by Peter Parkin
The benefit to going, however, was being able to spend some time with Mike—out in the world as a real couple. They hadn't done much of that since he had moved out. She knew that his absence was only temporary. She desperately wanted him back home again, back in their bed, and hugging his daughters goodnight. But she was afraid to rush it. Cindy wanted these symptoms of his to settle down. She was disappointed that he refused to see Dr. Teskey again, but she really couldn't blame him after their last visit. That unorthodox method of Bob's, slapping Mike until he fought back, was ridiculous. She could understand why Mike felt used and provoked. And she certainly didn't agree with Bob's plan to use Mike as a lab rat down in Florida.
But she was really shocked to see, first-hand, the violence that erupted from Mike's fists when he was provoked. She never expected to see him react like that and towards a friend at that. She knew he was entitled to defend himself but his reaction was way over the top.
That altercation in the doctor's office simply reaffirmed her decision not to let Mike move back in yet. She hoped that once he simmered down she could convince him to visit Teskey again, or at least another psychiatrist. He needed help, and if he didn't get that help she wasn't sure she could let him live with her again.
That was a heart-wrenching thought. Cindy put it out of her head and started pulling on her cowboy duds, just for fun.
*****
Mike awoke to the sensation of moisture on his forehead and something soft and fluffy under his head. He opened his eyes and looked up into the kind face of Jonas' mother. He reached behind his head and realized that he was lying on a pillow. There was a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling over his head, and as he squinted through heavy eyes he realized he was in the basement. Now he remembered. He had lost his concentration and the giant had punched him, hard.
"How...long have I been out?"
"Oh, only about twenty minutes. You'll be fine. It looks like your nose may be broken, though. Don't worry. He's far away from here by now. We're safe."
Mike reached up to touch his nose, and it felt like it had been expertly bandaged. His forehead was aching as well, and he remembered being slammed into the doorframe. Then he realized that this was the second time in a couple of weeks that he had been knocked unconscious. Not a good thing.
The young mother smiled at him. "Your forehead is a little red, and so is your throat. But those marks will go away soon."
Mike smiled back at her and felt a jarring pain in his nose. He made a mental note not to smile for a while. "Thanks for patching me up. You should let me take a look at your back. You took quite the beating." He noticed she was wearing a robe now.
"That's alright. I've already taken care of it with Jonas' help. I'm a nurse down at St. Mike's—Intensive Care. I've seen a lot worse."
The robe covered most of her body except for her forearms and lower legs. The black and blue bruises betrayed her nonchalance. "Those sores look painful," Mike said, pointing at her arms.
"Oh, they're nothing, really—I bruise very easily. Someone just has to squeeze me a little too hard and I'll bruise."
Mike didn't believe her one bit; he figured she was just trying to be brave. Battered wives got a lot of practice being brave. He held out his hand. "My name's Mike. Yours...?"
"Pleased to meet you, Mike. I'm Alison. Alison Jenner."
Mike pushed himself to his feet, and Alison held him under the arm to steady him.
"Jonas told me about you. He said you were very nice to him. But...why did you come by today?"
"Oh, I brought him a couple of little presents. I hope you don't mind. I took a liking to your son—nothing weird, I promise you. He's just such a nice little boy, and he was kind to me when I had a bit of trouble."
"I don't mind at all. Jonas seemed thrilled to have met you. He said you were his new friend." Alison chuckled.
"Well, he's my new friend too." Mike frowned. "Who was that guy?" Alison lowered her eyes. "My husband. We're kind of separated—he goes away for days at a time, then comes back angry."
Mike realized all of a sudden how pretty Alison was. She had cleaned herself up a bit while he was unconscious; long brown hair, hazel eyes, shapely figure, tall—about five foot seven. It made him furious all over again thinking how that giant, who outweighed Alison by about a hundred and seventy pounds at least, had been beating this sweet mother senseless. It was hardly a fair fight.
Alison raised her eyes and smiled at him again. Mike noticed that there were cute little crinkles around her eyes and mouth when she smiled, and she cocked her head in the cutest way as she talked. Her eyes danced with life. As she spoke, Mike found himself becoming mesmerized by the expressions she made. "We were high school sweethearts. He wasn't always this way. Wade became a professional wrestler and was doing very well. We lived up in Willowdale. After a while he started taking steroids, and he changed. He became addicted. Then an injury ruined his career and our lives went downhill fast." She lowered her head again. "I think he's still on steroids, and he comes here looking for money. When he doesn't find any, he beats me. All I can say is, thank God he never hurts Jonas."
Mike put his hand on her shoulder. "Listen, there are places you can go. My company donates a lot of money to one of the women's shelters. They're usually full, but I'm sure if I make a call I can get you and Jonas in there tonight."
Alison shook her head. "No, he'll find us."
"No, I promise you that he won't. These shelters are top secret. Their locations are not known to anyone who isn't staff or a resident. Even I don't know where this shelter is, and I'm a financial supporter."
Alison looked up and smiled with those cute little crinkles that melted Mike's heart. "No, Mike. Thank you for your help today, but this is our life here, such as it is. I don't want to make a change like that. I know Wade will get better. He's promised me. Sometimes he's very nice. I still love him. And he's Jonas' dad."
Mike wouldn't give up. "You could press charges. I could help you." Alison shook her pretty head, pushing her long hair behind her left ear.
"Thanks for caring. But you're a stranger. I'm sure you have your own life to worry about."
Mike nodded. You don't know the half of it. "Okay, Alison. But I'm going to come back and check on you guys once in a while. Is that alright with you?"
She nodded. "Yes. We have something in common now, don't we? We've both been beaten by the same man." She laughed at her attempt at gallows humor, and the little crinkles appeared again.
They walked up the stairs together, and Mike met Jonas standing at the top. He rustled the little guy's hair, then walked to the hallway and picked up the bag of gifts.
"These are for you, Jonas. Maybe I'll play some ball with you next time I visit."
Jonas smiled his big smile. "Are you coming gan, Mister Mike?" "Yes...and just call me 'Mike', okay?"
"Okay, Mike."
Mike knelt down on one knee. "Jonas, did you give your mother that money I gave you?"
Jonas looked at the floor. "No, I dint."
"How come?"
"I's fraid she think you was strange."
Mike gave the little guy a hug. "Well, now she knows I'm not strange. So you can give it to her, okay?"
Jonas nodded eagerly. "Okay, Mike."
Mike stood up and held out his hand to Alison. "Thanks again for nursing me back to health." He pulled a business card out of his pocket and handed it to her. "In case you ever need help—whatever it is—please don't hesitate to call me."
Alison took the card, shook his hand and pulled him closer to her. She put her arms around his neck, then squeezed tightly and whispered, "You're a brave man, and a decent man. I can tell these things. Thank you for caring enough to help us today." She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "And you can call me 'Ali.' All my friends do and you're our new friend. So you qualify."
Mike could feel a tear in each eye as he walked out the door and down the pathway to his car. Jonas wasn't the only one being bullied. Ali was
clearly suffering from 'battered wife syndrome.' She was hoping for a miracle; that everything would be back to the way it was when her and Wade were high school sweethearts. Miracles like that seldom happened. Redemption is a romantic thought, but usually a hopeless one. What kind of future did Ali and Jonas have? Mike shuddered.
Chapter 29
All Mike hoped for was that he would get through the day without too much grief. He was standing in front of the mirror in his private washroom, carefully removing the bandage from his nose. It was looking better now—a little crooked, but the swelling had come down and the cuts weren't as visible. He'd been applying ice for the last couple of days. It was amazing how effective that had been.
The last Board meeting of the year was this morning. It was always around this time, just before Halloween. His colleagues always joked that this October meeting was the most appropriate one of all, seeing as the directors who sat on the Board were scarier than goblins.
Once again Mike would have to make an excuse for another injury. Cindy had bought his last story—the one about one of his blackouts causing him to bump his head. He couldn't use that excuse this time because the Board didn't even know he had been having blackouts, and he sure wasn't going to raise alarm bells by telling them. So instead, he would explain it away by saying he'd picked up an elbow to the face in a game of touch football. That sounded very 'Kennedyesque,' and the Board would love the image.
Yes, once today's meeting was over, he could relax a bit. Today was Friday and he was spending the weekend back home with Cindy and the girls. And tomorrow night he and Cindy would be going to his high school reunion, which was always kind of fun. This year it would be even more fun than usual due to everyone being dressed up in Halloween costumes. Then Monday night was Halloween and he was looking forward to taking the girls out trick-or-treating.
It would seem like one of those old family weekends of togetherness that he'd been missing so badly.
*****
"So, in conclusion of the financial results reporting, we will have another record year. We think this is a great performance considering how severe this recession has been and the toll it has taken on commercial real estate. Our strategy has always been to ensure that we are reasonably recession-proof. Consequently, over the years we have positioned our largest commercial developments in the most economically diversified cities in North America. For example, we have no properties in Detroit, Windsor, Toledo, Los Angeles, Cincinnati, or Miami—just to name a few. Our chosen cities didn't see the loss of tenancy that other cities saw, and most of our leases were locked in to terms of five years or longer. This augured well for revenue stability."
Mike paused and gazed down the table at the directors. Most were nodding their approval. He felt more comfortable now, but still just a wee bit apprehensive. He'd been saving the worst news for last, and he hoped they were pumped up enough now on the good stuff to be able to handle it.
"Finally, I'd like to report on the attempts to sell our four properties in Brazil and Mexico. You will recall that we have been endeavoring to sell these at book value—in other words what we paid when they were purchased years ago. Unfortunately, while there have been a few enquiries, we have had no offers. Making matters worse, of course, are the headline-making events in both of those countries over the last few months. We have seen severe flooding in Brazil and...beheadings in Acapulco. The drug wars in Mexico seem to be spreading to the tourist areas which is something we had hoped would not happen, and the unprecedented floods in Brazil have caused deep-pocket buyers to be concerned."
Mike looked up from his notes and saw that several directors were frantically writing notes of their own. He continued. "Our investments in those countries are clearly now impaired. Christine had recommended at the last Board meeting that we put provisions against the balance sheet to reflect this impairment. It was the opinion of the majority of the Board that that might be premature. However, in light of recent events, I would have to now agree that Christine was correct and it is clear that her perception of the problem was uncannily accurate." Mike figured that a little sucking up to the most troublesome Board member couldn't hurt, and would actually cause her to probably shut up and not ask any more probing questions. She could smugly declare victory, which was all that she ever really cared about anyway—being proven right.
"Due to the record-breaking year for Baxter Development, we can easily afford to reflect the impairment without any tangible impact on earnings. This would be the year to do it, if we think the sale of the properties will drag on. Therefore I am recommending, due to the extreme geo-social emerging trends in Brazil and Mexico, that we write off these four properties during this fiscal year. Take the book values down to zero. This will enable us to lower the sale prices to rock bottom, and any eventual sale can be reflected in earnings in a future fiscal year. For this year, we would take the hit of sixty-five million, and in the future we can look forward to any positive proceeds that we are able to eventually obtain. Respectfully, I would ask for a motion and a second, to allow us to proceed in this direction."
There was silence around the table for a good minute. Then Christine Masden, with a self-righteous grin on her face, raised her hand. "I move to approve."
Guy Wilkins raised his hand too. "I second that." Peter Botswait finalized the item. "Motion carried."
Mike breathed a sigh of relief. Worked like a charm—a compelling case that no one could argue with. Now that these assets would be off the balance sheet, there would be no more questions at future meetings. These useless lots were buried deep now, only to be cheered if they got sold at a later date. Whatever leverage David Samson had on him was now nullified. He didn't have to disclose the fraud and an audit wouldn't bother commenting on the properties because they were deemed in the balance sheet to be worthless. No one would know. He was free.
*****
The six Muslims knelt together in meditation. David allowed Omar, chief of the team of five commandos, to lead them in prayer. Not because he was being respectful but instead due to the fact that David had forgotten the prayers.
David was not a devout Muslim, but he was a devout Arab. There was a big difference between the two. And there were a lot of Arabs just like him, although it wasn't something they generally shared with others. It was better to allow the religious fanatics to think they were just as fanatical. In truth, David thought religion was all a load of crap.
The six men rose from the floor and touched hands, bowing to each other. Then they embraced for a group hug. This hug wasn't a required part of the ritual—it was just a good old hug in acknowledgment that five of them would die tomorrow night. And proudly die. David used the religious shit whenever it suited his purposes—such as at times like this when he had to order men or women to sacrifice themselves. He had to play the game in order to get obedience.
They sat down on chairs in the main floor office of the old tenement house. This was the only place he ever met with his operatives. They had no idea that he actually lived in a luxury condominium a couple of blocks away. They'd be horrified if they knew. Fadiyah lived on the second floor of the house, and whenever David's men saw her coming or going they just assumed she was his woman. She wasn't home very much—Fadiyah spent most of her time at strip clubs, luring lecherous businessmen into David's traps. That was her job and she did it well. But David knew also that if he asked her to sacrifice herself, she would. She was a fanatic just like the others. Sex was her avenue to eternity, and she felt no guilt in using it to serve Allah.
David directed his attention to Omar, a tall and handsome Arab who no doubt hoped that his looks would help him secure the sexiest seventy-two virgins in paradise. He probably hoped they all looked like Fadiyah. David had noticed the way his eyes had wandered over her luscious body every time she walked through the house. David chuckled to himself—Omar would find out tomorrow night whether or not he was going to get lucky in paradise.
"Omar, my friend, do you have any l
ast minute questions for me?" Omar bowed his head. "No, Dawud, you have been very clear in your instructions. Everything is ready." All of David's associates used his given name. They understood that he had to have a western name to co-exist with the infidels, but they refused to use it. David didn't care.
"And the car is loaded?"
"Yes, all is secured."
"Then we are done here. I bid you all to go with Allah. Allah Akbar!"
In unison, the five men replied, "Allah Akbar!"
They left the house, on their way to eternity. David locked the door and walked back into his office muttering under his breath, "Allah Fuckbar, you fools."
Tomorrow night would be quite the night. He would lose five of his best men, but there were many more where they came from. David had no shortage of operatives. These five would not fail him. They were loyal, devoted to the cause, and had been expertly trained in some of the best camps in the Middle East.
Yes, tomorrow night would make a statement on behalf of all David's fellow Palestinians: 'Persist in denigrating the lives of people who were robbed of their homeland, and your lives will suffer denigration as well.'
And Mike Baxter and friends would be the sideshow to the main event, a role that a headliner like Mike was unfamiliar with.
Chapter 30
Mike glanced over at his wife, sitting coquettishly with her sexy legs crossed in the passenger seat of the Bimmer. She looked 'hot' in her Annie Oakley outfit. Surprisingly, she suited a cowboy hat. Mike made a mental note to take her to Alberta some July to attend the Calgary Stampede. She would fit right in. His eyes wandered down her legs to her smooth calves that were adorned with a pair of snakeskin boots which rose almost to knee level. For a brief moment he pictured Cindy with nothing on except those boots, the hat, and a lasso in hand. It was a nice image. Some women looked downright sexy in cowboy attire, and his wife was definitely one of them.