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.

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“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.

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