Jim thought the name sounded very familiar but he could not place it. Nonetheless, now armed with a name, Jim was able to research Giuseppe Verde. Using the same media databases he had used to query the Campanelli name, Jim found that Giuseppe Verde was a very well known man. Verde had a police record from the time he was a ten year old child in Palermo. Eight years later, at the age of 18, he had immigrated to Canada as a brick layer’s apprentice. He was but one of thousands of Italian immigrants arriving in Canada in the 1960's as construction workers. His police record in Italy had clearly not been carefully scrutinized.
As Jim worked through the available documentation on Verde, he began to worry. This man was no upstanding citizen. Jim found newspaper articles and police reports linking the man to gambling, prostitution, extortion and loan sharking. Several anecdotal bits of information implied that the man was ruthless, once cutting out the tongue of a business acquaintance for insulting his name. There were also indications that Verde had been involved in several unsolved murders. Worst of all, the newspapers implied what Ben had feared all along. Verde was almost certainly part of the Italian mafia in Toronto.
However, there was a little good news. From the articles he read, Jim discovered that the Italian mafia appeared to be more businesslike and much less gruesome than their more modern counterparts, the Russian mafia. The Russians were real animals, relying more on fear and physical forms of enforcement than the more evolved Italian "businessmen". But the fact that the Italians were more professional mobsters did not quell Jim's growing unrest; moreover, the revelation that Verde himself had used violence had already sent a shiver up Jim's spine.
But despite all of this new evidence, Jim knew he would still go to Toronto. Right now Verde was his only hope and, after talking with the man, Jim felt reasonably confident he could loan the money and repay it without too many side effects. But he also knew that there was a real possibility of trouble and that he could be entering a world from which might not be able to extricate himself.
“I'm glad Ben doesn't know about this," Jim said aloud to himself.
Jim retired to his bedroom and began removing his clothes. As he did every night, he removed anything that he had stuck in his pockets through the day. Aside from the usual keys, wallet and change, he found two pieces of paper. A crumpled piece of paper was in his right pant pocket and a folded piece of paper was in his shirt pocket. He absentmindedly placed all the materials he found on his night table and prepared to go to bed.
Chapter 10 - NAT Again
Thu May 6th
Jim was driving very fast along Toronto’s Gardiner expressway, heading west, the downtown office buildings passing by him on his right at a furious rate. Even though most of the traffic was moving at well over the speed limit, Jim was moving even faster and was zipping in and out of the three westbound lanes. He then hit a sparse portion of highway with little traffic where he could accelerate to the speed he felt he needed. He was now going very fast, extremely fast. The wind whipped at his hair and he felt very much alive. He looked down at the speedometer of his red Lamborghini and saw that he was now doing 180kph. But it didn’t feel like he was going that fast.
Then, suddenly, unexpectedly something whizzed by his ear and the front windshield splintered around the hole that had appeared at his eye level. Jim was shocked, his heart jumped, and he looked in the rear view mirror but saw nothing. Then, turning his head, he looked back and saw a large black Mercedes sedan in his left hand blind spot. Its dark windows were rolled down on the passenger side of the sedan. Leaning out of the windows were two heavy set thugs but Jim could see at least two more men inside the car, one of them driving. The two men leaning outside of the car were aiming guns at his head.
Jim’s heart had been racing since he had seen the bullet hole through his windshield but, now that he saw the armed men in the Mercedes, his heart seemed to beat into his throat. He pressed the accelerator to the floor, his world renowned Italian sports car pulling effortlessly away from the Mercedes. Another shot whizzed by his ear but he was too occupied to notice where this one landed. He turned his head around again just long enough to see that the Mercedes was now falling behind him. His heart, which had been pounding a million beats per minute, was only now slowing down. The panic he had felt had been incredible but it was now being replaced with exhilaration.
He continued to accelerate until he was well out of view of the Mercedes and then drove for another five minutes, eventually taking one of the exits for Oakville, a Toronto suburb just west of the city. After driving the length of the exit ramp he carefully pulled into traffic, working hard to see around the splintered windshield. Once he was safely moving with traffic he looked around again, relieved to see that the Mercedes had not managed to follow him.
Then, without warning, he heard a loud honking sound behind him. “What now?” he asked himself aloud. He looked in his rear view mirror and found that a fire truck was coming up fast behind him. The fire truck continued to honk that deep, loud, annoying sound that fire trucks make as they come up to intersections. Honk! Honk! It was relentless in its demand that he make way for it. Jim thought it odd that there were no sirens and that the fire truck relied only on its horn. Jim pulled his car over to the curb to make room for the fire truck and then …
Jim blinked and opened his eyes, disoriented, finding himself lying in his bed. He continued to hear the honking sound of the fire truck but now it was coming from his left. He reached across his bed side table and tried to hit the snooze button on the alarm clock that was honking uncontrollably. He missed the first time but then, finally, he managed to silence the irksome noise. Jim sat up in bed and turned on the television but he paid little attention to the news. He continued to think about his dream. He was obviously worried about getting involved with Giuseppe Verde. Yes, he thought to himself, he was very worried indeed.
Jim decided that what he needed was a shower, his reprieve from the world. Once inside the shower, the hot water steaming up the shower door, the mirror and the window, Jim felt somehow separate from the rest of the world. The hot water soothed him and gave him the opportunity to think without the stress of the real world pounding down on him.
Jim thought about his dream and Giuseppe Verde. What to do? On one hand, if he went to Toronto he could probably solve his current monetary problems. But at what cost? What kind of people would he be getting involved with? On the other hand, if he did not go to Toronto he was certainly doomed. He had gone through all his alternatives and had decided there was no way he could come up with the $25,000 the banks would need to be kept at bay. Even if he loaned money from his mother, Ben and anyone else he could think of, he would only have short lived relief from his creditors. He would still need to quickly repay the money he borrowed from them and he would probably lose some of his precious equipment anyway.
So, he thought to himself, there were two choices: lose his beloved server room or take a chance on Verde and possibly trade one form of debt for another. Here in the shower without any other concerns cluttering his mind, the choice was so clear, he thought to himself. Why had he not seen it before? He had to go to Toronto because it was the only choice that offered him a chance. Even if Toronto was not the final solution, it was still no worse than the predicament he found himself in today.
“Good,” he thought to himself. That was decided. But how was he going to get to Toronto? He didn’t have enough money for either a plane or train ticket. He might be able to afford a bus ticket and, possibly, a car rental but it would be very tight. He needed to borrow a car and Ben was the only person he knew who both had a car and might lend it to him. He would have to ask Ben for his car. But he could not tell Ben where he was going or what he was doing. How to borrow Ben’s car? That would take some more thought.
After he dressed he retrieved the pocket materials he had dumped on his bedside table the night before. He paid no heed to the pieces of paper, simply returned one in his right pant pocket and the other i
n his shirt pocket, and then left for work.
***
Sitting at his desk, Sheldon Mintz looked directly at the man sitting in front of him. The heavyset man was still wearing his overcoat even though he had been waiting in Mintz’s anteroom for over a half hour before being led into the large office. He was now looking out the window of the office tower, a soft leather briefcase sitting on the floor beside his chair. From the 30th floor view, he could see downtown Toronto in the distance, the CN tower rising above the other downtown landmarks.
“Nice view,” the man said to Mintz while still looking out the window.
The man was unaware that Mintz was incensed by the fact the man was looking out the window instead of focussing his attention on Mintz. Mintz continued to look directly at the man. “Let us concentrate on business, shall we?” asked Mintz, coldly.
The man turned away from the window and looked at Mintz, now aware of his inattention. “Yes sir,” said the man.
“Where do we stand?” asked Mintz.
“The subject has been very predictable,” said the man. The man reached into the briefcase on the floor and removed a hardcover journal. He referred to the journal as he spoke. “He has not done any travelling,” said the man. “He continues to associate with the same people and has not significantly veered from his normal routine.”
“Fine,” said Mintz. “The kidnapping last week did not affect him at all?”
The man looked briefly through his journal before replying. “He was interviewed by the RCMP,” he said. “Once,” he added. “There is no indication that he is in any way involved with the kidnapping or that the police consider him a subject. There is no indication that the event has affected him psychologically.”
“Good,” said Mintz. He leaned forward in his chair, placed his elbows on his desk, and touched his fingertips together. He was just about to say something when the telephone rang.
Mintz picked up the phone. “Yes?” he asked. After listening to the response, he covered the handset and turned to the man in front of him. “I have to take this call,” said Mintz. “Continue the surveillance until we meet again next week.”
The man did not turn to leave. “Mr Mintz,” said the man. “I don’t want to turn down business, but I don’t believe you are getting good value from our services.”
Mintz, irritated, waved him off. “I have to take this call,” he said, dismissively. “Let’s discuss it next week.”
The man nodded, retrieved his case and left the room. Mintz returned to his call.
“Alright Madeleine,” he said to his secretary. “Put him through.”
***
At break time Cindy, Ben and Jim all went down to the coffee shop together.
“You seem to be doing better today,” Cindy said to Jim.
“I told you,” he said. “I just needed a little rest.”
“But you still seem distracted,” said Cindy.
“A little,” said Jim.
They sat in silence for a minute, sipping their coffees.
Finally, Cindy broke the silence. “Did you call Penny?” she asked.
“Damn it, Cily,” Jim protested. “I’ll call her when I can,” he said “And not a minute before,” he added.
Cindy held up her two hands in mock defeat. “Okay Jim. Don’t panic. She’s just new in town. That’s all.”
Ben spoke next to change the topic. “Any news on the kidnapping?” he asked.
“I haven’t heard a thing,” said Jim. “Nothing. The newspapers just keep rehashing old news.”
“Maybe no news is good news,” said Cindy.
“I don’t think so,” said Ben. “Not in this case.”
Jim was fidgeting with his coffee spoon.
“What?” Ben asked Jim, noticing Jim’s fidgeting.
“What?” asked Jim, throwing the question back.
“What do you want? You obviously have something say.”
“I’ll tell you later,” said Jim, looking sideways at Cindy. Jim wanted to ask Ben for the car privately once he had thought of an excuse.
Cindy feigned indignation. “I get it,” she said, in a good natured way. “Boy talk. Well, I should get going anyway.” She left them without saying another word.
After Cindy had left, Ben looked at Jim. “Well?” he asked.
Jim looked down at his coffee cup and then looked back up at Ben. He did not have a choice. He would just have to ask for the car without an excuse. “Do you think I could borrow your car on Saturday?” he asked.
“My car?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask why?”
“Well, it’s rather personal.” It was all the Jim could think to say.
Ben’s face went blank as he thought about the possible motives for the request. Then he thought back to what Cindy had said. His face lit up.
“You want to take this Penny on a date,” he said. “That’s it,” he said excitedly, as if he had just discovered oil on his property. “Am I right?”
Jim said nothing, afraid that anything he said could ruin the moment. He just looked blankly back at Ben.
Ben laughed. “Sure,” he said. “Anything to help out Cily.”
“Thanks,” said Jim. “I really appreciate it.” And then Jim quickly replayed the conversation in his mind, assuring himself that he had never told Ben he would use the car to take out Penny.
***
“Stan, I’m telling you we will do whatever it takes to push you ahead of your competition.”
Sheldon Mintz had been talking to Stanley Fortuna at CRS for twenty minutes on the telephone, trying to ensure that NAT received the CRS contract. Fortuna had called with concerns about the agreement they had made when Mintz had been in Philadelphia.
“I don’t care what IBM or EDS or anyone else says,” said Mintz, repeating what he had said a few minutes earlier. “We will not only keep you competitive but we will also keep your competition from catching up too easily. That is the beauty of a custom solution. The only alternative is to use standard off the shelf components and anyone can do that.”
He listened to Fortuna’s reply and then addressed each one of his points.
“Don’t worry about the cost, Stanley. I’ll guarantee a fixed price contract and tangible deliverables. We’ll cover any overruns here. You will be a hero, Stan. You will be a leader in your industry.”
He listened to Fortuna again.
“There’s no catch. Don’t forget why I’m willing to lose money on your contract Stanley. Once I get CRS I will be able to convince some of the other holdouts that we have something the others don’t.”
Fortuna then fussed about losing his job if the details of the deal should ever come out.
“You won’t lose your job over this, Stan. You won’t. I guarantee it.”
Fortuna was clearly still concerned.
“Fine, Stan. Tell you what I will do. If you lose your job because of this, I will hire you, and at a 25% increase in pay. How’s that? How can you go wrong?”
Mintz listened some more.
“Good. No problem. I will send you the offer by courier today. But this has to stay between us Stan. In the offer I will state that if it ever becomes public knowledge it also becomes null and void.”
The conversation continued for another minute and then Mintz hung up the phone.
“What an idiot,” he said to himself. But then, despite himself, he smiled broadly. The contract was a done deal. Then he frowned. It was going to take a lot of work and a lot of money to make his promise to Stan Fortuna come true.
***
Jim Kincaid went straight home from work and picked up a large vegetarian pizza on the way. Now he sat in his living room in front of the television with the pizza and his requisite six pack of beer. With the pizza and the beer were half consumed, Jim was half heartedly watching the movie “Top Gun”. His mind had been working all day in the background thinking about the upcoming trip to Toronto and the meeting with Verde. Even now, as h
e watched the movie, he could not help but think about the meeting. It was a big unknown and the outcome was completely out of his control.
***
It was not uncommon for Sheldon Mintz to work well into the evening at his office on the 30th floor. And because the few people that reported directly to Mintz did not want to be seen leaving before him, the three floors of the office tower that belonged to NAT were often full of Sheldon Mintz’s eager subordinates.
His secretary, Madeleine Burton, was no exception. But she was there because she genuinely liked her boss and because she was exceptionally good at her job. As she sat at her desk, filling in forms on her computer, her telephone rang.
“Yes Mr. Mintz?” asked Burton.
“Madeleine,” said Mintz. “Is Ken Timmins still around?”
“No sir,” said Madeleine. “He went home about an hour ago.”
“Then see if Peter Lee is around. If he is, get him in here.”
“Yes sir,” said Burton. She immediately dialled Lee’s extension. “Yes?” came the reply on the other end of the line.
“Dr. Lee?” asked Madeleine.
“Yes,” said Peter Lee from his office on the 29th floor.
“This is Madeleine in Mr. Mintz’s office,” said Madeleine. “Mr. Mintz would like to see you in his office right away.”
There was a pause. “Is there a problem?” asked Lee.
“I really don’t know, but I don’t think so.”
“I’ll be right up,” said Lee.
Peter Lee had been born in Los Angeles to two Chinese immigrants who had worked all their lives to give Peter all of the opportunities that America afforded. At 5’9” he was relatively tall for someone of Chinese ancestry and that height had given him more confidence than most of his cultural peers. He had worked for NAT for the last 15 years, starting as a programmer and then working his way up to be NAT’s chief software architect. With a Ph.D. in Theoretical Particle Physics from CalTech he had not taken a conventional career path but he was very bright, motivated, a clear thinker and unconventional. It only took Lee five minutes to arrive at Madeleine’s desk.
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