METROCAFE

by Peter Parkin

  Colin buzzed the doorbell using the agreed-upon cadence, and he heard the click of the lock opening. He entered and walked down the hallway to the office. David sat behind the desk, smug as usual, with his two usual henchman sitting expressionless in the corner.

  He sat down in the guest chair in front of David's desk, opened his briefcase, and withdrew the two bank drafts and associated paperwork. He handed them over to David, who just smiled. He was good at smiling.

  "Colin, you will be glad to know that I am ending our partnership. It has gone as far as we can take it and it is time to set you free."

  Colin felt his shoulders sag with relief. The tension suddenly lifted—three long years were coming to an end.

  David grinned at him. "Fadiyah is upstairs. Would you like a charity fuck before you go?"

  Colin grinned back at him. "Fuck off."

  "Okay, then. I was just trying to be nice." He nodded towards his henchmen in the corner. "My friends here will drive you back to your office. It is the least I can do."

  "I can make my own way back, thank you."

  "No, I insist." The two goons suddenly came behind Colin and grabbed him under the arms. Colin felt an adrenaline rush of fear run through his veins. He flung his right hand to the left side of his belt, and yanked out the hunting knife. David reacted with lightning speed, diving over the desk and wrenching the knife free from Colin's hand. He handed the knife to one of his men, "Use this later."

  Colin noticed one of the men had a needle in his hand, bringing it up towards his neck. Suddenly David yelled, "No, you idiot! In the wrist, in the wrist!" Colin was aware now of one man holding his wrist still, while the other one inserted the needle. He felt nothing, but he knew that the nothingness wouldn't last.

  David was talking again. "We will just wait a few minutes until the 'juice kicks in'—is that how you westerners say it? Hah! I will talk to you in the meantime. You were one easy target, Colin. You made a stand early in the game, resulting in your wife being raped, and then you backed down." Colin was aware of his breathing becoming shallow, and his efforts to move his legs were fruitless. But he could still hear David's voice.

  "Usually it takes a murder or two of a family member to keep you depraved executives on track. But you just gave up and did my bidding. I did not have to kill anyone. You never balked. Most of the others balk, and I have to kill someone to remind them who is in charge—sometimes they balk many times and I have to kill many. But not you. You coward. You weakling. If I respected you, I might let you live. But instead I am going to humiliate you and your family. You are going to be found in a most disgraceful state, I can assure you. You hypocrite Christians and Jews hate to have your perversions displayed to the world. You prefer to keep them hidden and pretend to be better than Muslims. Hah! I will paint a picture of you that would horrify you—if you were to live."

  Colin could still hear him, but now he couldn't even move his lips to reply. He watched David walk around the desk, put his fingers on his wrist and feel his pulse. He nodded to the two guards. "It is time."

  Colin felt himself being lifted off the chair, and carried down the hallway toward the back door. The last thing he heard before he passed out was a chant from back in the office, "Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar!" followed by a derisive cackle.

  Chapter 19

  Monday morning was busier than usual at the office. Up first was a conference with the head office staff in the company auditorium, presenting the previous quarter's financial results. There was always a delay in being able to provide these to staff, as they couldn't hear the results until disclosure was first made to the public at large. With the worries and regulations regarding insider trading, executives of public companies had to be careful. So, it was usually old news by the time the staff finally heard from their CEO.

  It was usually a tag-team approach. Mike, Troy and Jim would each speak and display power point presentations covering all aspects of the company's operations, giving updates from the previous quarter. Then the staff would ask questions. Microphones fixed to stands were situated throughout the auditorium to enable employees to easily express what was on their minds.

  The most important question asked this morning was pertaining to Gerry's role and whether or not a decision had been made yet as to his replacement. Mike answered that one, and told the audience that he was not rushing into the decision. In the interim, he had appointed one of the VPs in Gerry's department, Ross Fielding, as acting department head. Ross would report directly to Mike until a final decision was made. In Mike's mind it just wasn't a priority, particularly since he was trying to keep hidden what Gerry had been involved in. He wanted to retain hands-on control himself over that department for the foreseeable future. In fact, considering the size of the company now, they were too lean in the top executive ranks to begin with. The entire structure needed to be reviewed. For now, he, Troy and Jim were overseeing the entire operation, with the help of VPs underneath of course. But they did indeed need several more Senior VPs. For now though Mike was having a trust problem, understandable after what he and Troy had discovered.

  The conference had taken about three hours away from his morning, so Mike was glad to be back in his office frantically trying to deal with some time-sensitive issues. He had just ended a phone call with an irate vendor who had wanted Baxter Development to buy his large tract of land in Muskoka. Mike had declined due to the inflated price. He was replaying the phone conversation in his mind, when Jim Belton burst into his office with a newspaper in hand.

  "Have you seen this?"

  "No—haven't had the chance to read anything this morning yet."

  Jim dropped the newspaper onto Mike's lap. "You'll be shocked."

  Mike picked up the paper, and immediately saw the photo of a familiar face underneath the headline: Apparent Suicide of Prominent Executive

  Mike caught his breath and began to read the article:

  The Toronto business community is shocked to hear of the death of an influential and popular executive. The body of Colin Spence, Senior Vice President of The Ontario Life Insurance Company, was discovered last night in an apartment on Pembroke Street, in the Dundas/Jarvis area of Toronto. The police have refused to disclose any information regarding the death, pending completion of their investigation.

  However, this reporter has determined from sources that Mr. Spence was discovered in the bathtub of an apartment, naked, his wrist slashed, a hunting knife lying beside him in the tub. There were signs in the room that he had had one or more visitors during the evening.

  In addition, the apartment was littered with condoms and pornographic magazines. All of the magazines depicted gay men in graphic sexual scenarios. Most disturbing, however, was what was found on Mr. Spence's laptop—hundreds of photos of boys as young as possibly five years old, engaged in sexual acts with men.

  Mr. Spence leaves behind a wife and two young sons. Discussions with colleagues at The Ontario Life Insurance Company revealed no pertinent details other than that Mr. Spence was touted as being the next CEO once the company's IPO was completed within the next six months.

  Mike let out a whistle and looked up at Jim. "Christ, this is unbelievable!" "I know. And to think that we just met with Colin a couple of months ago."

  Mike remembered the meeting. He hadn't known Colin well; it was just a casual business relationship. But he had respected him and never would have guessed in a million years that he could have met his end like this. The suicide itself was shocking but what stuck in his mind was the image created by the magazines and kiddie porn photos. Sickening. Mike was also aware of the sordid reputation of the Dundas/Jarvis area— known as a street hooker stroll, populated with drug addicts and sleazy prostitutes of both genders. Mike had a difficult time picturing a guy like Colin in that section of the city.

  He and Jim knew Colin from their dealings with him on their employee life/benefit plan. Ontario Life had held their account for at least a decade, and Colin was their key corporate co
ntact over there. He gave Baxter Corp. his personal attention as the account was one of the largest Ontario Life had. They usually met once a year to review the plan for the next term. Mike also saw Colin occasionally at Chamber of Commerce meetings plus the usual corporate and charitable functions held throughout the city. Most of the more prominent executives in the city knew each other, at least casually. Toronto was a tight business community.

  Mike looked over at Jim, who had now collapsed into one of the guest chairs. "Find out when the funeral is. You and I should attend. And send some flowers to the funeral home."

  *****

  St. Stephen's Cathedral on Church Street was crowded to overflowing. It was lucky for Mike and Jim that they had gotten there an hour before the service, otherwise they'd be standing out on the street for the duration. And Catholic funerals were not short.

  As far as funerals went, it was a nice one. There were several eulogies at the end, and each speaker respectfully avoided any reference to how Colin had died. The focus of each speech was on good memories, humorous moments, and Colin's reputation as a protective husband and father. Mike thought to himself that there was a major disconnect. The reports in the newspapers had painted Colin as a twisted pervert and possible pedophile, yet what he was hearing at the funeral were depictions of a totally different person. A Jekyll and Hyde? He could see many people turning to each other and whispering during the service. He could only guess what they were saying; recounting what they had heard and read and probably snickering at that stark contrast with the eulogies. Human beings were predictably shallow and cruel whenever the mighty fell from grace.

  Mike and Jim made their way through the crowd to the promenade outside the cathedral. They hoped to be able to pass along their respects to Karen. They knew her only slightly, from some business dinners that she had attended with Colin. However, they still wanted to let her know how highly they had thought of her husband, despite the reports that were circulating in the aftermath of his death.

  Mike stood up on his tiptoes, straining to look at the people coming out of the church. He saw her standing over with a group of people outside the door, leaning against an older woman's shoulder. He tugged on Jim's sleeve and pointed. They gently pushed their way through the crowd and politely eased their way into the group of people surrounding Karen. Mike and Jim took turns holding her hand and saying their regrets. She smiled wearily. Mike wasn't sure whether she recognized them or not, but it didn't matter. She seemed to appreciate the attention and the gestures. Mike noticed two little boys standing off to the side with two other ladies. He figured they must be Colin's sons.

  He was thinking about how they would extricate themselves from this little circle surrounding Karen without appearing rude, but the timing wasn't good. She had continued talking after greeting Mike and Jim, and the little group of people was transfixed. She talked about how Colin had changed in the last few years, more protective, more worried. He had installed an alarm system after she was attacked, and had wanted to hire a security guard at nighttime—which she had resisted. Instead, she always had a relative or friend sit with her in the evenings if Colin was out. This had seemed to reassure Colin.

  She figured his obsession with precautions had to do with her attack, but lately she had begun to think it was something else. She suspected—from things that he had said, from his behavior, and the fact that he had purchased a gun and trained her how to use it—that there was some other danger he was worried about. An even more serious danger than the attack she had suffered.

  Karen was sobbing as she talked. Through her tears, she talked about how impossible it was that Colin was the person portrayed in the media. Something was terribly wrong; that person found dead in the apartment was not even close to the Colin she knew, and who everyone else knew. Gay sex, little boys, suicide? She just didn't believe it. Mike figured that it was only natural that she would be in denial. The evidence was overwhelming—and what else could explain how they found him? A set-up? Why?

  The two of them finally managed to move away from the group. Mike turned to Jim and asked, "What attack was Karen referring to?"

  "Oh, I thought you knew. Must have been about three years ago now— she was raped and beaten in their home while Colin was out."

  Mike whistled. "Geez, I had no idea. That poor woman. And now Colin's dead. Makes you wonder how people survive these back-to-back shocks. Did they catch the guy?"

  Jim shook his head. "No, not a clue. No DNA left—he used a condom. Wore a mask. Bound and gagged the two little boys, and kept them in another room."

  "God, I can't believe this. Colin sure hid his grief well."

  "Well, he was always the consummate professional. Mike, this guy had everything going for him—had the world by the tail. Something went horribly wrong along the way, or he managed to hide one hell of a secret life."

  They walked down to the bottom of the promenade, heading toward Jim's car parked on the street. Suddenly Mike heard his name being called. He turned around to face the church. A tall man, Middle Eastern looking, was working his way through the crowd toward them, waving his hand.

  Jim shielded his eyes from the sun, and whispered. "Who the fuck is that?

  "I haven't a clue." Mike lied—he did have a clue, a stirring in his gut that he didn't understand.

  "Hello, Mike. Long time no see." The handsome Arab held out his hand. Mike shook it and nodded, apprehensive. "Do we know each other?"

  "David Samson. You do not remember me?"

  Suddenly a light went off in Mike's brain—something else was going on in his brain too, but he couldn't make any sense of it. Like a million little thoughts churning, none of them seemingly connected with each other.

  "Yes, I think I do. You used to work for us, didn't you?"

  David nodded. "I was in the legal department. I left your company about five years ago. Some new opportunities came along."

  Jim tilted his head sideways, squinting. "You were fired, if I recall correctly."

  David chuckled. "Just a little misunderstanding between Gerry and I, God rest his soul."

  Mike was feeling lightheaded. "What are you doing here? Did you know Colin?"

  "I have done some legal work for him in the past. A wonderful guy, despite the news reports."

  Mike clenched his teeth. "Did you say 'legal work,' or did you really mean to say 'illegal work?'"

  The Arab smiled at the jab. "Very funny, Michael. Not very polite, though."

  "I wasn't trying to be funny, or polite." Mike took a step toward David. "Apparently we have some unfinished business with you. I understand that a criminal complaint was closed that should have stayed open."

  David smiled again and rubbed his knuckles, probably to draw attention to the massive rings on his fingers. "Sometimes, what has been closed should stay closed. It is much more pleasant that way. Speaking of being pleasant, did you receive the sympathy card I sent to you after Gerry's death?"

  "I might have. I don't remember." Mike lied.

  "Oh, I am certain that you do remember. I even suggested that we have lunch sometime and reminisce about Gerry. I was disappointed that I never heard back from you."

  Mike felt the blood rushing to his head. Why was this creep getting to him so much? For a split second, he saw images flashing across his mind: a parking lot and a football field, a gymnasium with a naked boy banging on the door, lockers, pushing, shoving, laughing, mocking, chasing someone down the hall of his old high school. He shook his head and the images disappeared.

  But then just as suddenly a new image appeared—a rundown old house and a door that seemed to unlock itself. He was entering the house, but it felt like it wasn't him entering. He walked into an office and saw David Samson sitting at a desk, laughing at him.

  Mike shook his head again and this image also disappeared. But what remained was an overwhelming feeling of anger and hatred—building to a rage like nothing he had ever experienced before. He could feel his fists clenching, and blood
rushing to his face. Muscles tensing, coiling. Jim must have noticed something because Mike could feel him grabbing him by the arm and attempting to pull him away from the smiling devil standing in front of him.

  But Mike could not be swayed now, too far into the zone. He yanked his arm free, and in the same move rammed his fist into the gut of David Samson. The man grunted and doubled over, a combination of pain and surprise written on his face. Mike took advantage of the moment and swung his right fist in an uppercut to the Arab's chin. The helpless man fell backwards to the cement, hitting his head with a thud. Mike straddled the prone figure and grabbed him by the collar, yanking his head up until their eyes met. He could faintly hear Jim in the background pleading with him to stop, feeling him pulling him back by his jacket tail. But Mike ignored him and easily shook him off. Instead, he burned a stare like laser beams into the evil black eyes of his victim.

  "You're a fucking animal, Samson—a cold-blooded murderous son of a bitch. I swear, I'll kill you myself before allowing you to kill anyone else."

  Chapter 20

  "What in God's name were you thinking? You acted like a madman!" Jim was pacing the floor in Mike's office and Mike was sitting on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, rubbing his forehead.

  "I don't know—I can't explain it. It's like something came over me. I'm just as puzzled as you are." Mike could tell that Jim was very tense, more than he was at the worst of times.

  "Not good, Mikey. This day and age, as you well know from that subway incident, you can expect that somebody recorded that. And you're famous, or I should say infamous right now as the 'Briefcase Braveheart.' You'd be a financial bonanza for someone if they ran straight to the media."

  He banged his fist on the credenza for emphasis. "We don't need the publicity, Mikey! You have to control yourself! What's gotten into you?"