by Michael Todd
The name had been altered. He was now the target.
“Fuck!” he screamed and bolted as quickly as he could to grab his coat and rush toward the door. He needed to get out. The contract had been elevated to a national level. If he could get out of the country, he could get to Bern. He could appeal the contract with the Foundation. They would be able to see that it was tampered with, fix their systems, and put the contract back on Anderson.
It was his only chance. The contract was locked. There was no way to change it for any reason until it was paid out. They were coming for him now, not Anderson.
“Mr. Stafford?” his secretary asked and looked up from her work. “I didn’t see you come in.”
“I…spent the night,” Charles said, truthfully enough. What was her name again?
“You have that eleven o’clock lunch meeting—” she started to say, but he cut her off quickly.
“Something’s come up, I won’t be able to make it,” he snapped and shook his head. “I’m actually taking some time off, so you can go ahead and cancel everything I have for the rest of the week. And why don’t you take that time off yourself? I need some time on my own.”
“Oh…of course,” she replied but looked concerned at the state he was in. “Are you all right, Mr. Stafford?”
“I’m fine,” he lied. Dammit, he didn’t have the time for this. The word was probably already out that he was in the building. Attackers would be waiting for him outside, and they would find a way inside if he remained there. His car was in the basement so he would be able to get out of the building without too much trouble.
“Oh…if you could do me a favor?” he asked as he moved to the elevator and pressed the button five or six times. “I’ll need you to buy me an airplane ticket. First class, of course, anywhere outside the country. Text me the details, if you could.”
“Of course, Mr. Stafford,” she said. He knew why she didn’t ask any questions. People in her position didn’t keep their jobs that way. Their bosses were supposed to be eccentric, and to make decisions like this on the fly was par for the course. It was their job to keep up with the eccentricities and make sure the rich men who employed them were able to do what they wanted with as much comfort and as little hassle as possible.
She would get him that ticket in a few minutes and all he had to do was get to the airport.
When he reached the garage, his driver was already waiting for him. The man was a veteran as well, trained in aggressive driving techniques, and doubled as a bodyguard. And Charles didn’t even know his name. He wasn’t sure if that was a bad thing. Getting too attached to these people would influence his decision to get rid of them when they inevitably made the mistakes he needed them never to make.
“Mr. Stafford.” The man nodded, clearly having been alerted of what to expect by the secretary who had called him. He opened the door for his boss to step into the town car that waited for him.
He circled once Charles was inside, slid into the driver’s seat, and eased them out of the parking lot onto the ramp that led up from the underground.
“Where to, sir?” he asked and glanced at him as they waited for the gate to raise and let them out.
“Get me to the airport,” he replied and leaned back in his seat. He knew he should have gotten the limo that had a bar. More than anything, he needed a drink.
“Will do, sir.” The driver tipped his hat as they emerged into the street. He seemed to know that they were in a hurry and ran lights and stop signs alike as they increased speed on the route to the international airport. A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and smiled to see a link to a one-way, first-class ticket to Tuscany, where he had a couple of properties. It was where he usually went when he needed time off. It was a good call.
Of course, he preferred to have a plane to himself, but a first-class ticket was good enough. With the airline she’d selected, he would have his own room with a bed, a TV, and Internet connection—a little luxury for the people who couldn’t afford to have their own plane.
He would buy a plane when all this was over. After all, he had the money for it, and he hated having to sign off to get one through Pegasus. Besides, it didn’t seem like he would get any more support from the company.
His eyes narrowed as they pulled off the highway and headed down into an underpass.
“Hey…what the hell are you doing?” Charles demanded. He leaned forward, but all the driver did was roll the partition up.
The cold feeling in his stomach returned. It continued to grow as they emerged beneath the freeway and came to a halt on the abandoned road.
He tried the door a couple of times, although he already knew they had been locked from the driver’s controls. The man stepped out of the vehicle, holding a phone to his ear. He spoke in Spanish, from the sound of it, and less than a minute later, a couple more cars arrived and parked around his town car.
“Fuck!” he gasped and fought to open the door again. That didn’t work, so he tried hitting the glass. He doubted that he would be able to get through the window and out, but he had to try. There would always be that annoying instinct for self-preservation and damned if he wouldn’t listen to it, even if it was one last time.
The men circled. There were nine of them, all toting assault rifles. They handed another one to the driver, who turned to face the vehicle.
This was it.
Holy shit, he’d never thought it would end this way. Charles looked at the floor. He really wished they had gotten him a car with a bar. A last drink—or even a last smoke—sounded perfect. He wouldn’t get one, though. The men positioned themselves outside the car and raised their weapons like they were performing an execution. Which they were, he realized, and closed his eyes when the first opened fire.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“I still don’t believe it,” one of the men muttered.
Beason looked up from his phone to see what his colleague was looking at. He peered at the screen where the picture of a rotund, white-haired man headed an article.
“Billionaire and philanthropist Charles Stafford was found dead in his car?” Beason said, reading the headlines. “Shot eighty-seven times in what authorities describe as a gangland-style execution.”
“Holy shit, right?” Yuri chuckled. “You saw the contract on him? I mean, five million dollars isn’t something to sneeze at, but I’d say these guys were taking something out on the guy, you know?”
“That’s not the interesting part,” Beason replied. “Of course, you wouldn’t find it in the papers, but you can look into where the money that went into the contract came from. Well, it came from a foundation Charles Stafford owned. The guy paid for his own hit. How the hell did that even happen?”
His friend shrugged. “You know he wouldn’t do that to himself. And guys like him use their foundations to funnel money, so how would that money reach the account?”
He couldn’t help a small chuckle. “With the kinds of connections Stafford had, I’m not surprised he had enemies with those kinds of resources. Seriously, someone is fucking scary smart.”
“Let’s hope we don’t have to go after them,” Yuri replied and waved a hand airily. “We don’t need enemies like that coming after us instead.”
“Is that why we didn’t try for that contract ourselves?”
“Well, five million is a lot of money, sure, but the kinds of hitters who would jump on that… No, not worth it. Maybe one day, when we have more muscle on our side and more backing. For now, though, stick to the smaller contracts.”
“Your call.”
Alvarez leaned back in his pool seat. Life was good, he had to admit. Soaking in the sun and being back in Mexico was a blessing. He didn’t really mind New Orleans. The place bustled with all the right kinds of energy. The party atmosphere that had surrounded him while he’d been there had been enough to make him smile. It hadn’t been terrible.
But in the words of that ancient American film, there rea
lly was no place like home.
While they still ran repairs and maintenance after the savage’s attack, most of the damages had been restricted to quarters he really had nothing to do with anyway. Which meant that, as soon as the inspectors cleared the building of structural damage, he was able to live there again.
He smiled and lowered his sunglasses as a couple of women in bikinis pulled themselves out of the pool, smiling and laughing as they moved towards the champagne he’d left open for them. He wasn’t in the mood for alcohol yet anyway. At heart, he was an old-fashioned guy. He didn’t believe in drinking before two in the afternoon, so he stuck to his coffee and the aphrodisiac presence of the women in his villa with him.
The phone he’d left on the table beside him buzzed, and he scowled at it. He’d specifically told his people he would take the day off. Of course, they could still call him if there were emergencies, but the fact that they couldn’t go one day without needing him to fix some problem or another for them was disappointing.
The number was blocked, however. Alvarez quirked an eyebrow before he pressed the accept call button and brought the device to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Al, nice to hear from you,” came the familiar voice of the man called Savage. Alvarez couldn’t help a smile as he leaned into his seat again.
“Savage, you hijo de puta.” He chuckled. “How the hell are you?”
“Sun’s shining, birds chirping, can’t complain,” the man replied. Despite his words, he sounded weaker and somehow less vital than the last two times they had spoken to one another. “How are you, Al?”
“Well, I really can’t complain.” He took a slow sip of his coffee. “You really came through for us with Charles, my friend.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied. “From what I heard, he paid for the hit on himself. How weird is that?”
“Oh, he did it to himself all right.” Alvarez laughed. “It couldn’t have happened to a more deserving culero if you ask me.”
“I’ll have to take your word on that. I even sent you half the money you paid me, exactly like I promised. Minus the operational fees of course. You know how it goes, right?”
Savage was lying, of course, but not really. The arrangement had changed somewhat when the man had given him an insight into the money on Charles’ head, where he was, and where he was likely to go. It had been a simple matter to call his men in the area to effect the hit. They’d taken their usual commission, not knowing that the five million for the contract had flowed into Alvarez’ own account.
So, in a way, the man had paid close to half of the money he’d taken from Alvarez’ safe when he’d broken into his home and given him a way to get rid of Charles at the same time.
“In all seriousness, my friend, I think I owe you a great deal,” he said softly.
“Considering that we might do business at some time in the future, I’d be willing to call it even if you look on me and my associates kindly when we come to you with opportunities again,” Savage said. “I would hate to have to pound my way through your whole security team all over again when I need to get in for a chat.”
“Even, then,” Alvarez replied with a chuckle. “And I look forward to doing business with you again soon, Savage man. Take care of yourself. Hasta.”
“Nice talking to you Al.” He ended the call.
Alvarez pushed himself out of his seat, set his phone on the table again, and stretched.
Fuck it. He would have a drink. It was called for on special occasions like this.
Madeline looked over the group that had been assembled. It seemed like emergency board meetings called by someone who wasn’t even in the fucking country had become more and more commonplace these days. While she didn’t quite approve, unlike the men who had occupied the two seats that were currently empty in the room, she knew her place. She wouldn’t rock the boat. Whether or not Courtney and Anderson were competent enough to lead the company was irrelevant. The only important fact was that any person who had tried to take them on had failed to do so.
And hers would not be the next empty seat.
The screen at the front of the room flickered on to display the likeness of a woman Madeline had started to have mixed feelings about. Dr. Courtney Monroe was not dressed like she was about to have a conversation about the Fortune Five-hundred company she spearheaded but rather like she had just gotten in from a morning jog.
People like her could get away with a few eccentricities, she supposed.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the board, thank you for meeting with me on such short notice,” Monroe said with a forced smile and adjusted her glasses. “Allow me to cut right to the meat of the matter. What is this I’ve heard about Charles Stafford killing himself?”
Madeline looked up from her notes and an odd look settled on her face. “We thought you might know more. Has no one contacted you about it?”
The woman shook her head. “No, I had to read about it in the Wall Street Journal, of all places.”
The other board members shared glances. Madeline kept her eyes firmly rooted on the screen. She wasn’t sure if Monroe was telling the truth—in fact, she was rather certain she wasn’t—but of course, it was part of her role to seem like she had nothing to do with the sudden death of a man who had opposed her on the board over the past month or so.
“Well, the details are still under investigation,” she said and took control of the meeting herself. “But the financial reports just came in, and it would seem the money that paid for the death of Charles Stafford, may he rest in peace, came from his own personal accounts. We’ll let you know if we learn anything more. The IRS is currently scouring his records.”
Monroe nodded and looked crestfallen. Either the woman was telling the truth, or she was a fantastic actress. Neither would surprise Madeline.
“In the meantime,” she continued with a hasty glance at her notes, “it would appear we now have to fill not one, but two, seats on the board. We have been forced to put off the stock sale for Pegasus until those seats have been filled.”
“I have another suggestion,” Monroe said. “We push the stock sale up. We have the power to declare that emergency powers be granted to the rest of the members of the board, constricting the size of the board, to hold the position for a limited time until shareholders can appoint their own members.”
Madeline looked at the other members. “Are you suggesting that we have an emergency vote?”
The woman nodded. “I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t one of the main reasons why I called this meeting. I will recuse myself from the vote, of course, so hold it and message me when you’ve come to a consensus and tell me your recommendations. I need to prepare for a trip into the Zoo. You ladies and gentlemen have a nice day.”
The line went dead, and the screen blackened as Madeline gathered her notes again. She had spent most of the last few days collecting the names she was willing to submit for the two vacant seats. All for nothing, she supposed.
She looked at her colleagues, who seemed to simply stare at her and wait for her to say something.
“Well, you heard Dr. Monroe,” she said crisply. “All those in favor of granting the current members of the board emergency powers to control those sections of the company left vacant, say aye.”
Some were more hesitant than most, but all seemed to understand that while Monroe had laid it out as a choice for them, there really wasn’t much option.
The vote was unanimous.
“Excellent.” Madeline gathered her notes. She would shred them when she returned home.
“Do you believe she really goes into that alien-infested death swamp?” one of the other members asked.
“It’s in the desert, William,” she explained.
The man opened his mouth to retort but quickly stood down. The tension in the room was all but palpable, she realized.
“You know that she’s consolidating,” she explained. “She was doubted, a
nd she was contested. She’s merely making sure that no one is left who will openly stand against her. It’s a power play. She’ll select whoever takes the empty seats on the board herself when the time comes. For now, let’s allow things to cool down. Once everyone is back and can deal with this rationally, we can revisit it.”
William, a tall former model with an MBA from Stanford, shook his head. “Hopefully by then, someone might have some new ideas.”
Madeline smiled and stood graciously. “Well, nobody can claim our meetings are boring, anyway. This meeting is adjourned. I’ll see you all later.”
Birth of Heavy Metal
Have you started the Birth of Heavy Metal series in the Zoo? Book one is HE WAS NOT PREPARED and it’s available now, at Amazon and through Kindle Unlimited.
Available at Amazon
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
May 22, 2019
THANK YOU for not only reading this story but these Author Notes as well.
(I think I’ve been good with always opening with “thank you.” If not, I need to edit the other Author Notes!)
RANDOM (sometimes) THOUGHTS?
Dammit, my ears are ringing!
I am just getting back to the Cave in the Sky(™) from a Janet Jackson concert here in Las Vegas (Park-MGM) and I forgot my ear plugs.
I want to look at people strangely and yell ‘what did you say???’
Which, if I had just finished a firefight in the ZOO I’d probably say the same thing… Except I probably wouldn’t have been able to hear after the firefight.
For those who don’t know me, I’m the creator of the ZOO concept and pulled together a LOT of help from those I know to create a … sandbox … where multiple authors could play.
But first, I worked with a few people to create 30 books to help flesh out the ZOO timeline and different facets of the world our characters live in.