I dialed Gudrun's number. I needed to check how she was doing after the recent bomb event.
"What now?" she picked up the phone and greeted me in typically hostile way.
"Hi Gudrun, just calling to see that everything is fine with you after yesterday's events."
"I'm fine now, but thanks to you I could've got killed," she yelled into her phone.
"You're safe now, I've arranged a police shadow for you and also my associate Norman will keep an eye on you until we catch the guy who did it," I was trying to reassure her, but the truth was I’d found out about the bomb by accident from Erebus Loki. Or maybe it wasn't an accident? But it was a close shave anyway.
"Norman, the ugly bastard?" she asked.
"Yeah, that one, you seem to like him? I can ask him to invite you to dinner?" I teased her.
"Fuck you, Mike," she politely declined.
"Sorry Gudrun, I was just joking, won't do that again," I said, meaning I won't do that too often.
"You really are beyond hope, Mike."
I tried to change the topic.
"You know, I met a very nice girl in Pittsburgh."
"I don't fucking care," she said, but I knew she was interested, out of spite at least.
"I thought you might be interested?" I pretended I was surprised.
"What's her name?" Gudrun's curiosity prevailed.
"Jane."
"Have you fucked her yet?" she asked bluntly.
"Gudrun, let's not go into such details."
"You like her."
"Yeah, I think we fit pretty well."
"Any potential for the future?" she interrogated me.
"Who knows, still early days."
"You'll fuck it up sooner than you think," she said confidently.
"Thanks for encouraging me."
"You're welcome."
"I'm actually flying to Pittsburgh today on business and will have dinner with her in the evening," I bragged.
"Where will you take her, to a fucking steakhouse and order her whiskey?"
"Do you have anything against beef steaks?"
"No, but if you want to impress her, you shouldn't gorge on a twenty-ounce steak and wash it down with beer or bourbon. Go to some place where they serve lighter food," she offered some advice. "Why am I bothering telling you that at all, you loser?" She added immediately with a tone of hopelessness in her voice.
"I actually found a decent place, a restaurant called 'Casbah', in Shadyside, a nice area in Pittsburgh. They serve Mediterranean cuisine. Should be okay, don’t you think?"
"Should be okay. But what do I care?"
"Okay, need to run, have to drop by the office before I leave. Look after yourself, if you're in trouble, give me a call."
"I hope I won't have to," she said, and she meant it.
"Take care," I finished the call. She hung up without responding.
I took a quick shower and started to get dressed. My phone started ringing. It was Martin Keenan.
"Hi Mike, listen, I have some good news. We've found quite a lot about St. Eusebia’s principal, Mr. Van Klompf."
"Great, any leverage there?"
"Yes, plenty."
"Tell me."
"First of all, Dermot's team was very helpful. But our guys have found quite a lot too."
"I need the gist," I urged Martin to be brief.
"Van Klompf has recently bought a brand new Mercedes S63 AMG, list price 140 thousand bucks. People normally tick a few boxes in the price list and spend another 30-40 grand on top of that, you can’t really live without night vision, a vibrating seat, or a fart suction system, euphemistically called seat ventilation by the manufacturers, can you?."
"Go on," I said.
"His financial records from Dermot show he actually paid nearly two hundred thousand for those wheels. But the funny thing is, he changes his cars no less frequently than every 3 years, and all of them were well over a hundred thousand bucks."
"That school must be paying pretty well."
"That's the question, the principal is usually on hundred grand a year, sometimes more. Hardly enough for that kind of car."
"Where does he get the money from then?"
"Generous donations from parents for making their brats pass exams smoothly?"
"Could be. Okay, I could use it, besides telling him I could kill him. But have you found something more sophisticated?”
"Yes. It seems he's been fucking at least six teachers in the school. And two of them were male members of the staff."
"It gets even more interesting. Go on, I'm listening."
"We surveyed his business and private emails, as well as his phone records, texts, etc. He was quite careful not to use his business email, but he did exchange some lewd emails, including some really interesting attachments, with some of his lovers."
"That's brilliant, that could be the leverage."
"I’ve printed a few examples for you. Drop by to pick it up."
"I’m flying to Pittsburgh this evening, but will meet Mr. Van Klompf before I go. I won't have time to get to the office, send some pics to my mobile," I asked Martin.
"Sure."
"As I said, I'll visit St. Eusebia School today, so will be tight on time to make the commercial flight to Pittsburgh. Can you arrange a jet for me?"
"Will do. Who's paying?"
"I'm afraid we’ll have to pay for it."
"Sure, it’s your business after all, but you should really be more careful about expenses."
"Can you also hack into St. Eusebia School's CCTV system and disable it for today?"
"Sure, easy, our computer geeks should do it in no time, but if there are any problems on site, Dermot will take care of it."
"Thanks," I said and hung up.
24.
ST. EUSEBIA GIRLS’ School was a school with traditions. I remember Sophia being quite proud of being pupil there. It was located on impressive grounds in a woodland setting away from the hustle and bustle of the city center. The large, old building was surrounded by trees, manicured hedges, lots of sports grounds, paved paths for walking, nearly like a park. The grounds were accessible by a long road lined with ancient trees. I liked the setting and was quite content my daughter was enjoying such a nice environment. Except that she was bullied. And I was determined that she would be well looked after in this establishment.
In the parking lot in front of the main entrance, just beside visitor's car park, I noticed the car Martin had spoken about – a Mercedes S Class tuned by AMG. In silver or gray. Gudrun would surely know the exact color, but for me it was simply silver, although I acknowledge it could have been gray or something fancy in between (ash?). I was, like most men, red-green-blue (plus orange, yellow, violet), which were the basic primary and secondary colors. On second thoughts, yellow was primary I think, not green, but red-green-blue sounds better than red-yellow-blue. But it was all a matter of personal preference. Anyway, I thought silver was the right choice for the car, as black would stand out. This Merc was dripping gold anyway, but black would look like a two hundred grand limo, whereas silver was more toned down. Smart guy, this van Klompf.
I entered the building and asked the receptionist for Mr. Van Klompf.
"Whom should I announce?"
"Michael Greystone, your pupil Sophia Greystone’s father."
I saw the door to principal's office on the other side of the lobby. Receptionist picked up the phone and called the principal. While she was on the phone, I visually inspected her torso, and noticed she had very well-proportioned breasts covered by a tight fitting, very low-cut black top that generously revealed her prominent cleavage. I’m sure she was instructed to dress that way to make wealthy fathers part with their thousands of dollars without any remorse.
"Mr. Van Klompf cannot meet you today, but there’s an appointment available tomorrow at eleven in the morning."
"Thank you," I said, "but this is an urgent matter." I walked toward the principal's door. I knocked on the
door trying to be polite under the circumstances, and entered the room.
Gerald Van Klompf was just pouring himself some whiskey. Nice job that he had, I thought. He was quite tall, reasonably handsome, with the eyes of a pervert. It was immediately obvious to me he was a sexual predator. I didn’t like putting people into boxes, but I saw the records of dozens of sex offenders courtesy of Dermot Clenaghan, when I was working on one of his assignments in the past.
The room was decorated opulently. The building was old, and the decor of the principal’s office matched the architectural design and the general feel of the exterior. A large wooden desk with a high gloss polish dominated the center of the room. I bet it was oak. On the left-hand side there were glass cabinets with volumes of old books. On the right-hand side was a smaller, lower table with some chairs for receiving guests in a less formal setting. Some diplomas and certificates graced the walls.
Van Klompf seemed to be very surprised at the visit.
"Sir, you don't have an appointment, you’re interrupting," he was trying to sound strict.
"I may be, but I'm sure you'll find a few minutes for your own benefit."
"I don't think so, please leave and come back tomorrow as scheduled by my secretary," he said in a commanding tone of voice.
"I don't think so, you're going to sit down on your chair and listen to me," I said firmly. My face must have confirmed I really meant it, and he did sit down in his chair, visibly perplexed, mumbling it was outrageous.
"Here's the thing. I pay twenty five thousand bucks a year for my daughter Sophia's education. I hoped she was in good hands. Yet yesterday I heard from her she’s being bullied. I request that you make sure she’s not bullied," I made the case clear.
"There's no bullying in our school. That's preposterous," Van Klompf replied with feigned indignation, no doubt instructed by lawyers how to deal with accusations that could result in expensive lawsuits.
"I tell you," I moved closer to emphasize my determination, "when my daughter tells me she’s being bullied, she’s being bullied. And you’re going to fix it."
"I'll tell my teachers to ask around, that's all I can do. We won't do any formal inquiry as I see no grounds for it."
I went to the wall next to the guest table, took a golf club, approached the principal’s desk, and before he could do anything, swung the club, hitting his left hand with reasonable, but not excessive force. He cried out in pain.
"You're mad, I’m going to call the police!"
"Shut up and listen," I swung the golf club again, hitting his right hand, which he’d recklessly placed on the table. He cried out with pain again. Music to my ears.
"I'm calling the cops!" he shouted.
"You're not. I'm in possession of some pictures of you in awkward situations," I said, dropping an example photograph on his desk. "You really should reconsider if you want to call the cops."
He pricked up his ears as if he knew what I was alluding to, even without looking at the photos.
"And I won't hit you again, for now at least," I promised. "But look, it's really difficult to keep your attention when I'm trying to tell you something important."
The big-breasted secretary, probably alerted by the unusual noise, entered the room looking agitated.
I cast a quick glance at her bosom and said reassuringly: "It's all right. Mr. Van Klompf was just showing me his set of golf clubs, right Mr. Van Klompf?"
The principal nodded, and added: "Linda, we’re just talking golf, I'll call you when I need anything."
I waited till she was gone, and continued.
"Now, I've set the scene, are you ready to listen now?"
It seemed he was ready to listen.
"My daughter is being bullied in your school. There are five reasons why you need to take immediate action to fix it."
I paused, waiting for my words to sink into his still agitated mind.
"First of all, she’s being bullied, which is not nice."
I looked at him, but this argument didn't seem to make too much of an impression on him.
"Secondly, you’re living beyond your means, Mr. Van Klompf. You drive a two hundred thousand dollar car that you change every three years. You’re not an equity partner in the school, you’re just an employee. You can’t afford these things, and yet you can. You take bribes from your pupils I presume. The Internal Revenue Service would be more than happy to hear from a diligent citizen about these inconsistencies between your income and your lifestyle, would they not?"
At last he looked interested.
"Where did you get that information from?" Van Klompf was quite furious.
"I work for the government, I can access any information I want," I explained and added: "Don't quote me, nobody would believe you, and if I find out you did, it would be highly lethal for you." Obviously, I wouldn’t kill him, but there was no harm in a little threat.
I paused again to confirm my words were having an adequate impact.
"Thirdly, my sources also tell me you have a buoyant sex life," I continued.
"What?"
"Don’t be so surprised. See the picture on your desk. According to my files, you’re fucking Mrs. Jennifer Keitel, biology teacher and Mrs. Sally Rochester, English teacher, Mrs. Gina Rosberg, maths, and Mrs. Maria Johnson, also an English teacher. You like poetry class, don’t you?" I joked and continued: "Incidentally, my report also mentions Mr. John Dexter, sports teacher and Paul Ramsey, also sports teacher. Poetry and exercise."
He was clearly worried by now.
"You were even clever enough to get some visual and documentary evidence. I particularly like this one." I showed him the screen on my phone. "You’re quite busy working on Mrs. Rochester's orgasm." I flipped through a few more pictures. "Here you are busily engaged with Mrs. Keitel. I also browsed and copied some of your emails, where you were quite passionate, but used foul language when communicating your sexual desires to the four people I mentioned. That would be highly awkward if it were in the public domain, but in the position of power that you have, it verges on the harassment of subordinates."
Gerald Van Klompf was white. Or ashen. Gudrun will surely know the name of the color.
"I don't care about your sex life and your diverse inter-gender choice of partners, but I’m sure the board of the school would not approve of any such relationship, which, as my sources tell me, are a severe violation of the school’s code of ethics, not to mention school’s policies."
"How did you get these pictures?" Van Klompf said quietly.
"I told you, my research team can access any information."
It was difficult to read if he believed that or not.
"My argument number four is rather personal. I’m quite unstable at times, and if you don't fix the problem with Sophia's bullying, I'll come back, take this very golf club, and smash every single part of your body until even your wife can’t recognize you." I swung the golf club a few times to emphasize I wasn’t joking. "And if it happens that I go overboard and kill you with your own golf club, I would just dial my clean-up crew number and within a few hours there would be no trace of my presence here."
"There’s CCTV. There will always be a trail left," he was deluding himself.
"The CCTV isn’t working today, my team hacked into your system and disabled it."
"Who the fuck are you, man?" Van Klompf was even more perplexed at this stage.
I didn't bother to answer this one, but instead continued, "We covered the nasty stuff, now for something sweet." I wasn't joking. I really meant something sweet, for the school especially.
"I understand that the school relies on fees and donations. Here's a check for fifty thousand dollars for the school."
His jaw dropped.
"And here's some more to sweeten the deal," I handed him a large, thick envelope. "This contains ten thousand bucks as a personal donation. No receipt required. You can use it to buy your next car."
His jaw dropped even further.
"You don't have to thank me," I said. "Just make sure my daughter Sophia doesn't get bullied anymore.”
He didn't thank me.
"This is the deal I’m offering," I reiterated. "In fact, I’m not offering, I’m insisting on this deal. You make this school welcoming for my daughter and bully-free. If you fail, I'll personally torture you, I'll ruin your career by exposing your sex affairs and I'll put you in jail for bribes, which falls under laundering of criminal proceeds. And when you get out of jail I'll find you and make you suffer even more. In fact, I'll be waiting for you at the prison gate. Do we have a deal?"
I looked at him and he seemed to understand the message.
"We have a deal," he confirmed meekly.
"Then why the fuck are you recording this conversation?" I asked, swinging the golf club again. From where I was standing, it merely brushed his cheek, but he toppled over and was lying on the floor as a result.
I approached his desk, opened the drawer and removed a tape recorder. He was using a good old-fashioned tape, which is favored by the courts, as opposed to electronic flash memory-based voice recorders, which, as a matter of principle, are easier to manipulate. This scumbag was a pro, he must have had a lot of problems with the staff and wanted to have things on record. I wondered how many more members of staff he was banging. I bet the big boobs receptionist Linda was one of them. I removed the tape, put it into my pocket, placed the recorder on his desk and smashed it with the golf club with a precise sweeping motion. Splinters were flying all over the place. It felt good. I hadn't played golf for a long time.
"Do we have a deal, Mr. Van Klompf?" I repeated my question.
"We do," he said desperately and I believed him this time.
"Good. I want visible results starting tomorrow. Don't disappoint me. I'll be regularly checking in with my daughter to make sure everything’s going nice and smoothly."
I looked at him to see if he got it. He got it.
"Needless to say, my daughter can’t find out any details of what happened here today. We just had a friendly chat, that's all."
I politely hung the golf club back in its place as every well-mannered guest would do and was just about to leave.
The Hunt (Mike Greystone, Book 1) Page 11