Flutter

by L. E. Green

  “No! Tell them not to investigate, and I will give them $500,000 to leave it be. This is not something they want to mess around with. Send them my condolences. I can’t imagine how they are feeling right now after losing a son. Send the money tomorrow and tell them that we know it will never replace Dennis in our hearts. He was a good kid whom Alan loved dearly, and our hearts go out to their family. Make them agree to leave it alone.”

  “Got it. I will start with 250 and then sweeten the deal up for them up to half a million and let them know it’s best for them to let their son rest in peace and allow the police handle things from there.”

  “The police are incompetent.”

  “Agreed. Come on inside. Let’s worry about this later. You look amazing by the way.”

  “Thank you, Joseph.”

  Before Katherine turned around, she caught a quick glimpse of a woman that she knew Alan had been seeing on the side. Katherine’s expression tensed as she turned to walk into the building. Alan’s mistress was Jennifer Kalis Martin. Katherine had hired a private investigator to research the woman. The investigator had turned in an extensive report that was 30 pages thick and did not leave any stone unturned. Katherine was just as skeptical as her husband. She figured if he was going to open up to this woman, then he’d better not let his dick make silly decisions that would destroy the empire they planned to build together. Katherine wanted to know everything about this woman and even more importantly, she needed to be sure Alan didn’t have silly plans to leave her for this juvenile fluff.

  Jen was a brown haired and short young woman in her last year of pharmacy school in Boston. She was from Poughkeepsie, New York, and was a biology major at Boston College. Jen had three sisters, no brothers and a cat named Harris. She lived in Hyde Park with her friend, Martha Howes. The investigator provided dental and medical summaries. Good, no diseases. She was a red belt and avid Tae Kwon Do enthusiast. She had a part–time job at Best Buy, but she quit a few months after meeting Alan. Jen was top of her class and had just completed an internship with Johnson and Johnson. Jen had met Alan at a pharmaceuticals conference entitled, THE FUTURE OF PHARMING. The title was rather tacky. Jen was interested in the finding her place in the field. Alan was interested in investing in the field. Jen bumped into him when trying to take a picture of a chemical model of a new cancer drug, Orpenzia.

  “Excuse me. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you.”

  Alan smiled, “I saw you. I just didn’t know you would keep backing into me, so I apologize. I should’ve moved. Did you get the shot?”

  “Well… not yet, but there’s no rush. The model is pretty static. I don’t see it taking a lunch break any time soon.”

  They both giggled.

  “I’m Jennifer,” she reached out her hand.

  “Alan Jiang,” He shook her hand. “What brings you here?”

  The rest was history. Eventually Alan asked her out to lunch, lunch turned into dinner and vacations and sex. Jen taught Alan a few tricks his wife would never tolerate. She was into role playing and kinky sex acts. Alan also enjoyed her company enough to stop seeing all other women and just focus on his wife and Jen. Jiang gave Jen an allowance of $1,500 a week. She had refused at first, but he had continued to shower her with gifts anyway, so she decided why not? Alan was upfront about having a wife and his feelings for her. Jen was upfront about continuing to see other men. Alan didn’t like it very much, but that was how this game was played.

  Jennifer grew to love Alan and he loved her, but she wasn’t a fool. Initially, she thought he would never leave his wife for her, and she concluded that he wasn’t really the type of man she saw herself settling down with. But over time, in the deeper part of her heart, she wished they could stop the running and hiding and just be together. Though it was too late to trust him, she had fallen in love with him but knew her place and never overstepped her boundaries with Alan or his wife. She knew Alan’s wife was aware of her, so it was a mutual understanding among the three. We don’t see it and we don’t talk about it.

  FRANKIE’S PUB

  From across the street, Abigail watched the commotion of the funeral unfold. Abigail worked in Frankie’s Pub, an Irish pub with about 15 tables and eight booths on the right side. Centered on the left wall was a huge mahogany colored bar about 15 feet long with copper fittings on the corners. The wall behind the bar was stacked with various top shelf and house liquors. The door to the kitchen was just to the right side of the bar. The floor was constructed of thick maple hardwood, glossed over in a half inch polyurethane coating. In the center of the floor was a large green shamrock painted years earlier. The pub had pictures of Celtics, Bruins, Red Sox team players and memorabilia from just about all Massachusetts professional sports teams posted on the “Wall of Fame.” There were even pictures of the old Springfield YMCA, the birthplace of basketball. An 8 foot long black awning displayed “FRANKIE’S PUB” with a shamrock separating the two words.

  Abigail stood about five feet, eight inches tall and had a slender build. She had thick, long, black hair, which hung down to the middle of her back below her shoulder blades. She had a tanned complexion. Her ethnicity was hard to determine, but Frankie, her boss, would have guessed she was part Asian as her eyes were slightly slanted. She had a beauty mark under her right eye. Over the same eye, her eyebrow had a slit in it from a past injury. Her brown eyes were dark and cold, especially when she wasn’t smiling or when she was deep in thought.

  She watched the scene outside through the window as various limos and cars were driven to the front, unloading pretentious passengers who represented various types of executives, investors, coworkers, professors and family friends. Emotionless, her eyes glanced over to Alan’s widow and her parents congregating in front of the basilica’s main entrance. The dark clouds hovered low today. Abigail was cleaning glasses behind the bar while watching the important men and women entering and leaving the basilica. They were all sharply dressed in black and dark shades of blue and gray. She thought they looked like corrupt government officials sneaking into a covert Illuminati meeting.

  Abigail was captivated by all that she saw and wanted to know more. With all of the news crews outside, she figured TV stations must be airing this live. Where is the remote? She found the remote and changed the station until she saw Samantha Callahan reporting. Samantha was a tall, slender blonde woman whose signature style was to wear something pink every day. She always wore too much makeup and was caught a few times cursing at the camera man, unaware that she was still live on national television. Abigail and her coworker, Roger, continued their daily cleaning rituals as they watched the latest news unfold across the street and on TV at the same time.

  “We’re here live outside at the funeral of international investment phenomenon Alan Jiang, CEO of Chapel and Case Investment Company. His body was found five days ago, washed up on the shores of the Atlantic Ocean in Portland, Maine, with a gunshot wound to the head and neck. Apparently, he was on a fishing trip…”

  Roger poked his head out of the dishwasher, “That’s fucked up.” Roger was a drop out from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, MIT for short, located in Cambridge, Massachusetts. Roger stood about 5’11” with light brown hair and a “boy band” haircut. He had bangs that hung over his face and made him look immature and younger than he really was. He lived with his mother and was an introvert with everyone else except Abigail and Frankie, the owner of the pub. After two and a half years at MIT, he had decided he wasn’t interested in learning things he already knew about mechanical and chemical engineering. Ironically, he still couldn’t figure out how to fix the dishwasher. Roger banged on the side of the machine.

  “This damn… Hey, Elvis. Can you get those tables in section four for me? I think I can fix this.” Roger often called Abigail, Elvis.

  “No Problem.” Abigail’s attention was still stuck on the black limos across the street. Frankie came into the room from the back. Frankie was a broad faced Irish man who always
worked out and wore a white tank top.

  “Do your own damn tables, Rog.” Frankie interjected.

  “I’m trying to fix this washer,” Roger said with a struggle.

  “You’ve been fixing it for six months. You just don’t want to wash dishes by hand. Do something productive so I don’t feel like I’m wasting my money paying you for work you delegate to Abby.”

  “I don’t mind, Frankie.” Abigail tried to support Roger.

  “I’m serious, Roger. I’m gonna pay Abigail your wages.”

  “Frankie, you’re always complaining! One day I’m gonna get sick of your complaints, old man.”

  “And do what?” Frankie was ready for any challenge Roger was willing to offer.

  “You know I could kill you with this little pinky here?”

  They all laughed.

  Abigail looked back and forth from the television report to the funeral. Samantha Callahan was mumbling about another body found 10 miles down the coast from Jiang’s body. They showed footage of the young man’s mother collapsing at his funeral a day earlier. There weren’t many details mentioned about the homicide investigation, and most of the executives remained quiet about the murders when questioned by reporters. Death never seemed to stir up Abby’s softer emotions. She didn’t get why people got so upset about it. She figured, “We all die. No point pretending that one day, there’ll be a cure for death. We can’t stop it. But, one thing we can do is rush it along.” This man’s life was over; someone felt it was time for him to die and made sure it happened.

  As the pre–funeral bustling went on, Abigail didn’t say a word. She curiously watched these posh snobs tip toe in and out of the church. Half of these people don’t give a shit about this man, she thought to herself. She could tell they were having frivolous conversations on their way in and out of the basilica. She saw a few people on their cell phones, barely taking their eyes off the screen to say hello to the family on their way in. The news report flashed a few pictures of the victim’s face across the screen, some family photos and a picture of his company. There were a few comments about the Chapel and Case stock price fluctuating up and down, gaining and losing, back and forth all week. Investors weren’t sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing that Jiang was out of the picture. Would they miss out on the next big price increase, or was the company doomed? No one could tell.

  From behind the bar Abigail dried her hands with a towel. She tossed it to the side and grabbed her hoodie from a hook against the wall.

  “I’m gonna grab a smoke. Gimme a minute,” Abigail said as she zipped up her hoodie and grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the top of the bar. She exited the pub. There were a few patrons inside, but Frankie could handle them alone. When she got outside, she leaned against the building slightly shivering from the cold rain falling over every little piece of exposed flesh. She loved the smell of the rain, it was refreshing. But Abigail’s focus was on that funeral. She couldn’t resist getting closer to inspect the mournful day of the Jiang family. She fed off the sorrow that sat thick in the air. Sorrow seemed to follow her, or maybe she followed it. No one could be sure, but she was intrigued by the mourner’s discomfort and wondered if she would ever feel that much emotion for anyone.

  Katherine walked quickly and caught up to Mrs. Jiang. She grabbed her hand and assisted in escorting her to the front row. On the way a few people reached over and touched them or hugged them. Mrs. Jiang began to weaken at the knees and grabbed hold of Katherine’s hand to maintain her balance. Jiang’s family slowly processed up the aisle as the organist played Morning Has Broken. The organist was an older black man named Johnson. No one knew if Johnson was his first, last or middle name, but every knowledgeable funeral director knew that Johnson played the best pipe organ in the area. The Jiang family did not skimp on this funeral. They paid Johnson $2000 to play for up to three hours. The total cost of the funeral was $450,000 which was easily covered with Jiang’s $20 million life insurance policy.

  Inside the basilica, the room was full of people who knew Katherine and Alan from work, school and business. Some neighbors showed up and a few folks from the golf club were in attendance. The room was decorated with cherry blossoms, lilacs and white roses. A burgundy rug guided the eyes towards Jiang’s coffin which was a cotton white shiny vessel at the front of the room. Flowers and mixed height white candles surrounded the casket; the candle light flickered and reflected, creating a halo effect. There wasn’t much natural light coming in through the stained glass windows due to the lack of sunlight. Each of the windows carried a stained glass image of Jesus and the 12 apostles, even Judas. Each of the apostles had a white dove somewhere in the glass image, signifying the presence of the Holy Spirit. However, the window depicting Judas didn’t have a dove, but instead a crow and a small satanic figure wrapped around his left leg.

  All of the rows in the basilica were filled with people except for the first five rows on the left side of the church, reserved for family and closest friends. At the center of the aisle was Alan’s body pale and stiff, stitched back together by the finest morticians. Mourners processed, passed by his body, and touched his hand. Some made the sign of the cross over their chests as they paid their respects. Katherine dropped a tear and wiped it away swiftly before she turned her face towards the crowd. She looked at the crowd and tried to pick out the faces of friends and foes. There has to be someone in here happy that he is gone. She tried not to think about it, but it had crossed her mind so many times. Which one of these bastards killed my husband?

  Abby stood outside smoking as she leaned against the glass windows. She was there for about 10 minutes analyzing the guests. She stood, wondering if any guilty parties would show up; and if so, she wondered who they were. Was the wife in on the killing? She knew there was something corrupt brewing by the way everyone’s whispers on the way in were followed with fake hugs, smiles and kisses. Abigail decided she was bored with it. Her questions would never be answered by stalking the funeral guests. She wished she could go inside and view the body, but came to her senses as soon as the silly thought crossed her mind. She finished her cigarette and flicked it into the street puddle. It let off a soft hiss as water hit the flame. She walked back into the pub, thinking about looking back only once but never doing so. More limos arrived at the basilica carrying guests to the funeral.

  Chapel and Case was closed for the day for all employees except for maintenance and security workers. Maintenance staff was given a partial day and free to leave at 2 pm. Security, unfortunately for them, was necessary 24 hours a day. Last Christmas security staff was sent home at 1 pm in the afternoon. The next morning when people came back to work there was a 10 foot snowman sodomizing another snowman in the rear with his four foot crystal penis. The Thanksgiving before that, someone had strung a few raw turkeys from the company logo. The turkeys wore bowties and wigs and hung down in front of the doors. Security staff didn’t mind having to stay. It was always easier to secure a building when no one was inside, and most of the time they watched TV and cracked a few jokes among themselves. Erin Moore provided a lunch of pasta, salad, water and soda for all employees who were left working in the building to keep their spirits up while on duty.

  When the funeral was over, guests were invited to share hors d’oeuvres in the courtyard behind the basilica. On a table covered in white linen was caviar, foie gras, crackers, brie, goat cheese, raw oysters, steamed dumplings, Swedish meatballs wrapped in duck bacon, arugula salad, beef and tuna tartar with quail egg on top. The guests’ tables were also covered in white linen with flowers and wine on top. Jiang’s mother did not say a word. She just smiled and nodded as the guests came and went. The father walked around shaking hands with guests. Katherine tucked herself away in a corner and scanned the crowd from behind her veil. Occasionally, guests would stop by to offer condolences, but most recognized that she had intentionally secluded herself. She quietly watched.

  Directly after the ceremony, Jennifer Mart
in took a taxi back to her apartment. Being the mistress of a top executive was exciting until something important happened and you have to take a back seat. Reality set in. She saw his family, but never met them. She didn’t know much about any of them, yet Katherine was being embraced by Alan’s loved ones. It was a lonely journey and she knew it had been a bold move on her part to even bother showing up. She had no one to share her grief with. Her heart was broken and no one really understood what she was going through. No one has sympathy for a mistress in distress.

  During the taxi ride, she looked out the window and reminisced about the fun times with Alan and their many sneaky getaways. She remembered their trip to Montego Bay when Alan slipped and fractured his ankle on the water falls. He told his wife it was an accident that happened while on the company ski trip. She remembered the trip to Paris and dinner at the Eiffel Tower. She thought it was the perfect moment for him to confess his love and promise to leave his wife for her, but instead he gave her a pair of two carat diamond earrings. She smiled and accepted the gift as a reminder of how insignificant she was in Alan’s deck of playing cards.

  After about 20 minutes in the cab, Jennifer arrived at her apartment building. She went up the stairs after checking to see if there was any mail for her. Slowly she took one step at a time, feeling weak and tired from the long day of mourning. She entered her apartment, kicked off her shoes and sat on the couch. She wept for a few seconds and shook her head, thinking about Alan. Her phone rang. It was her friend, Missy.

  “Hey, Missy.” Jennifer was happy she had called.

  “Jen, are you ok?” Missy was concerned. She hadn’t heard from Jen in a few days.

  “As good as I can be right about now. Sorry I haven’t answered your calls and texts. I just needed some time to think about things.”

  “Have you talked to anyone?”

  “I can’t really talk about everything with anyone. It would be a major scandal that I can’t deal with right now. I saw his wife there. She knows about me, but I didn’t think she would recognize me. She looked at me like she knew exactly who I was.”