bringing down her deer.”

“I will miss you.”  Cindy smiled as her mind pictured herself in the pleasant sounding nature drama.  “Come back with chicken pox or better still, the mumps.”

Roger shifted his truck into gear and drove off into the night.  He wasn’t headed west to Vancouver but east to Calgary instead.  ‘Where you’ve been will be seen but don’t be showing where you’re going’.  His father told of writing a biography but an encyclopedia could be filled just with his advice and catch phrases.

His route went past the smallish city of Cranbrook.  “This will be a better place to stay upon return.”  His business in Creston could be done by the one-hour commute.

“I’ll come back afterwards but only long enough to visit Sam.”  Even though alone in his truck, he spoke to Roger’s persona in a pre-apology for breaking a rule.  He’d make a whole new person with the gear stored in Calgary and a dropped identification should be left completely.  The unclosed file took up brain-space but it also made links.  He deemed that Roger’s exposure was of minimal risk and it saved a worse one.  He only had this one really good set of ID and without, just being pulled over by police for a burned out tail bulb could turn nasty, quickly.

The road rolled under his vehicle’s wheels controlled by the brain’s autopilot while his thoughts drove in the streets of recent events and planning.  His father had given him a task to do but he hadn’t been sure he could follow it through.  Even with all his love and trust for his father, he had entertained doubts about the ethics of his future life.  The post death experience settled that issue.

“I won’t be sending my victim to a mysterious unknown.”  He knew what was there.  His father’s code even applied to murder—some should go to their better place ahead of schedule to make the world nicer for those left behind.  He harkened back to some information contained in Shiva the destroyer’s spiritual brushing.  ‘Death is necessary, as life can’t exist without it: just like darkness is, so that light can be.’  Planned and properly executed mayhem is a good thing, in the right context.  “My concern for Cindy only struck a match.  The Who and why if confirmed, lights the fuse.”

As Roger traveled through the Rocky Mountains the hunter’s moon was low and bright.  Snow-capped crags towered beside the highway but one pyramidal form caught his particular attention.

[Mount Kailasa.]

“No it’s not.”  Roger puzzled at where that internal voice had come from.  He spotted a sign with the peak’s real name on it and it wasn’t even close to Kailasa.  He pulled into a road siding and stood outside for a better view.

“The ice at the crown does look like white quartz glittering in the moonlight though.”  Roger had read up on the topic of ‘Shiva’ after his father had told him the Kennedy operation was named that.

The word ‘kailasa’ meant crystal in Sanskrit and a Himalayan mountain of that name was purportedly the home of Shiva the Destroyer.

“Well, have you any more quartz gems to pop into my mind?”  The young man tapped his head several times with the palm of his hand to rattle loose any response.  “If so please out with it now.  I don’t want to deal with anything while in Calgary’s morning traffic.”

“It was just my tired mind playing a trick.”  His consoling words didn’t convince him though.  Is it possible that my spirit brought an essence back from the afterlife?  Roger climbed back behind the truck’s steering wheel.  “I would actually prefer two souls staying on bunk beds in my brain, as being better than having schizophrenia.”

“I’m not converting to Hinduism—so don’t even try.” Just in case, Roger set the house rule for any tenant that might be there.  “Organized religions won’t dictate my dharma.”  For ethics and right actions he’d stick with his father’s values instead.  The soul survivor still couldn’t discount he was already changed in many ways he just didn’t fully comprehend quite yet.

…

Roger Connors arrived in Calgary several hours later and found the large double storage unit his father had leased there.  The boy could almost smell his dad’s presence in the unmoving air, it had been untouched for a long time.  About half of the space was taken up with stores and a small workshop area.  The room left over was enough to park a vehicle.  He already had an accurate knowledge of the contents from his father’s inventories but snooped anyways.

There was equipment to print and laminate ID cards, along with a Polaroid camera to make the photos.  He created a fast set to buy a used BMW Z5.  A car lot just needed a name to write into a blank on a form when the transaction was for cash.  Roger drove directly from the sales lot to an auto body shop.  With a new paint job and no expense spared on detailing, the vehicle would suit the role.

The owner of a fine men’s clothing store took one look at the long scraggly hair and tried to look too busy at the till to be able to serve the customer.  He assumed the boy in the cheap, off-the-rack clothes would take one look at the prices and leave.

Roger however, didn’t bother to look at the tags.  He strode to the counter in the back and slapped a GQ magazine down on the desk.  Much of his recovery time was spent reading periodicals and had already picked out the look he wanted.  ‘Clothing makes the man—whatever he wants to be.’  His father had aphorisms to cover a wide range of topics.

“This is what I want,” he announced matter-of-factly.  His sweep by the offerings displayed in the front of the store had already suggested that if the clothing he desired was anywhere in Western Canada, then it was here, “and before you try to blow me off, I’ll tell you right now, I don’t care what it costs.”

“I’m Dave.”  The shopkeeper smiled with genuine sincerity.  It was such a treat to enjoy a fresh new ending to a well-worn drama.  He tapped a finger on the magazine.  “You aren’t going to recognize yourself when you walk out of this store.”

After spending almost a week in Calgary, he was now ready.  The newspaper archive at the public library provided a name suited his purpose.  Some Internet searching gleaned some examples of the documents he wanted to duplicate.  Then he had set to work crafting a new ID set.  The cards he created wouldn’t stand up under any official scrutiny but they appeared genuine.[/private_Chevron]

A visit to a hairstylist had his hair dyed jet black and groomed meticulously into a ponytail.  Spending some time each day in a tanning shop had darkened his skin tone to suit the role.  Outfitted, as a model stepped from a style magazine’s cover and pampered with a manicure, he now looked the part.

“Hello, Romero Escobedo.”  He examined his appearance in premier hotel suite’s mirror and deemed the effect was perfect.

One week earlier, a Caucasian bush rat boy arrived in Calgary with his beat up pickup truck.  Now a chic Latino man drove from a temporary base in Cranbrook, in his expensive BMW Z5 sports car.

Having already checked his hair in the car’s mirror and done a fast buff on his shined shoes, Romero tugged at his cuffs to smooth the fit of his charcoal suit.  His slightly pointed lapels and the tailored cut of his jacket lent a semi-formal hint of a tuxedo.  He took a deep breath on the sidewalk to enter his sphere of awareness and looked though the glass doors at the client service counter.

[The daughter of the mountain is Parvati.]

“Wherever that came from—knock it out of your head.”  I don‘t need the complications of a hitchhiking spirit, mooning for his consort from another life.  Blocking out any thoughts, Romero found his zone of perception and stepped within.  “Focus!”