by Peter Parkin
Mike looked over at Cindy and saw that she was allowing herself a smile, the first one of the morning so far. She knew he had a special bond with their daughters. She was a great mother, but dad was the fun one, the good-time guy. Cindy did most of the disciplining and attending to most of their physical needs, but dad got to do the fun stuff. But that was the way most families worked, and children needed that contrast. The girls loved both of them, but looked to each of them for different things. When they were sick, they wanted only their mom. When they scraped their knees, only mom could apply the Band-Aids. But when they wanted to feel grown-up, or have an adventure, they would look to their father.
"Okay girls, let's get your breakfast. And Mike, we'll talk some more when you get home tonight?"
"We will, and I'll be home on time. I promise." He reached down to give Kristy and Diana kisses and big hugs. They giggled again. Then he walked around the table and hugged Cindy, giving her an extra squeeze on the bum.
She looked up at him with a mischievous smile. "Okay, maybe I was making a mountain of a molehill."
Mike laughed, knowing she didn't really mean that, grabbed his briefcase and headed out the door.
*****
Today was one of the rare days that Mike was taking the subway. He didn't like to do it too often, but once in a while he just couldn't stomach the Toronto traffic and wanted someone else to do the work. Also, despite his protests to Cindy, he was indeed concerned about yesterday's "blackout," and didn't want to take a chance driving today. The subway station was close, about a five minute walk from their house. The Baxters lived in Rosedale, an "old money" neighborhood of mansions. While Mike's wealth wasn't exactly "old money," he didn't care whether or not the neighbors felt he qualified.
He just liked the neighborhood, had always dreamt of living there, and once he made it big he and Cindy decided to leave their modest home in Leaside and make the big splurge. The trees were huge, the security patrols were regular, and it was considered inner city so everything was convenient. And the investment was secure. People would drive through Rosedale just to ogle the monster character homes.
Their circa 1920s home, nestled high on a hill amongst towering maples, oozed eight thousand square feet of absolute charm. The gardens were gorgeous thanks to Cindy's green thumb and the kitchen was one that any gourmet chef would have an orgasm over. With Cindy's culinary talents, Mike felt that she deserved the best kitchen money could buy.
Sometimes Mike would just wander through their house soaking up the pride that he felt. He knew the place was "over the top," but he also knew that life was short. A fact that he was even more acutely aware of since Gerry's death.
He entered the Rosedale subway station, descended underground with all of the other morning commuters, dropped in his token, then headed downward again to the train platform. He purposely stood back from the edge, as he had heard of so many sad stories of people being shoved by drug-crazed maniacs onto the tracks. He wasn't going to take any chances.
Mike's suit-jacket flapped in the gush of wind as the silver train whooshed into the station. He shuffled his way towards the door along with about a dozen other miserable souls. As usual, the train was already jam-packed to standing room only, so once inside the car he had no choice but to just grab hold of one of the upper bars and sway along with the movement of the train as it resumed its journey through the tunnel.
The effect was almost hypnotic.
*****
The train pulled into Queen station and Mike was still holding onto the bar. A pregnant woman sitting in the seat in front of him rose to get off, but she paused in front of him first and said, "I can't thank you enough for what you did. That was so brave." Mike just stared at her, puzzled. He glanced around to see if she was addressing someone else.
A man standing next to him clapped him on the back. "This city needs more people like you. Punks like that have no respect for anyone these days. I wish I could be that brave. Maybe I will be from now on." The stranger gave Mike a manly embrace, then laughed sardonically. "When you threw them out the door at Dundas, I was hoping they'd fall onto the tracks!"
Mike looked at the woman and at the man, and just nodded. He had no idea what they were talking about. He looked around the car and saw several other people nodding and smiling at him. He felt as if he was in a glass cage at the zoo.
The pregnant woman said, "Please, take my seat." Mike sat down as she exited the train, and she looked back at him one more time and mouthed, "Thank you."
He thought that he must be dreaming, or that these people were crazy. The whole experience made him feel like he was in "Alice in Wonderland" and had just fallen through the looking glass. What the hell were they talking about? And why were all these strangers smiling at him? He could see heads craning their necks to get a look at him from farther down the car, and people talking in hushed tones and pointing at him.
There was a lady sitting next to him who suddenly reached her arms around him and hugged him. She opened her purse and pulled out some tissues and Band-Aids, and said, "Let me help you with your hand."
Mike looked down at his hand and saw that his knuckles were bleeding, badly. He nodded at her, not knowing what else to do. Then he noticed his briefcase had blood all over the bottom edges. What the hell had happened? He had either been involved in some kind of altercation and, amazingly, didn't remember it, or he was now in some kind of dream-state. He had no idea.
The lady finished wrapping his hand by the time they had passed through the King station, and in a couple of minutes he felt the train start to slow down again. He looked up and saw that he was at his stop, Union. Mike looked at her, smiled grimly, and thanked her. He rose from his seat and walked through the open door.
As he left the train, cheers and applause followed him out onto the platform.
*****
His in-box was overflowing with envelopes containing condolences that he knew he had to get to. But first he had to wipe the blood off his briefcase.
Mike couldn't remember anything that had happened between Rosedale and Dundas, but from the comments of the two passengers he deduced that he had somehow thwarted an attack on a pregnant woman and thrown some punks off the train at the Dundas station. How could he possibly have done that and not remember? He shook his head in frustration. And since when had he become someone who would step in and fight? That was not who he was. He had never been a coward, but he also couldn't recall any time he had stepped in to an altercation before. He usually won fights with words, not with his fists.
His secretary came into his office with his morning coffee. After putting his cup down on the coaster, she stood there and stared at his bandaged hand.
"It's nothing. Just a little accident this morning," Mike said nonchalantly. She nodded but gave him a curious look.
"Stephanie, could you ask Troy to join me here, please? As soon as he can?"
"Sure, I'll call him right away. He was in a meeting but I think it just wrapped up." Stephanie took one last glance at his hand as she left the room.
Troy made his appearance in less than five minutes. He frowned. "What did you do to your hand?"
"Nothing to worry about. Just a little accident at the house this morning." Troy looked at him with feigned suspicion, and then laughed. "You didn't punch Cindy, did you?"
Mike laughed back. "You know me better than that."
"So, what's up boss? Why did you want to see me?"
"I want you to pull the files on those properties in Brazil and Mexico.
You and I need to take a trip down there and start the revised strategic plan. As you know, the Board was concerned and rightfully so. I have to take a personal involvement in these projects and so do you. You're in charge of construction and these properties are dormant, producing no cash flow. We need to shit or get off the pot."
"Okay, I agree. But we don't want to rush to any judgments here. Gerry felt strongly about all four properties, and the development potential of each
. He was only holding off due to the economy. We don't want to jump the gun on what could turn out to be wonderful future investments."
"I'm not going to jump the gun on anything, Troy. But I need to assess these for myself and so do you. The Board wants some assurance and I intend to give it to them."
"I'll pull the files. When do you want to go?"
"Arrange something for next week. We'll hop around to all four locations."
*****
Mike was tearing open envelope after envelope, reading through condolences from people that he knew, some he thought he knew, and some who he had no clue at all as to who they were. They all expressed their admiration for Gerry and how sad it was that he was no longer part of the executive team at Baxter Development Corporation. Each had their own agendas no doubt, and wanted to go on the record as expressing their grief. In reality, most of them probably didn't give a shit.
Then Mike got down to one extra-large envelope, adorned with flower stickers. He thought this one looked a bit odd, so he was extra curious. He tore the envelope open and pulled out a large sympathy card, with little puppy dogs on the front. Very odd. He read the message: " So sorry to hear about Gerry's death. I really enjoyed working with him over the years, and considered him my mentor. I would never have achieved the success I have today without his help. I will miss him. Perhaps you and I should do lunch sometime soon and reminisce. Yours faithfully, David Samson."
The name rang a bell. Mike frowned as he read the note again. There was something insincere about it, almost sarcastic. And the man's name was one he was familiar with. He was sure that someone named David Samson had worked for the company before, and there was some bad history. Baxter employed several thousand people, but what was it about this particular name?
Mike picked up his phone and dialed his CFO and buddy, Jim Belton. In addition to being in charge of financials, HR fell into Jim's responsibilities due to the close relationship of finance with benefits, pensions, and budgets.
Mike asked Jim to check personnel records for a David Samson. Within minutes Jim phoned him back. "Gerry fired a David Samson about five years ago. You recall: it was that suspected embezzlement with a purchase down in Chile."
A light bulb went off in Mike's brain. "Of course, how could I have forgotten? He purchased a property without proper due diligence! The property didn't even exist, right?"
"Right, exactly. Gerry fired him as soon as it was discovered. It involved about five million dollars; not a huge amount in the grand scheme, but enough for concern and certainly enough for dismissal with cause."
Mike was remembering back clearly now. "Didn't Gerry pursue criminal charges against this guy? Wasn't there some evidence of kickback to this Samson character?"
He could hear Jim leafing through pages in the file. "Uh, looks like Gerry dropped the complaint."
"What? Why did he do that?"
"The file doesn't say, Mike. Just says that the charges were dropped—about four years ago."
"Do you have a phone number and address for David Samson?"
"Yes, could have changed by now but I'll email them to you. By the way, you should know that David Samson is not his original name. I just noticed that in the file."
Mike rubbed his bandaged hand. "How could we have hired someone with a phony name?"
"No, it wasn't phony. Looks like he legally changed it shortly before we hired him. His given name was 'Dawud Zamir.'" Another bell rang in Mike's brain at the mention of that Middle Eastern name. It was a very faint bell though, one of those that rings in the distance and you ignore it because it's too far away to care.
Chapter 6
"Mommy, Mommy, I just saw a man on TV who looks like Daddy!" Cindy was tossing a salad for dinner, and looked up as little Kristy came running into the kitchen. She could see that her little girl was all excited and her cheeks were flushed.
"Don't listen to her, Mom. She's all mixed up. It was just some man beating up a couple of guys on the subway." Typical Diana, Cindy thought— always the voice of calm and reason. She was so mature for her age, and Cindy knew that sometimes it frustrated little Kristy who was enthusiastic about everything.
"It looked like Daddy, it did!"
"Did not!"
"Did so!"
Cindy could see that a shoving match was about to erupt. She put down her salad utensils, took off her apron, and knelt down to be at eye level with both girls. She gently rested her hands on their shoulders, and said in a soothing tone, "Why don't we watch it together and I'll give you my own opinion? What do you girls think of that idea?"
"You can't see it now anyway. It was just a little clip, and they said to tune in to the news at 6:00." Diana, as usual, paid attention to the details.
"Well then, we'll watch the news at 6:00. That's only about thirty minutes from now. But Kristy, it couldn't have been your father, you know. He hasn't taken the train since last week."
"I just said he looked like Daddy. I didn't say it was Daddy. Diana always takes the fun out of things. She knows he looks like Daddy, but she just won't say so because she likes to make me mad!" Kristy started to cry.
Cindy picked her up and cradled her for a few minutes. Kristy was six years old now but luckily still tiny for her age. Cindy could still hold her like a baby. She wanted her to stay that way as long as possible.
"Okay girls, you know what? We'll watch it anyway, and I'll tape it so Daddy can see it too when he gets home. We can all have a good laugh together."
*****
"...and the breaking news tonight is about a Good Samaritan, caught on a camera phone. We reported on this incident last week. It occurred in a moving subway train during the morning rush hour and, according to witnesses, two hoodlums began harassing a young pregnant woman. They were trying to yank her out of her seat when a well-dressed businessman intervened and asked them to leave her alone. Apparently they ignored him and continued harassing the woman. The businessman then grabbed each of them... and... well, the video says it all. Film clarity could be better as the boy who took the footage was several yards away, but at least it gives our viewers a pretty good image of what happened."
Cindy and the girls were nestled together on the big reclining couch in the family room, watching closely as the footage began to roll. They saw two scummy men, perhaps about twenty years old, white, wearing black toques, ripped pants hanging down past the hint of their ass-cracks, leaning over a young woman and trying to drag her out of her seat. She looked terrified, and was frantically swinging at them with her hands.
Suddenly a man in a suit carrying a briefcase stepped forward, grabbed the collar of one of the men and threw him backward onto the floor. The other punk took a swing but missed. The businessman retaliated with a quick uppercut to the jaw. The young hoodlum went down. Then his buddy struggled to his feet and lunged at the businessman. He was met with the swing of a briefcase right smack in the face.
The train now rolled to a stop and the doors opened onto the station platform. The businessman dropped his briefcase and then, one by one, grabbed each of the guys by their shirt collars and ass-crack waistbands, and heaved them out the doorway as if they were useless pieces of luggage. The train door closed and the footage stopped.
The anchorman reappeared on the TV screen, with his eyebrows arched: "Wow, thrilling footage, just thrilling. How heartwarming to see one of our citizens come to the aid of another. We are fortunate indeed that the boy came forward with his camera phone to share this with us, so we could in turn share it with you. Now we would like to know who this Good Samaritan is. He left the train at Union Station, apparently only uttering a 'thank you' to a woman who bandaged his bloodied hand. We do not know his name. We vaguely know what he looks like from this video footage. But it's not clear enough to accurately describe him. We're hoping that someone will recognize this person, or better yet, that this person comes forward himself. We'd like to talk to him and give him the praise and thanks he deserves. The police would also like to cha
t with him as a witness to the altercation and hopefully help the investigation with a good description of the thugs. I chatted with the Police Chief today, and he told me that this man would definitely be nominated for a heroism award, however the Chief urges the public to never take the law into their own hands because most instances, unlike this one, don't have happy endings."
Cindy stopped recording and turned off the TV.
"See, Mommy? See what I mean? Didn't that hero man look like Daddy?" Cindy hugged Kristy. "Honey, it wasn't that clear, and lots of people look like your Dad when they're all dressed up like that. But I can sure see why you thought that, I really can."
Diana glared at her mom and Kristy. "Well, I think you're both blind as bats! That wasn't Daddy." She got up from her chair and went down the hall to her room.
Cindy called after her. "We'll have dinner in about half an hour, Diana. Your Dad should be home by then." Cindy worried sometimes about Diana— she was such a serious little soul, and didn't let her imagination run loose like Kristy did. Kristy picked up one of her dolls and started grooming her. Cindy knew this would soothe her and help her forget about her sister's reaction.
She got up and walked back to the kitchen. Opened the liquor cabinet, poured herself a short whisky and chugged it. She knew that was Mike in the footage; she knew without a doubt. And she remembered his bandaged hand.
*****
Mike snuggled up next to his wife in bed, both with their books out and reading lights on. He enjoyed this time of the evening, just before falling off to sleep. It was a closeness that was comforting after a long day at the office. Cindy's body felt warm and he loved it when she swung her leg over his and pulled herself in tighter. It always aroused him. He looked over at her and admired her loveliness. Long auburn hair flowing down over her shoulders and chest, perfectly shaped breasts swelling under her nightie, legs exposed. She was still one sexy lady, and he was proud of her. At thirty-five, she was twelve years younger than him, but he was relieved to know that he still didn't look his age. He sometimes worried that their age difference would have an effect on their relationship once he was in his sixties, but that was thankfully still a long way off.