Carnies and Wildcats: Ulciscor

by Robert Spearman

  “Okay, Unc. Unc?”

  “Yes, Dwain?”

  “Are Patrick and Marie okay?”

  “Yes Dwain, they’re doing well. They’re as anxious as you and me to get this behind us. We still have many challenges ahead, but things are coming together. It may take a few more months or even a year, but don’t lose faith.”

  “Thanks, Unc, I love you.”

  “I love you too Dwain and don’t go making any promises to that young lady lying in your bed,“ he said. He chuckled and hung up the phone.

  The phone stayed at Dwain’s ear for another minute, he stared at the naked woman asleep in his bed. How does he do that?

  Lewis Seiffert got up from his desk and walked over to the photo beside the door. Once again, he kissed his fingertips and transferred the kiss to the picture. His trembling voice said in a soft whisper, “Good night and sweet dreams.”

  He turned and walked to the bookcase on the right wall. He picked up what appeared to be a TV remote from one a shelf on the bookcase and pointed it at the painting behind his desk. A motor whirred, and the bookcase slid into a pocket in the wall to the left. The opening in the wall, left by the sliding bookcase, revealed the living quarters of Lewis Seiffert.

  He entered the living room of his apartment and after a few seconds the door slid shut.

  * * *

  Jimmy Miller was not drunk, but his mind had slowed, and he was more at ease. He crossed the street toward Brambley’s Hardware and walked into the parking lot beside the massive, yellow building that once housed Southern Salvage Company. Jimmy remembered his dad taking him there to buy his first knife.

  Southern Salvage and Supply had not been just a salvage store but was also a military surplus and sporting goods store. A place to buy football equipment, knives, guns and camouflage clothes. It was Valdosta’s first sporting goods store, but like many other downtown businesses, it closed when the new shopping mall came to Valdosta.

  Jimmy jiggled the key in the rental car’s door and endeavored to open it. Still feeling tipsy he spent another few minutes trying to locate the ignition. He left downtown Valdosta and drove straight to the Marriott Courtyard near the mall.

  Tired and hungry, he went to his room and spied the room service menu sitting on the desk beside his laptop. Jimmy debated for a moment about emailing the factory in China but concluded his growling stomach was more important than work.

  He called room service, ordered a Monte Cristo sandwich and a bottle of soda water.

  Jimmy located the TV remote and turned on the local news. He listened for a minute, muted the volume and removed his pants.

  He fished around in the pockets and removed his loose change, wallet and the business card of Lewis Seiffert, the “Quaker Oats man.”

  The business card was a simple card, cream-colored on fine card stock. Printed and centered across the top was “Ulciscor Investments” and underneath in smaller print was the name “Lewis Seiffert, CEO”. In the left corner was the address, “Suite 701-The Ashley, Valdosta, GA” and in the bottom right corner a phone and fax number.

  Jimmy thought it was strange—there was no website or email address listed on the card.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lewis Seiffert removed his boots and walked to the closet near the bathroom. He unbuttoned his shirt and removed the wig. Seiffert gazed in the mirror and ran his head across his smooth, bald head.

  Part of the act is the costume.

  Once he finished examining his face and head, he disrobed and moved the dial in the shower to hot, just the way he liked it. While in the shower, he lathered his face and the top of his head. The lather on his head made him look like a snowman. Lewis shaved his face and head, finished showering and then closed the water and toweled dry. Seiffert pulled a thick, white, terrycloth bathrobe from the hanger in the bathroom, slipped into his house shoes and returned to the living room of his spacious apartment.

  Seiffert sat on the leather sofa, picked up the television remote and scanned through the channels, stopping to watch the news as he moved through the local stations. He opened the book he was reading, he was much too tired to start another chapter—his eyelids were getting heavier by the second.

  Seiffert took one deep breath and opted for the leather sofa instead of the bed. He swiveled his legs up to the couch and rested his head on one of the massive leather arms—too uncomfortable. His hand moved to the recliner and grabbed a small, pillow on which someone had embroidered the single letter P. Seiffert adjusted the pillow under his head and soon fell asleep.

  The nightmare began as the ones in the past.

  Somewhere in the distance someone was knocking on the door, not knocking but beating. Through the haze and fogginess of sleep, he found the door and opened it.

  “Boss, come to the gate, the back ticket booth, there is a problem.”

  He slurred his speech through his sleepy lips, “Problem, what kind of problem?”

  “Please, come to the back gate and follow me, COME NOW!”

  Seiffert searched for his clothes and found his pants. He walked out into the brisk, night air. He walked from his residence to the gate.

  Standing near the gate were crowds of people. Everyone had blood on their faces and were chanting the words, “There is a problem, there is a problem, there is a problem.”

  Behind the throng of people were the police. Their faces covered in blood and they chanted, “Come with us there is a problem, come with us there is a problem, come with us there is a problem.”

  The crowd and the police repeated the discordant chant, and it became a maddening drone.

  Seiffert could not make them stop. He screamed. The scream jolted him awake. The morning sun casted its rays through the window of his living room.

  * * *

  Jimmy Miller’s night was restless too. He waited for the sandwich which seemed to take forever. While he was waiting, he turned on his laptop and surfed the Internet. First he went to Google and in quotation marks put in the words “Ulciscor Investments.” Not much was there except for the company’s registration with the Georgia Secretary of State listing Lewis Seiffert as the president and CEO.

  There were a few blurbs on Ulciscor’s purchase of the Ashley House Retirement Center. There was one newspaper article outlining their intentions to turn the old hotel into a multi-use facility of offices, shops, and restaurants. One search revealed information regarding land purchases on the west side of town. Another about some riverfront property Ulciscor planned to develop into a high-end subdivision of estate homes. His search results returned little information.

  After his brief Internet review of “Ulciscor Investments”, Jimmy turned the search engine to the name “Lewis Seiffert” and discovered there was even less information. The search results listed the same information he had found earlier during the Ulcisicor search. Jimmy searched for “surname Seiffert in Lowndes County” and there were two names that appeared—one was Lewis Seiffert, the other a Doctor James Seiffert.

  Just as Jimmy was extending his search parameters, there was a knock on his door signaling his sandwich had arrived. He answered the door, gave the room service waiter a tip and closed the top of his laptop. He ate like a bear just waking from winter hibernation. In less than three minutes, he consumed the whole sandwich and the fries. Jimmy took a big swig from the soda water and let out a belch. This made Jimmy laugh—it was the one time during the day he remembered laughing or even smiling.

  What am I going to do about this predicament? The money is not important, it’s the principle of the thing-Allen Ridley pushing people around and controlling their lives like we are worthless chess pieces. Pushing me and bullying me ever since high school and now doing the same in my adult life. Short of murder what do I want to happen? Can Seiffert help me and what is he offering? I’m not sure what the old man has up his sleeve but dammit I want to see Allen Ridley punished.

  Jimmy grabbed Seiffert’s card from the table and held it in his hands.

/>   Don’t you worry you old coot, I will be at your meeting tomorrow.

  Jimmy did not bother to take off his clothes but fell back onto the middle of the bed. His sleep came quick, and unlike Seiffert, there were no nightmares.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lewis Seiffert cleared his head, closed his eyes and slept for another hour without dreams or nightmares. The next time his eyes opened, his nose and ears were awake as well with the smell and sound of frying bacon. He smiled because this meant one thing, Marie was in the house.

  Seiffert left the sofa and rushed to the bathroom, dressed and strolled into the kitchen. Marie was standing at the stove. Marie standing there reminded him of his late wife, Lorna. Marie resembled her aunt. She stood in the kitchen with the sun coming through the window lighting the auburn highlights in her hair. This made him remember how much Marie and Lorna were alike in appearance and how different they were in personality and temperament.

  Lorna had been soft-spoken and gentle. Her voice never rose above a whisper and she would keep silent rather than speak ill of someone. Lorna and his daughter Allison had been so much alike. Both were quiet and pensive and preferred books to other forms of entertainment.

  Such kind and gentle spirits, so sad that a monster stole them from me.

  Marie was a curvy, bosomy, auburn-haired beauty that turned the heads of most men everywhere she went. In her teenage years and early twenties, she was loud and boisterous and preferred partying to studying. Lewis had adopted her and her brothers when they were in their teens.

  Marie’s early twenties brought with them many sleepless nights for Seiffert. She developed a nasty cocaine addiction and Lewis helped her overcome it. He encouraged her to finish her education and she graduated with honors from the University of Florida with a degree in Computer Science.

  She put her wild streak behind her and was approaching life and its responsibilities with a fierce determination. Beneath Marie’s beguiling smile and green eyes was an intelligent woman whose goal and single purpose of mind was the same as her uncle’s.

  “Good morning Marie, I didn’t hear you come in,” Seiffert said. He grabbed a piece of bacon from the plate near the stove.

  “Unc,” she said, swatting away his hand. “Wait until I finish the eggs, then the bacon is all yours.”

  “Grits, Marie?”

  “Of course, Unc. What’s breakfast without grits, unless you want oatmeal?” They laughed together and said in unison, “Nothing is better for thee than me.” They laughed again.

  “So when did you arrive?”

  “An hour ago, you were snoring on the sofa so I didn’t want to bother you. Sounds like you slept well,” she said.

  “Not so well Marie, not at first.”

  “The nightmare again?” Marie asked, concerned.

  “Yes, the nightmare again.”

  “How far this time?”

  “To the gate Marie, sometimes that’s worse than if it goes to the end.”

  “I can’t imagine anything being worse than the end of that dream.”

  Lewis shook his head. “Let’s not discuss this anymore. It’s bad enough I live with that memory in my sleep. I don’t wish to relive it in my waking hours too.”

  Marie pulled a cup from the cupboard, filled it with coffee and handed it to her uncle.

  Marie finished cooking the eggs and put the bacon, eggs, grits, and toast on the small breakfast table which sat in the middle of the enormous kitchen. If someone had been standing in the seventh-floor hall of The Ashley, they would have never imagined that there was such a huge residence hiding behind the wall. Lewis ate his breakfast and Marie stared at him with a cup of coffee in her hand.

  “You’re not eating Marie?” he asked.

  “No sir, got to keep up this girlish figure.” She smiled. “Unc, what is today’s agenda? Anything you need me to do?”

  “Well, let’s see.” Seiffert closed his eyes as if he were reading a list tattooed on the back of his eyelids. “First, I have two appointments this morning on the sixth floor. At eleven, Mr. Jimmy Miller will grace my office and we will turn the wheel yet again. As for you, my dear, please send a business card template to Dwain by email. Keep a close eye on Allen Ridley and let me know of anything unusual.”

  “How do you know he will show?”

  “Who, my dear?”

  “Jimmy Miller, how do you know he will show up for the meeting?”

  “Oh, he will come. He cannot help himself. I think my little theatrics of yesterday ensures that. His curiosity will get the best of him.”

  Marie looked at her watch. “Crap! I’m gonna be late. Got to run Unc.” She stood and gave her uncle a kiss on his bald head. He smiled, winked at her and watched her as she left by the back door of the apartment.

  Seiffert cleaned the table, rinsed off the plates and placed them in the dishwasher. He then returned to his bedroom and bathroom for his morning ritual of showering, shaving, and dressing.

  He went into the walk-in closet and selected a dark blue, business suit, a white shirt, paisley tie and socks to match.

  He put on a set of small, round, wire-rim eyeglasses. Yesterday’s Quaker preacher now had a striking resemblance to a fat Sigmund Freud, less the goatee. He inspected his appearance one last time in the mirror. He lifted the remote and waited for the secret bookcase door to slide open to his office.

  Seiffert went behind the desk to do a quick check of the European and Asian markets. He walked out the office door to the lobby locked the door behind him. The elevator was standing open—the right-side elevator was always open for him. Special wiring insured that no one in the building could use that elevator but him. Just another perk of being the owner.

  He pressed the button and the elevator descended to the sixth floor. The sixth floor differed from the seventh floor. The seventh floor had a short corridor and a single door for its single tenant while the sixth floor had a long corridor with five doors on either side. What once had been hotel rooms for Valdosta’s visitors and later apartments for the aged were now the offices of lawyers, doctors, investment counselors and property developers.

  Lewis Seiffert walked to the door marked “601”. Underneath the suite number was the sign—“Dr. J. L. Seiffert, Clinical Hypnotherapist.” He opened the door, nodded his head to the receptionist and said, “Mornin’ Martha.”

  “Good morning, Dr. Seiffert. How was your evening?”

  “Oh, boring as usual Martha. Are we ready for today’s fun and frivolities?”

  “You betcha Doctor.” Martha smiled. Martha had worked for the doctor for almost thirty years. She was the only receptionist and business manager he had ever employed.

  She was an industrious, friendly black woman that took care of business, was kind with the patients but firm when collecting money. Martha moved with him when he bought the building and moved his practice from Tampa to Valdosta.

  Martha was one of the few, other than his family, who knew about the investment company, apartment, and office on the seventh floor. Martha understood why he was in Valdosta. She came here from Tampa to help him. His purpose was her purpose too. Her mother, father, and ex-husband, had worked for Seiffert during the years when he was less fortunate. As his business grew and his fortunes increased he brought Martha along with him—he considered her a part of the family. He owed a great debt to Martha and her family and he always remembered the debts which needed to be paid.

  “Coffee, Doc?” Martha asked.

  “No, thanks. Give me five minutes to check my emails. Then come in and let’s discuss today’s schedule before we get started.” He glanced at his watch, it was seven-thirty.

  Seiffert entered the inner office. It was identical to the one on the seventh floor except for the computer screens on the back credenza. The furniture was the same but had an additional chair and sofa. The books on the bookcase were different. Except for two vases filled with silk flowers the room was devoid of any decoration.

  He sat and flipped
on the computer monitor on his desk. He glanced through the emails of Dr. J. L. Seiffert and found nothing new of interest. Seiffert pressed two keys and the email program then showed his personal “Lewis Seiffert” emails.

  There was a single email and it was from Dwain, it read:

  “Unc, have arrived in Ho Chi Minh City, awaiting further instructions.

  Here’s my phone number.”

  Underneath the email message, Dwain had listed his mobile phone number in Vietnam.

  Seiffert tapped out a reply:

  “Dwain,

  Thanks for letting me know. Will send you further instructions by email later today.

  Rest and get ready to start work. Marie will email you a business card template this

  afternoon. Please fill it in with your name and find a place to print it for you.

  Will be in touch.

  Love, Unc.”

  As he finished his email, Martha walked in with two files under her left arm and a cup of coffee in her right hand.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Ready. What do we have today?”

  “Well, first up is Mr. Wayne McKenzie. He’s a truck driver that wants to quit smoking and is scheduled for eight. The second is Reid Pierce. He’s a four hundred pound young man that needs help with an eating problem.”

  Seiffert chuckled. “Four hundred pounds? Anyone that weighs four hundred pounds does not have an eating problem! They have a stop eating problem.” Martha laughed too as he said this.

  Seiffert looked over at his leather seat and sofa and laughed again, louder and longer. “I wonder if the furniture can handle the load!”

  Martha laughed along with him. His laughter warmed her heart, this was one of the few times in thirty-five years he lost his refined composure and laughed so loud. Martha believed that he was getting better and maybe even happier.