“How are you doing?”
Ben, who was sitting in the basement coffee shop sipping his coffee, looked up from his copy of the Ottawa Citizen, whose banner headline read, “RCMP Silent On Kidnapping”.
“Oh, hi Jim,” said Ben. “Going to have a coffee?”
“Sure,” said Jim. Then, after picking up a coffee, he joined Ben at the table.
“Looks like we’re in for a wait,” said Ben, nodding toward the line up for the elevators.
“It’s worse than you know,” said Jim. “I heard some people talking. Before we can go up we have to get picture ID cards. By the end of the week they say the elevators won’t work without swiping the IDs through a magnetic reader.”
“Really!” said Ben, impressed by what he saw as new found prestige.
“Really,” confirmed Jim.
After sitting in silence with their coffees for several minutes, Ben passed Jim the front section of the newspaper and then continued to read the business section. After a few more minutes Ben looked up from the paper and cocked his head at Jim.
“You know,” he began. “I was really impressed with the equipment in your apartment. I had no idea what you’ve been up to.”
Jim did not say anything but just smiled.
“And I can’t believe you’re White Cell. I mean, you never said anything did you?”
Jim seemed alarmed. “Shhhh,” he warned, holding his index finger to his lips. He then looked carefully over his shoulder. “That’s why I didn’t tell you,” he said. “You can’t go talking about this stuff in the open. Anyone could be listening.” He looked around again and nodded toward two policemen walking through the concourse. “What if they had heard?” he asked.
Ben leaned toward Jim and whispered in his ear quietly. “You don’t think you’re being a little too ‘cloak and dagger’, do you?”
Jim gave Ben a very serious look. “No,” he said. “I think I’m being just ‘cloak and dagger’ enough. Just the other day another hacker was arrested in Amsterdam. Who knows? Tomorrow it could be me.”
“I know the guy you’re talking about,” said Ben. “You’re nothing like Sesame. I mean, Christ, he was stealing money from the IMF. You haven’t stolen anything and you have only been helping people with viruses.”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Jim, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter one bit. No one, least of all the government, wants someone like me invading their turf. Even if it is for their own good. Remember, people were originally scared of Spiderman too.”
“You like the Spiderman thing,” said Ben, chuckling.
“Damned right.”
Ben took a last swig of his coffee. Jim, taking his cue, did the same.
“Ready?” asked Ben.
“Ready,” said Jim.
“Did you see him sitting there?” whispered Ben as he stood up.
Jim looked to the nearby table where Ben was pointing with his chin. “No,” said Jim. “I didn’t.”
“Do you think Campanelli was eavesdropping?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” said Jim. “He’s just having a coffee.”
The two proceeded toward the elevators where they had to present two valid pieces of identification in order to receive their new photo security ID cards. After forty five minutes in line for pictures and lamination they were done and they proceeded upstairs.
The soldier was standing inside the glass doors when Jim and Ben entered the CCRA offices but this time he checked their new security cards before then waving them through. The two split up. As Jim walked towards his desk he noticed a copy of ¬¬¬¬The Globe and Mail on a table in the corridor and leaned over to look at it. The headline on this newspaper was “What Fate for the Minister?”
“Don’t believe everything you read,” said a voice from under the table.
“What the …?” Jim began to ask.
A pretty redhead in her mid twenties climbed out from under the desk. When she stood up she towered over Jim. She was the tallest girl Jim had ever seen.
“What were you doing under there?” asked Jim.
“One of the Ethernet cable terminals had come loose,” said the girl. “I was just snapping it back in.”
“Ah,” said Jim, no better response coming to him as he looked up at the Amazon.
“Just remember,” said the girl, as she began to walk away. “Don’t believe everything you read in the papers.”
“Why not?” asked Jim.
“Because it’s usually wrong. At a minimum, it is late.”
“The paper is wrong?”
“Well, it’s certainly out of date,” said the girl. “Didn’t you hear?”
“Hear what?” asked Jim.
“Oh my God, you don’t know!” exclaimed the girl excitedly. “One of the Transport Minister’s ears showed up in ice,” she said. “And by courier!”
Jim found it interesting that this tree, this girl of six and a half feet, was excited by the news that an ear had been sliced off a senior cabinet minister. And she wasn’t disgusted by the thought. In fact, what most excited her was that it had probably arrived by FedEx. And in ice.
“Shit,” said Jim.
“I know! I know!” said the girl excitedly, practically jumping up and down. “You see why you can’t trust the newspapers for this sort of time critical information?”
When Jim did not answer, the girl calmed down. “By the way, my name is Sondra, Sondra Dunn,” she said.
She held out her hand and Jim reached up slightly to take it. “Where did you hear this?” asked Jim.
“On the radio,” said the girl. “But wait,” she cautioned. “You haven’t heard the best part.” She leaned toward Jim and bent down to his level so she could whisper in his ear. “The terrorists are promising that it will be something more dramatic next time. And the government is holding firm. Even with the ear of the Transport Minister, ‘no negotiating with terrorists’, they say.”
***
Later that morning Jim was working at his desk when the telephone rang.
“Hello?” said Jim.
“Mr. Kincaid?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. James Kincaid?”
“Yes.”
“My name is André Chevalier. I work for the Bank of Montreal here in Ottawa.”
“Yes, Mr. Chevalier,” said Jim. “What can I do for you?”
“Mr. Kincaid, do you currently have a Mastercard account with us here at the Bank of Montreal?”
“You know I do.”
“Yes, well, of course I do. Your statement was mailed out last week. Have you received it yet?”
“No,” lied Jim. It had been one of the statements he had opened last night and it was now lying somewhere on the floor of his server room with the other scattered statements.
“Ah, well, I was hoping you would have received it by now. That would make this call a little easier.”
“What is the problem Mr. Chevalier?” asked Jim apprehensively.
“I suppose the best thing is to hit the problem straight on,” began Chevalier. “You are well over your credit limit, Mr. Kincaid, and the bank has frozen your account until you make your minimum payment.”
Jim closed his eyes. He knew this was coming, and not just from the Bank of Montreal. But he could see no reason to take the problem lying down.
“What are you talking about?” asked Jim, trying his best to sound incensed. He then tried the only thing he could think of. “There must be a mistake. I’ve always kept under the credit limit. I have been an ideal customer. Is this how you treat ideal customers?”
“Mr. Kincaid, I am looking at your payment history,” said Chevalier, in a patronizing voice, no longer the polite customer service representative. You are quite often late on your payments so, no, unfortunately you are not what I would describe as an ideal customer.”
Jim fought back his panic. “What is it you want?” he asked calmly. “Give me the bottom line.”
Chevalier’s voice returned to hi
s calm, customer service tone. “You are over your limit by $3000. We would therefore like to see a payment of $3500 to cover interest charges and to reduce your balance below your credit line.”
“I see,” said Jim. The panic was beginning to set in again. “What is the due date on the statement?”
“Mr. Kincaid, the due date does not apply in this case because you are over your credit line. The payment is due now.” Jim started to say something but Chevalier interrupted him. Jim held his breath. “The best I can do is to give you until next Monday to make the payment,” said Chevalier. Jim released his breath.
“Thank you Mr. Chevalier,” said Jim.
“Just make the payment next Monday, Mr. Kincaid, or I will have to refer your account to our collections department.”
“I understand,” said Jim and he hung up the phone.
Looking at the phone on his cradle Jim saw that his message light was blinking. He retrieved the first of three messages.
“Mr. Kincaid, this is Alex Hussman at the Visa Centre at the Bank of Nova …”
***
At break time in the coffee shop Jim was very quiet. When he was not drinking his coffee he was biting his nails. Ben tried to spark his interest by testing a wide variety of topics but Jim hardly responded.
“You look worn out,” said Ben.
“I’m just a little tired,” said Jim, still biting his nails.
“You also look a little nervous,” said Ben.
“Nervous?” asked Jim, removing his nails from his mouth. “Not at all.”
“Did you hear about the ear?” asked Ben.
For the first time Jim smiled. “Yeah. And in the most bizarre way.”
“How?”
“This tall redhead told me about it and she seemed to think it was all very neat.”
“Sondra?”
“How did you know?”
“She’s the only tall redhead I can think of. Besides, she’s weird enough that a severed ear might interest her,” said Ben.
Jim said nothing.
“You sure you’re alright?” asked Ben.
“Oh yeah,” said Jim. “After all, I still have my spider senses.”
When Jim returned to his office he decided to ignore the phone messages for the rest of the morning. He was sure they would all be from various banks and credit card companies and, though he knew he would have to deal with them eventually, he just needed some time. He was worried enough about how he would make the $3500 payment to the Bank of Montreal on Monday.
At lunchtime Ben suggested that they get out of the building. He told Jim that it was a beautiful, sunny spring day, and that the outside air would do Jim a lot of good. They walked down to the outdoor Sparks Street mall and sat down at an outdoor pub. Though it was a little cool with a constant breeze, it was sunny and they were warm enough in the sweaters they were wearing. Neither of them noticed a man follow them from the federal building to the pub, taking up a post 100 feet down the mall from them. As they were waiting for a table Jim recognized Mike Campanelli sitting in the pub.
“Is that Mike Campanelli?” asked Jim.
“I think so,” said Ben. “And isn’t that Sondra Dunn with him?”
“I think it is,” said Jim. “That’ll be one for the office gossips!”
Once they were seated at a table, not far from Campanelli, Jim began biting his nails again. As he ate away at his cuticles, he looked out into space, oblivious to his surroundings. Ben looked at Jim, concerned. “You really do look like shit,” he said, a cool breeze blowing his hair into his eyes. He brushed his hair away.
“I accept the compliment,” retorted Jim
“Jimmy, you should tell me what’s going on. I mean, I know it has to be related to money because you never have any.” Again Ben had to brush his blown hair out of his eyes. “Now that I’ve seen your apartment and seen that it rivals anything they have at NORAD, I know you have to have big financial problems. Now, if I’m wrong, tell me and I’ll leave it alone. But if I’m right, maybe I can help.”
“You’re too smart for me, Benny,” said Jim. He sighed and slouched down in his chair. The cool breeze brushed past his face. He covered his eyes with one hand. “Spiderman wouldn’t have ended up like this.”
“Spiderman had super-human powers for Christ’s sake!” said Ben. “You don’t!”
“Okay, okay,” said Jim, sitting up straight in his chair and looking straight back at Ben. “I’m in hock up to my eyeballs. I should have seen it coming but I didn’t.”
The waitress came by for their order and Jim stopped talking.
Ben looked up at the waitress. “I’ll have the bacon cheeseburger,” said Ben, closing his menu.
“You’re kidding, right?” asked Jim, admonishing his friend for eating a most unkosher lunch.
“Nope,” said Ben. “Besides, should a Catholic be telling a Jew what to eat?”
The waitress, who was chewing gum like a camel, stared at Ben uncertain whether or not he was going to change his order.
“Bacon cheeseburger,” repeated Ben.
“I’ll have a smoked meat on rye,” said Jim. “Mustard on the side.”
“And to drink?” asked the waitress.
“Beer!” said Ben and Jim in unison.
Once the waitress had left, Ben looked right at Jim. “So how bad is it?” asked Ben.
“Bad,” said Jim. “I’m basically bankrupt. The banks have been calling all morning but I have avoided most of the calls. The one bank I spoke with wants $3500 by Monday.”
“You do have a problem,” said Ben.
“It’s worse than that,” said Jim. “Even if I could pay the banks what they want, it will take every penny I earn to keep me out of hock. Some of the equipment in my apartment is leased but I need that equipment and I need my internet services. I’m going to lose everything I live for.”
“You don’t think you are being a little melodramatic?” asked Ben. “Losing your server room is the least of your problems. You’re lucky you haven’t ended up in jail for some of your antics.”
“Bullshit!” said Jim. “My work has saved people thousands of dollars, maybe millions of dollars. And I’m no criminal! The only thing I need is a way to keep the banks at bay. Shit Ben, if I had wanted a berating I could have gone to my mother!”
The waitress arrived with their beer. The two sat in silence for several minutes, uncertain what to say. They just sat drinking from their frosted mugs.
“Hi,” said a voice coming someone standing next to their table. Looking up, Jim and Ben saw that it was Mike Campanelli.
“Hi Mike,” said Ben. “How are you?”
“Oh, I’m doing fine,” said Mike, pulling out a spare chair at their table. “Can I join you for a sec?” he asked.
“Why not?” said Jim, looking for any alternative to the conversation with Ben.
“Listen,” began Mike earnestly, “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” he said looking at Jim. “I may be able to help.”
“How?” asked Ben, clearly annoyed that this man, at best an acquaintance, was interrupting what was a very private discussion.
“I may know of a company that may be able to help with Jim’s predicament. They are specialists in this sort of,” He paused. “Well, this sort of problem.”
“I’m not sure this is any of your business Mike,” protested Ben. Mike looked wounded.
“Let him say what he has to say Ben,” said Jim. “Go on Mike. What do you think you can do?”
“It’s nothing magic,” said Mike. “But there are companies that specialize in loaning money to people like you, people that have been shafted by the banks. They help you buy the little bit of time you need to set your affairs straight.”
“Sounds like it’s just what I need,” said Jim.
“Sounds like it’s just what you don’t need,” said Ben.
“If there is a way for me to avoid losing everything then I’ve got to hear what it is,” said Jim angrily.
“Go on Mike.”
“Well, the problem with banks is that they are looking at your current assets and current income,” said Mike. “That makes your debt look excessive to them right?”
“Right,” said Jim
“The people I know are more concerned with your future income potential. Imagine what you will be making ten years from now? Do you think you will be making much more money then?”
“I certainly hope so,” said Jim.
“Well then, that is what these businessmen will be interested in. They will loan you money based on your future potential. They don’t care if you can not pay back the loan based on your current salary. Think about, Jim. It makes perfect sense. They are working in a niche area where the banks don’t want to be.”
“I thought you said this was a loan company,” said Ben. “Now it’s a bunch of businessmen?”
“It’s both,” said Mike. “What is a company if it is not a group of businessmen?”
“Don’t split hairs Ben,” objected Jim.
“Fine,” said Ben. “But what if Jim’s income doesn’t increase to the level that these ‘businessmen’ expect in the timeframe they expect?” Ben had put up two fingers on each hand as quotation marks around “businessmen”.
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” said Mike. “They can always restructure the loan to account for changes in circumstances. These are very reasonable people.”
“And just how do you know these ‘people’?” asked Ben.
“One of the partners is my uncle. And I work for them on a part time basis.”
“Gee,” said Jim, nodding while imagining how he could save his server room. “Sounds good. How do we arrange this?”
“You don’t think you’re jumping the gun?” asked Ben.
“No way,” said Jim. “Mike here is vouching for them. What’s the harm in a meeting? I mean I’m in real trouble here Ben.”
“Good,” said Mike. “The only problem is that the company and my uncle are in Toronto. They won’t do business by phone but if you could get to Toronto for a few hours I’m sure they can help you.”
“Jim, you don’t need these guys,” warned Ben. “You can solve your problem just by cutting back on your expenses. You might even be able to keep some of your equipment but at least you won’t be going further into debt with people you don’t know.”
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