LifeGames Corporatoin

by Michael Smorenburg

  The last of her words were drowned by the howl of spinning tires as she roared away.

  In the silent wake of her car’s departure, all stunned attention was focused on Ken. He re-donned his glasses and shrugged. At a glance he saw that none within earshot could contradict him so he pitched his voice to reach only them;

  “So sorry, lover’s quarrels… she’s taking the split rather badly. Bit of a drug habit I’m not prepared to fund anymore.”

  His friends and work colleagues were some distance away and out of voice range. Ken breezed over to them, preparing an amended story for their ears.

  Ken’s sexual appetite had been dormant for weeks, but something in Catherine’s aversion had re-strummed it.

  She was a real challenge and he loved nothing more than dominating a defiant woman.

  On the drive home he decided it was time to view Catherine’s recording again. The ritual of reliving his possession over her was the only relief for the charging sexual tension he felt building within.

  She would be his, no matter how hard she’d struggle.

  Catherine drove directly from the funeral to D. Edelstein & Partners, her company’s Law Firm.

  En route she’d called ahead to ensure David was still available, she predicted she’d be there in half an hour.

  It was a little after four in the afternoon when she parked.

  “Miss Kaplan, how’re you doing?” The receptionist greeted her as she came like a whirlwind through the door, “That was quick, you must have driven like the devil was after you.”

  “You have no idea, Jean… can I go through?”

  “Go ahead, Mr. Edelstein’s expecting you.”

  As Catherine tore down the corridor, Jean buzzed David, and he met her at his door.

  “Hello, Cath… Good God, Jean’s right… You look like death. Let me get you something?”

  He led her by the elbow to his desk and pulled out a chair for her; “…Jean… Tea for me, coffee, milk and two sweeteners for Catherine, there’s a darling.”

  Catherine had always been entranced watching David’s double chin as it jiggled when he spoke.

  Standing a head taller than her and with the presence and character of a hulking bloodhound, he was a bear of a man.

  Usually Catherine hated bumper stickers, yet she couldn’t resist the one that David gave out to his clients: “My Lawyer Can Beat Up Your Lawyer!”

  No truer statement could be written in jest, so she’d affixed it inside her desk drawer to look at when life looked bleak.

  David reached across his table and engulfed both of her wringing hands with one of his great hairless paws.

  “What is it, Darling?”

  His voice rumbled through the folds of his jowls. Though his doe eyes brimmed with gentleness and concern for her, she knew that a raw savagery lurked in their depths, reserved for whoever was bringing suffering to one of his flock. Today he was like an all-protecting father figure;

  “…Tell Papa…” he coaxed—it was precisely what she needed to hear.

  She broke into monologue, summarizing the previous months, while the great bunch of bananas that was his left hand held both her hands in a communion of solidarity, his right hand scribbled notes and facts.

  When she’d finished her untouched coffee was cold so a second round was ordered.

  Although Catherine was exhausted, David fired a new spark of life into her with his rousing can-do attitude;

  “When will the blood results be available?”

  “I only had specimens taken this morning, I guess it’ll still be another week.”

  “What’s your doctor’s name? We’ve got to get this ball rolling.”

  Expecting that she would have the chance to first brief Doctor Johnson of what to expect when David reached him, Catherine gave the name and number, but it was too late for intervention; David was already dialing.

  “Good day… Doctor Johnson?… good… David Edelstein here, I represent Miss Catherine Kaplan in legal matters, she’s sitting with me now… we have a favor to ask…”

  His words were crafted and voice carefully modulated to tolerate no question to his authority, there could be no doubting his habit of getting results and matters resolved without fanfare or delay.

  The conversation finished with him recording the telephone number of the pathologists who were analyzing Catherine’s samples—he dialed again;

  “Good day, my name is…”

  Catherine sipped her coffee and watched David implement a blend of persuasive requests and cloaked threats to cut a swathe through the bureaucracy of the laboratory’s administration;

  “…I appreciate these are not the standard tests, ma’am, that you’ve had to fly the samples to Germany, but my client’s situation is dire… it is life threatening. I cannot disclose the details, but there is implication here of an international incident…”

  His applied pressure reduced the wait from twelve more days to a firm promise of a result by late Monday.

  “So far, so good…” he reported with a smile, the receiver in his hand looked like a toy from a child’s playpen, the index finger of his other hand held down the cutoff button. “Now, this Kevin fellow… how do I contact him?”

  The boom of David’s admonishment, threatening and coaxing the pathologists was still ringing in Catherine’s ears, so before giving the number, she made him promise to be gentle and go easily;

  “Please, David… he is a good friend, it’s a favor in his spare time.”

  David was enjoying himself and grinned like a giant naughty schoolboy as he jabbed at the telephone digits with his sausage fingers;

  “Good day. Kevin Langley, please. Oh… Kevin? Super… my name is…” he gave Catherine a thumbs up and a shrug, asking if his approach was right.

  She nodded affirmation.

  He ran through the introductions in a voice more befitting a koala than the grizzly that he was.

  When he’d finished, he winked at Catherine, “See… better?”

  “Much, thank you,” she smiled, marveling at his ease of role-playing.

  “Okay, you heard most of that. He’ll email me his report within the hour, he also promised to bare witness in court if it comes to that. We’ll need more of the unused patches, can you get?”

  “Shew… dicey,” Catherine gave the rocking hand signal of uncertainty. “These guys have locked up, tight as a submarine. I don’t think my outburst today is going to help.”

  “Perhaps there’s something else I can do then,”

  David prodded at the intercom again;

  “Jean, please get me Alex King on the line would you, there’s a darling.”

  He rang off, turning back to Catherine;

  “This guys the best private investigator in town, if anyone can get their hands on something, then he can.”

  His phone began to ring;

  “Edelstein… Oh, Alex. Where are you? Yes… Yes…. Good, okay… pop round now; when can you be here…? Perfect, I’m waiting.” He replaced the receiver, “Satisfied?”

  She smiled her thanks.

  His joy for the fight rolled off his tongue like a Rasta; “Yeah my sist’a… I like it, things a’moovin’…”

  They chatted for a while until the intercom announced Alex, David met him at the door.

  Alex was a shady character with shifty eyes and Catherine instinctively disliked him. He wouldn’t look at her and barely made eye contact with David.

  He sported a mustache and a loud Hawaiian shirt, suggesting he’d watched too many episodes of Private Eye television from decades before. Unfortunately, none of the charm of those protagonists had rubbed off.

  It was a whistle-stop meeting, no more than a briefing; it was all he required—he only needed to know what a client needed, not why they needed it.

  Moments later Alex was in his car and reversing out to perform David’s bidding—his negotiated fee handsome.

  He knew both his destination and the facility very well, he eve
n had a plan already well formed in his head to lay his hands on an incriminating patch from the very man who was his benefactor. It was selling barbed wire to the enemy, but it was a sale, not a moral conundrum.

  What was his job, he pondered? It was a question he had asked himself countless times before; the answer was always the same… He was an information whore, a mercenary. He delivered outcomes, not romantic notions of chivalry and justice. It’s all legal, he thought, as long as I don’t get caught.

  “He’s the best, Cath,” David assured her, “…I hope you’re not offended, I’m afraid he won’t talk in front of strangers, but we’ll have the patches by Tuesday, latest.”

  “By Tuesday… wow. I noticed, he’s real friendly…”

  “Yeah… bit of an loon, convinced everyone’s as crooked as him.” David aped Alex’s shifty eyes and slinking body language then barked with laughter.

  The guy had given Catherine the shivers; “…but what was I expecting?” she quizzed herself. A shark looks like a shark, not like a goldfish.

  Something about him was so like Ken… Ken without the charm or humor.

  “Another hyena,” she said absently.

  “Exactly!” David roared with laughter.

  Fitting adversaries, Catherine thought, Ken the hyena and this bear, David. Or was David a lion? A lion could kill a goat.

  Chapter 32

  It was Monday morning and Catherine was back in David’s office.

  She removed the same dark sunglasses she’d worn on Friday, but now her eyes were more than puffy from crying, they were punched closed.

  “What in God’s name happened to you…!!” He flew out of his seat and around his desk. “…It looks like you’ve been through a windshield..?”

  The whites of both eyeballs were a relief of coarse and broken blood vessels. Her right eye closed with thick bags of ugly blue swelling forming its lid.

  Catherine was struggling to talk through grossly swollen, torn lips. Jacky shushed her and became spokesperson.

  The short distance from her home to David’s office had been a tortured trek for Catherine. Her head still swum with concussion, its nausea constantly threatening in the swirl of lingering impacts.

  David was a personal friend of Jacky and Catherine, occasionally socializing with them; Catherine was more than a client and her beating was more than just another case.

  “When I arrived…” Jacky was relating to David how she had found Catherine, “…it must have been midnight or twelve thirty. I heard a hell of a commotion upstairs. I could hear it was violent… screaming and smashing…”

  Listening to the account, Catherine shuddered, remembering her own version.

  “…Before running upstairs I grabbed a fire iron. Unfortunately I had my high heels on… they slowed me down and made such a noise that by the time I reached the bedroom, a man was halfway out of the window,” Jacky reported.

  “Do you know him?” David asked urgently.

  “No, I only got a glimpse, I’d never met him before… but I… I did recognize him though… I’d seen him in a picture. Catherine had a picture of herself with him at their campaign launch.”

  The memory of once having stood so close to Ken made Catherine wince and gasp in pain as the fractured rib bit sharply into her side.

  Jacky slipped her arm about Catherine’s hunched shoulders, agony for her condition written into her expression.

  Although he spoke to Jacky, David continued to look at Catherine with aching sympathy.

  “Okay, good, Jacky… Very good! You reported this to the police?”

  “Yes, they were there within minutes.”

  “Have you got the case number?”

  Jacky consulted her mobile and gave it to David. He immediately phoned the investigating officer; a very short call;

  “Unfortunately he’s not in, but I’ll stay on top of it,” David reported.

  “Now, Mr. Torrington is sure to have been informed of the case against him, let’s have a little fun shall we? You got his number?”

  David keyed in Nancy’s exchange line;

  “Mr. Torrington, please…” There was a brief pause, “…Well, I’m afraid it’s a private and confidential matter… I am Miss Catherine Kaplan’s legal representative.”

  His connection to Ken was immediate.

  After formal introductions and putting forward the charges to Ken, it became clear to both Catherine and Jacky that the conversation was turning ugly.

  There was no mistaking Ken’s shrill petulant voice gaining momentum, until it was clear and audible the width of the large desk away. The rapid escalation in volume continued until the tinny treble of the miniature handset distorted; David dabbed the speakerphone option on the base, allowing them all to enjoy every threat, curse and disclaimer that Ken was yelling.

  But David hadn’t called to hear Ken’s opinion on the matter, his objective was to get Ken rattled, to force him to make a mistake.

  When the string of rasping abuse came to an end, David clicked back to handset and proceeded in a quiet, measured, menacing voice;

  “Now listen here you lizard-breath. I don’t give a fuck if you think you’re Lord God Almighty… I don’t like little boys who hurt little girls… understand? Ask around to see if your army of lawyers is keen to tangle with me… ‘Cause if they’re not, call me back. I’ve got a little battalion of asshole attorneys around town you can use. They’re just your type, they also could do with a good whipping. Because, believe me brother, this case is going to provide that whipping for you and anybody who is stupid enough to represent you, that I can assure you. Now, have a nice day.”

  He said it cheerfully, with matter of fact sincerity, and replaced the receiver onto its cradle without emotion. As it went down, the little ear speaker was a blizzard of distortion.

  “Well, that should spoil his afternoon,” David said to the ladies with a smile. “Now. I’m in the mood to put some fire under the pathologists.”

  Ken came storming out of his office to where Nancy was working busily at her desk, pretending not to have heard anything.

  She could hardly avoid having heard his explosive rant through the closed door; her mind was furiously guessing every direction other than the one that had actually unfolded.

  What she did know was that it was Catherine’s lawyer, and this meant it would most likely have something to do with the patch. She’d braced herself to remain calm and sensible when the storm broke, to not betray any insight or care in the world.

  Catherine had insisted that Jacky not contact Nancy with news of her attack over the weekend, leaving her in blissful ignorance about the dreadful beating her friend had taken.

  “There’s nothing that she can do for me Jacks, come Monday morning she’ll have all the problems she can cope with, Ken’s going to hit the roof because of the incident at the funeral and Nancy’s associating herself with me.”

  LifeGames had closed at lunchtime on Friday for employees to attend Leon’s hastily arranged funeral. During the graveside service, Ken had shot several evil glares at Nancy and she had returned his anger with interest added. She’d held her chin up and had spent the entire duration by Catherine’s side.

  After the funeral proceedings, just before Ken had approached Catherine at her car, the women had gone their separate ways.

  Because Nancy had parked on the far side of the lot, she’d remained none the wiser for the explosive incident until she had arrived at work on Monday when she’d heard the rumor.

  She’d called Catherine’s mobile and tried Jacky too, both went to message. She’d called Catherine’s office, but the message was, “at her lawyer,” they could tell her no more.

  “YOU!!” Ken hissed at her.

  She looked up, to see him pointing accusingly at her.

  “Get into my office, NOW!”

  Turning on his heels Ken stormed back to take up position behind the fortress of his desk; he’d missed her sarcastic grin.

  It had been nei
ther a good morning nor a happy weekend, and Ken was as mad as a rattlesnake in a tumble-dryer set to ‘hot’.

  There had been Friday’s incident, the Catherine debacle when her statement about drugs in the Time Dilation had blown his lid open. He’d replayed the confrontation through his mind, over and over.

  The bitch had definitely said drugs. “How the fuck does she know? And if she knows, who else?” He’d tormented himself unrelentingly with the same question, his mind now sketchy to the details he’d given up on that dinner date when so much the alcohol and the lust for the woman had loosened his tongue.

  There had been Nancy’s insolence at the funeral. That deranged little sow, he had thought …to snub me in front of my entire staff by showing her allegiance to Catherine.

  Then, watching Catherine’s recording had brought on another sleepless and dream filled night, and out of sheer frustration at not being able to get any peaceful sleep, he’d harked back to his discussions with Leon and had nearly erased the recording. Then he’d decided not to be rash. “When I’m less emotionally charged I can always view the recording. It’s worth keeping.”

  He’d thought long and hard about the possibilities that the recording somehow brought on the astral travel… the Extra Sensory Perception that Leon had told him the Chinese were tinkering with. What was the mechanism again? He’d polled his memory banks… somehow Wi-Fi would trigger something to do with quantum entanglement. It had seemed plausible when Leon explained it, but now it all seemed outlandish and too complicated to figure out.

  But, he couldn’t get away from it… there certainly seemed to be a connection between watching the recording, dreaming about Catherine, and her persistent bleating about being stalked.

  Maybe his film of her was a dream catalyst… that made some form of strange sense; but his dream and her experiences seemed irrationally far apart, and he sneered at the thought.

  The strange thing, he’d admitted to himself, was that his head hurt—like he’d been hit; as if the dream he’d had about being clobbered with a fire iron were real.