As he walked over to the office a few minutes later Jim had the feeling that someone was following him. At each intersection he turned around to look but he never found any firm evidence of a stalker. When Jim entered the coffee shop in the basement of the federal building, Ben was already there.
“How’re you doing Jimmy?” asked Ben exuberantly.
“Oh, fine,” said Jim, half heartedly.
“C’mon,” said Ben. “What’s the matter?”
“I think I’m just tired,” said Jim.
Later that morning, Jim immersed himself in his work, trying to avoid thinking about his financial problems or the half baked solution that he had almost implemented the night before. Deep in thought about a system design problem, Jim was brought back to the real world when he heard his telephone ring at the periphery of his consciousness.
“Hello,” he said wearily.
“Mr. Kincaid?” asked the female caller.
“That’s me,” said Jim.
“James Earl Robert Kincaid?” asked the caller again?
“Yes,” said Jim, a little annoyed.
“Mr. Kincaid, this is Patricia Wyatt at The Bank of Montreal calling. Our records show that you are over your credit limit.”
Jim was mad. Hadn’t they already agreed to wait until next week?
“I know,” said Jim. “Someone at the bank called me the other day.”
There was a pause. “One moment, please,” said the caller.
Jim began tapping on his desk with his fingers. He knew he should not be nervous but he was. What was going on here? Why did they continue to pester him?
The caller came back on the line. “Mr. Kincaid?”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry, sir. I did not realize that someone from our office had already called you.”
“So everything is alright?” asked Jim.
Another pause. “Well, err, no,” said the caller hesitantly.
“What the fuck is wrong now?” cried Jim, his voice much too loud for the office.
“I read through the records and I see you have been given until next Monday to pay your bill.”
“Yes,” said Jim.
“Well, sir, did Mr. Chevalier explain to you that you can not use your credit card until your payment has been made?”
Jim was incensed. “No, he did not,” he said.
“Well, sir, I’m afraid that you can not use your Mastercard until we receive your payment.”
“Fine!” shouted Jim.
Again, there was silence.
“What now?” asked Jim.
“Well, sir,” began the caller. “According to the guidelines, if we do not receive your payment by the close of business on Monday …”
“What?!?!” screamed Jim. “What now?”
“Well, your card will be cancelled and we will send your account out for collection.”
“You’ll get your fucking money!” yelled Jim. “Don’t you worry. Even if I have to rob your bank you’ll get your money.”
“Sir, please …” began the bank clerk.
Jim could not listen to her any more. He slammed down the phone, leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. Leaning back, he brought his hands up to his head and began massaging his temples. He felt like his head was about to explode. How was he ever going to come up with the money to pay the bank? How was he going to come up with the money to pay back all of the banks? He felt a crawling feeling all over his body. It was not quite itchy but it was very unsettling. The feeling was everywhere. It was on his legs, on his stomach and all over his back. He tried to scratch in all of these places but it did not help. Somewhere deep in his brain he knew that this was psychological, he knew it was not real. But the underlying psychology did not help. He jumped out of his chair and began pacing around his cubicle. He was still rubbing his body all over when his hand passed over his shirt pocket.
Hold on, he thought to himself. There was a lump in his shirt. What was this? He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the folded napkin. He unfolded it and looked at the writing. It was a phone number. Jim closed his eyes and fondled the piece of paper as though it was a long sought after love. Jim opened his eyes and looked again at the napkin. The writing was still there. His salvation was still written there on the paper. He fondled the napkin, refolded it, and returned it to his shirt pocket. He sat back upright in his chair and realized that the unsettling feelings were gone.
At break time in the coffee shop Cindy joined Ben and Jim. Cindy noticed that Jim was distracted.
“You sure you’re alright?” Cindy asked Jim, clearly concerned.
“I’m fine Cily,” said Jim, in a calm voice. “Just tired, that’s all.”
Cindy did not look convinced. “I think you should see a doctor,” said Cindy. “You look very pale.”
“Tonight I’ll go to bed early and, you’ll see, I’ll be fine tomorrow,” replied Jim.
After they had finished their coffees, Jim did not return to the elevator with Ben and Cindy.
“You go on up,” said Jim. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
Ben gave Cindy a look of concern. Cindy took the hint.
“Come on Ben,” said Cindy. “You’ll be late.”
“I’ll just be a minute,” said Jim. “See you up there,” he said, giving them a dismissive wave.
Jim walked in the opposite direction from the elevator. After a few seconds he looked back to see Ben and Cindy disappearing behind elevator doors. He then walked directly to a pay phone. Retrieving the folded and partially crumpled napkin from his pocket, Jim pulled out a phone card and dialled the Toronto telephone number written on the napkin. There were three rings before it was answered.
“Yes?” asked a gruff voice at the other end of the line.
Jim realized that Mike had not given him the name of his uncle. “Oh,” said Jim, stammering. “I’m looking for,” he began. “I’m looking for,” he repeated.
“What are you looking for?” asked the gruff voice.
Jim decided he would have to just explain who he was looking for. “I’m looking for the uncle,” he began again. “The uncle of Michael Campanelli.”
“Si,” said the voice. “Momento.”
Jim waited for about a minute before a new voice came on the phone. It was also gruff, but more distinguished.
“Prego,” said the voice.
“I am looking for Michael’s Campanelli’s uncle.”
“Si,” said the voice. “I am the uncle of Michael,” he said, the slight Italian accent detectable even over the phone.
“Oh,” said Jim. “Michael told me to call you. My name is Jim Kincaid. Michael said you may be able to help me with a financial problem.”
“Oh, I am sure I can help,” said the uncle, in a kind voice. “If Michael gave you my number I am very sure I can help,” he repeated. “Are you a friend of Michael?”
“Yes sir,” said Jim, not sure how to address the uncle. “We work together.”
“Bene,” said the uncle. “What kind of financial problem do you have?”
Jim had to think about how to explain his problem.
“Signore?” prompted the uncle.
Jim decided to leave out most of the details.
“I owe a lot of money, sir. I don’t think I will have a problem paying it back if I am given enough time. My problem is that the bank wants all of the money now.”
Jim deliberately referred only to one bank. He thought that if he told the uncle how many banks he owed, he might seem imprudent.
“Ah, yes,” said the uncle with understanding. “The banks are like that,” he said. Jim could almost see the uncle shaking his head. “They have no consideration,” the uncle continued and his comments were not made with sarcasm. He seemed to speak with genuine empathy.
There was a lull in the conversation where neither spoke. Jim, for his part, had no idea what to say at this point. He was just about to ask what the next step was to be when the uncle spoke aga
in.
“Fine, fine,” said the uncle, thinking to himself. “Since you are such a good friend of Michael, I am sure I can help you. You do have a good job?”
“Yes, sir,” said Jim, excited. “As a matter of fact, I have also started looking for a better job. I am ambitious. I will be able to pay you back.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” said the Italian. “You work with Michael so you also work with computers?”
“Yes sir,” said Jim, uncertain why what he did was important. He would have understood if the uncle had asked questions about his income but he did not understand why his work was important. Jim thought it strange that the uncle had not yet asked about income or about the size of the loan he needed.
“Tell me what you do at work,” said the uncle.
Jim was again confused by the interest in his work but, if the uncle would help him pay off his bank debts, he could have asked where his birthmark was and he would have told him.
“I’m a software engineer,” said Jim. “I design software, mostly for web sites.”
“But you work for the government?”
“Yes.”
“You work in the tax department with my Michael?” asked the uncle.
“Yes.”
“Do you have any hobbies?”
Jim thought for a minute. His only hobby was hacking but what would the uncle think of that.”
“Yes sir,” said Jim. “I also like working with computers in my spare time.”
“So,” said the uncle. “You work with computers at work and your hobby is also working with computers?”
“Yes.”
“Bene,” said the uncle, apparently reaching a decision. “We are not a bank so we do not check credit history,” said the uncle. “Ours is mostly an ‘executive service’ for people who need confidentiality. To offer this confidentiality we operate outside of the normal financial system. We depend on referrals from people we know well, like my Michael.”
Again, there were a few seconds of silence.
“I will tell you how this works, Mr. Kincaid. I work with other businessmen to loan money to bright, professional people who have …” He paused looking for the right word. “Who have overextended themselves,” he continued. “We are very reasonable people, much more reasonable than the banks. But we have a golden rule. We will not lend money to people unless we meet them face to face. We place more importance on the person’s character than on anything else. And I can only judge your character in person.” Verde paused.
“Michael had said we would have to meet,” said Jim.
“Can you come see me in Toronto?” asked the uncle.
Jim thought about it. He could probably borrow Ben’s car. But he could only go on the weekend.
“Yes, sir,” said Jim.
“When?” asked the uncle.
“I could try to come on Saturday,” said Jim.
“Bene,” said the uncle. “Very good. Why don’t you come here at 12:00 on Saturday? We will have a talk, have some lunch, and I will try to help you.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Jim, a little too enthusiastically. He could not help himself. He was in a real bind and this ‘uncle’ was offering him a chance to get out of it.
The uncle gave Jim an address in Toronto and directions on how to reach it.
“Don’t you need to know how much money I need to loan?” asked Jim.
“Not at all,” said the uncle. “We will discuss that on Saturday.”
“I will see you Saturday,” said Jim.
“Bene,” said the uncle. And then he hung up the phone
Jim took the crumpled piece of paper with the telephone number and stuck it in his right pant pocket.
***
At lunch Cindy again joined Ben and Jim though neither Cindy nor Ben asked Jim any questions about his health. Jim noticed the absence of interest and figured that he must look a lot better since he spoke with Campanelli’s uncle. Instead of Jim’s health, the three friends were talking about latest office gossip when Cindy changed the subject.
“Did you think about calling Penny?” Cindy asked Jim.
“What?” asked Jim.
“You know, Jim,” she said nodding at him. “Are you going to call my friend Penny or not?”
“The blind date?” he asked.
“Yes, the blind date” said Cindy. “But don’t think about it like that. You would just be doing something nice for someone new in town.”
“Gee, I don’t know, Cily,” whined Jim. “I have a lot on my plate right now.”
“Don’t be an asshole, Jim,” said Cindy. She took a notepad and pen out of her purse and wrote a name and telephone number on it. “Here’s her number,” she said. “Give her a call. Go for a coffee or something. You don’t have to spend a whole day with her but give it a chance. I think you two might hit it off.”
“Shit,” Jim grumbled to himself, realizing that he was being backed into a corner.
Cindy passed the piece of paper to Jim. “Here,” she said. “Do something nice.”
Jim picked up the piece of paper, folded it without looking at it, and put it in his shirt pocket.
Cindy looked right a Jim. “Thanks Jimmy,” she said.
“Right,” said Jim, knowing full well when he had been suckered.
***
Soon after lunch Mike Campanelli came to see Jim at his desk.
“Hey,” said Campanelli, looking over Jim’s cubicle wall.
Jim looked up. “Oh,” he said. “Hi Mike.”
Just then Ben walked into the cubicle. “Jim, do you have the API for the security library?” asked Ben.
Jim turned to look at Ben and then began looking through files on his computer. “I have it here somewhere,” he said.
“I just wanted to know if you had called my uncle,” interrupted Mike Campanelli from over top of the cubicle wall.
Now looking through his e-mail, Jim ignored Mike. “I know they are here somewhere,” he said to Ben.
“Jim,” said Mike. “Did you have a chance to call my uncle?”
“Hold on Mike,” said Jim as he continued to look for the Application Programming Interface for the security library.
“I’ll come back later,” said Ben.
“No, no,” said Jim. “Hold on. I’ll have it in a minute.”
“I’ll come back later then,” said Campanelli.
“No, no,” said Jim. “I just have to find this spec for Ben.”
“Really,” said Ben. “I’ll come back later.”
“Me too,” said Campanelli.
“Aha!” yelled Jim. “I found it!” Using the mouse and keyboard, Jim forwarded the e-mail he had found to Ben. “There you go Ben,” he said.
“Thanks,” said Ben. He looked over to where Campanelli was still perched over the cubicle wall. He then turned to give Jim a questioning look.
“Anything else?” Jim asked Ben.
“No,” said Ben. “That should do it.”
“Okay then, Mike,” said Jim. “What can I do for you?”
“Just wanted to know if you called my uncle,” he said.
Jim stole a quick glance over at Ben, who had not left and instead was watching them both intently.
“Ah, no, actually,” lied Jim. “Sorry. Still thinking about that.”
A look of disbelief was cast across Campanelli’s face. “Really?” he said.
“Yeah,” said Jim. “I’ve just been too busy to think about it,” he said.
Campanelli raised his eyebrows. “Okay,” said Campanelli. “I was just curious was all,” he said.
“Well thanks Mike,” said Jim. “Thanks for dropping by.”
Jim looked over at Ben who was no longer intently watching them. It was a different look, thought Jim. He was still watching them but it was no longer an intent look. Then he knew what it was. When Ben had been watching him intently, his look had been a reflection of his anxiety. Now Ben’s face was more relaxed because Ben was no longer anxious. He was now rel
ieved, relieved that he thought Jim was had not called Campanelli’s uncle.
***
After work Jim went directly to his server room, began working, and quickly lost track of time. He searched through newspaper, magazine and other media web sites looking for information on Mike Campanelli’s family. From the online telephone directory he knew there were a lot of Campanellis in the Toronto area, but Jim could not find any significant references to the family on the internet. Campanelli was the only clue he had to go on because he still did not know Mike’s uncle’s name. If he knew the uncle’s name, Jim felt certain he would have more success. If Mike’s uncle was the brother of his father then he would also be a Campanelli. But if the uncle was the brother of his mother then it would be an unlikely coincidence that his last name would also be Campanelli. After an hour of searching, having found nothing, Jim stopped looking. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He sat like that for a moment and then slowly reached into his pant pocket and removed the telephone number. He leaned forward, opened his eyes, and looked at it. A thought struck him. He then returned to the computer monitor and keyboard and began working again.
It only took a few minutes to retrieve the owner of the telephone number that Mike had given him. Unfortunately, though he retrieved the name, it was not as much use as Jim had hoped. Instead of being the name of a person, it was the name of a company. Tuscana Investments was not a company that Jim had heard of but it was a start and was enough to keep him motivated. He retrieved the address of Tuscana Investments and discovered that it was located in Rosedale, which Jim knew to be a very exclusive residential district of Toronto, just north of the downtown area proper. Working through the data at various governmental agencies, he discovered that, despite what Mike had told him about businessmen and partners, there was but a single principle owner of Tuscana Investments. Coincidentally, that owner had the same residential address as the business. Tuscana Investments was clearly just a company of convenience. Its owner, and Mike Campanelli’s uncle were one and the same. He was a man called Giuseppe Verde.
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