Back at Prolea there was a package delivery for Hilton Sinclair, the President of Prolea. The good-looking delivery guy who was making the delivery had the package on a trolley. He leaned over the desk calmly as the receptionist signed for it. After he took back the clipboard, he indicated the delivery was pretty heavy and asked her if it made sense for him to just wheel it on back to Mr. Sinclair’s office. “I think it’s golf clubs,” he said. “I can unwrap it if you want.” She smiled to herself. Little did the guy know, Mr. Sinclair was officially unemployed. She wasn’t going to miss Hilton, either; he had always acted so arrogantly around the office. There was some question in her mind whether the package was for Hilton or the “position” of President at Prolea. The bottom line was that she didn’t want the thing just sitting out in her reception area all afternoon. It could be hours before the idiots in the mailroom got around to carting it off. The delivery guy was all business; kind of cute in that uniform. She directed the man down the hall to Hilton’s former office and he walked briskly down the hall. In a few minutes, Martin, posing as the delivery guy, had unpacked the original Wisconsin canisters, and put them in a drawer in Hilton’s old desk. Then he gathered up the wrappings—and the golf bag—and hustled out to a waiting elevator and into the parking lot.
CHAPTER 58
It was nearing lunchtime and Hilton called Anita. “I want to see you,” he said coldly.
“Wow, aren’t we Mr. Happy today?” Anita chided him, but he did not seem amused.
“Is Martin around?” asked Hilton.
“News flash: Martin resigned,” said Anita.
“What? When?” Hilton asked.
“There was a big meeting and Martin got all pissed off and walked out,” said Anita. “Not a big surprise, really. He had a big altercation a couple of weeks ago during annual planning. I think he has told a lot of people he’s had it with Basin Oil.”
Hilton thought this over carefully. Not really a surprise. Martin told Hilton he was thinking about making a change. “Meet me at the hotel at the regular time.” He wasn’t asking her—he was telling her.
“Aren’t you picking me up?” she asked.
“I’ll leave a key for you at the front desk. I’m running a little late today. Just meet me over there.” Click.
He hung up so quickly that she literally looked into the phone receiver as if to see if he was still there. Then she slammed the phone back into the cradle and said, “I really missed you too, you bastard.”
Hilton got to the hotel before Anita. First, oil prices had stayed down when he had been at Prolea and he was on the ropes with his oil trading. Then he hands five hundred thousand dollars to Martin, to get rid of him. For nothing. There was no oil. One of his oldest friends double-crosses him, over what turns out to be a bogus oil field. Jesus, how bad can it get? Now he has gotten his ass fired, and on top of it, Anita is whining to him about when he’s going to get “serious.” Yes, it was time for him to take matters into his own hands. He dropped his gun down on the dresser top and went into the bathroom. Anita would show up any minute.
She had called her lunchtime replacement down in Legal and told her she was going out for lunch after all. If the lady could be sure to come up right at 11:45 a.m. it would be great. Anita had on an old dresses, but a favorite. Alone, she walked out into the parking lot and drove off in her old clunky car. The car was starting good now that she had gotten it fixed. She really wasn’t in the mood to see Hilton. When he asked her to meet him in the room, it was pretty clear what he was after. She had driven over to the hotel a few times before by herself when he had asked her, as a favor, to meet him. This time he hadn’t really asked her; he told her to be there. Still, she couldn’t just say “No” to Hilton and risk losing him—or could she? She picked up the key at the front desk and took the elevator up to the third floor. She slipped the key into the lock and withdrew it quickly, but the lock didn’t open. Just as she was reinserting it a second time, she heard the lock click and Hilton threw open the door and motioned her in.
He was wearing only a towel. His clothes were on the chair. Her dress was a black one with seven large, white buttons down the front of it. He stood in front of her and began to unbutton her dress, first the top button, then the second.
“So how are you doing? Are you glad to see me?” Anita asked.
“Shhh.” Hilton was moving very slowly, moving to the third button and then the fourth.
“How was your trip?” Asked Anita.
“Quiet,” said Hilton. It was as if he were talking to a dog. He unbuttoned the last buttons and pulled her dress off, throwing it onto the chair. He reached and quickly unsnapped her bra.
“Hilton, I want to talk; at least a little bit.” This was how you treated a prostitute, not your girlfriend.
“I said ‘quiet,’” Hilton barked, and he pulled the bra down roughly over her arms and threw it on top of her crumpled dress lying on the chair.
“Damn it, Hilton, stop. I want to talk first!” Now she was getting angry.
Suddenly, he grabbed her roughly and threw her face down onto the bed, forcing himself upon her. He was angry. She was naked and helpless. She tried to move her head from side to side in the deep pillow to get air, but each time she moved, Hilton clamped her neck all the harder and forced her head deeper into the pillow. She tried to scream, but her lungs were nearly empty, and her desperate shriek was barely audible through the pillow. She reached back with her hands flailing at Hilton while she fought for each breath, but he pulled her arms behind her back and forced the last bit of air out of her lungs. Finally, after ten minutes of rough treatment, he flopped down on the bed and she could get her breath. After a few minutes, he rose up off the bed and went into the bathroom.
She lay still, for a moment not realizing that she was free. Then she forced herself to move, and seeing her dress on the chair, she found the energy to quickly move toward it and put it on. She glanced at the dresser and stared at the gun. She looked for her shoes as she hurried to close a few buttons on the dress. Still barefoot but with her shoes in one hand and her purse in the other, she turned for the door. Suddenly, inches from the door latch, Hilton grabbed her by the collar of the dress and dragged her back into the center of the room.
“I didn’t say I was finished with you,” Hilton said bluntly. In his right hand was the gun. Anita shuddered at the sight of it. Hilton, seeing her reaction, smiled, and held it in her face before slipping it inside the top of her unbuttoned dress. “You told me one time you like to play rough, right?” Still holding her by the collar of her dress, Anita felt chills run up her back as he ran the cold steel of the gun barrel over and around each of her breasts.
“Hilton. No. You hurt me.” He had turned into a madman. Clearly satisfied with the result, he finally swung her again by the collar and she went sprawling onto the bed, her shoes and handbag flying across the room.
“Now stay there until I get dressed,” said Hilton. And he walked back into the bathroom still naked. In a moment he came walking back out, now fully dressed. He went over and sat down on the chair and began to lace up his shoes.
“You stay here for an hour after I leave. Settle down a bit. If you want, you can call your office and tell them you need to go home because you’re feeling sick or something. I’ll call you the next time I need you.”
“There won’t be a next time,” said Anita quietly under her breath.
“What did you say?” he raised his voice even though he had heard her perfectly.
“I said there won’t be a next time.” She cowered under the covers expecting him to strike her.
Hilton glowered at her. “Oh, there will be a next time if I say there will be. And a next time and a next time. Nobody messes around with Hilton Sinclair. Not the French. Not Larry. Not your dumbshit boyfriend Martin, either. Nobody. If you don’t understand that then maybe I need to give you another lesson before I leave here today.”
He tied his shoes
, and stood up, placing the gun under his belt in back. “Now you stay here for a while and get yourself cleaned up. You look like shit. I’m going to pay your little friend Martin a visit. He owes me some money. Oh, and don’t get any ideas about calling the cops on me. If anyone tells me that you’ve even mentioned me, or Martin, or Wisconsin in the same breath, you won’t live long enough to regret it.” He slammed the door and was gone.
CHAPTER 59
After speaking with Liz, Martin had headed back to his apartment at the Memorial Creole. Anita called him on his regular cell phone as he drove through the gate.
“What did you do to Hilton?” Anita sounded upset.
“I didn’t do anything to Hilton,” said Martin. “What are you talking about?”
“I just saw Hilton at the hotel. He is acting crazy. He beat me. He threatened me. He has a gun,” Anita wasn’t crying but her voice cracked when she said the word “gun.” “He said you owe him some money.”
“Jesus, he has a gun?” Martin felt a chill go down his spine.
“Yeah, and he said he was going to pay you a visit.” Anita was worried. “What did you do to him?”
“If you just knew…” Martin paused. He couldn’t tell Anita anything. “I did talk to him about some business ideas,” said Martin. Anita had no idea that Hilton had roughed up Martin, “stolen” the oil leases and dropped five hundred thousand dollars in Martin’s apartment.
“Martin, I shouldn’t have done this, but I gave Hilton some of your files. Is that why he is all crazy? Hilton knew you were up to something. I went into your work files. He asked me to do some digging on you and I gave him your “Checq Files.” I made some printouts for him,” Anita confessed.
“Oh Christ Anita, you never should have done that. Those were secret files. You gave those to Hilton?” Martin remained calm. He knew damn well Anita had given Hilton the files. He had set it all up and it worked out perfectly. Hilton got played. Hilton believed that he had forced Martin to give up the oil discovery. Hilton thought the leases were worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Even for five hundred thousand dollars, Hilton thought he was getting a bargain. Martin couldn’t help but smile, even as he shut off the car and sat talking to Anita.
“Answer me, Martin. Is that what this is about? That stuff I gave to Hilton?” Anita sounded concerned.
“I don’t know Anita, but you must never, ever tell anyone you did that. You could go to prison. Hilton might do something really bad to you if you told anyone about this. That was super confidential information and it’s probably what has Hilton waving a gun around.” Martin sounded concerned about Anita.
Anita paused. There was a silence. “He just left here three minutes ago. Like I said, he said he was going to pay you a visit. I’m afraid. I’m afraid for you, Martin. Hilton is in a rage. I know what he is capable of.”
“All right. Thank you for warning me, Anita. You mean the world to me. And don’t ever tell anyone you gave those files to Hilton. Nobody will ever know. And don’t tell anyone that there’s a connection between you and me and Hilton. It could be bad for all of us.” Martin was still very calm. None of this was a surprise to Martin. He knew Hilton would come for him. He knew Hilton had a gun. Probably that same gun that Hilton had used for the Russian roulette demonstration.
“I won’t say a word, Martin.” Anita had settled down.
“Okay. Good. Listen Anita, I’ve got to go. Thanks for the call.” Martin hung up.
Martin changed quickly into jeans and work boots and a T-shirt. He hadn’t been working out much, but he had been slowly getting back into shape after he moved out. He still had the build of a linebacker. He took one of his softball bats and leaned it against the couch. Then he ducked out the backdoor. He started his car and moved it out of his assigned parking space, far down on the end of the apartment complex. Returning to his front door, he stood on his tip toes, reached up and unscrewed the light bulb over the porch by his front door. Then he did the same to two of his adjacent neighbors. If his plan was going to work, when nighttime arrived, he was going to need the cover of darkness. He came back into the apartment and walked around to check all of the window and door locks. Martin was pretty sure that when Hilton came for him, it would be through the front door again. The last time, Hilton had apparently picked the front lock because there were no signs of forced entry. Martin hadn’t even bothered to change the locks after their last encounter. It seemed futile. Martin hadn’t been here for a few days anyway—he had been camped out at the hotel. Martin had always knew at some point Hilton would come back for him, especially when the fake oil was discovered. Definitely for Hilton to get his five hundred thousand back. Maybe to kill him. Martin had spent time earlier in the day, visiting the seven banks where he had set up accounts and Martin withdrew seventy-five thousand from each of them in cash. He had the five hundred grand hidden in his closet. He retrieved the locked suitcase with the money and poured the cash into 3 big shopping bags. Martin couldn’t be positive that Hilton himself would show up. Hilton might send one of his goons. Might even be Larry, if Larry was back from Wisconsin. There was no real way to know if or when Hilton would show up. Martin kept telling himself to relax. Focus. When Martin had reflected on it, he felt like he now knew Hilton. He knew Hilton had a huge ego. He knew Hilton thought Martin was weak. Hilton would probably enjoy coming over and threatening Martin again. Hilton really was probably on his way to the apartment right now.
Martin was pretty sure that Hilton still didn’t know what had happened. Hilton might have looked back over the papers and files that Anita had given to Hilton, but they really told him nothing. Hilton knew the stuff he had gotten from Martin showed oil. Where was the oil? Not in Wisconsin. By now Hilton would certainly have heard there was no oil. The damn governor had said there was no oil. But Hilton would have no idea how Martin and Wisconsin and Empire Oil and Arbor Energy had all “found” these oil reserves at the same time. How could they have all gotten it wrong? Basin Oil and Arbor were established oil companies. Could it have been coincidence that Wisconsin and Martin had somehow found this old data at the same time?
Thoughts rushed through Martin’s head. Martin’s heart was pumping wildly. Martin wondered what the conversation was like between Hilton and Larry when they found out there was no oil. It couldn’t have been pleasant. Martin wasn’t afraid of Hilton any longer. Martin wasn’t afraid of anything anymore. Liz had made Martin this way. Liz had shaken him up. Telling him he wasn’t driven enough, wasn’t hungry enough. Hilton wasn’t catching Martin by surprise this time. It would actually be tempting for Martin to just give Hilton his money back and be done with him. Nobody knew it, but Martin had over forty million dollars in the bank. He had the five hundred grand ready to hand over. But in fact, Hilton was a predator. He would keep coming for Martin. Or maybe he just wanted the money. Yet, Hilton might somehow find out Martin had made a fortune. Hilton might finally figure out that Martin had tricked him, planted the false documents where Anita could find them. A banker might inadvertently tell Hilton about one of his trading customers named Martin who had “hit it big.” Hard to keep a secret around Hilton. There were a lot of risks. Martin’s thoughts flashed back to his boss at Basin Oil leaning into Martin’s office to tell Martin in hushed tones how so-and-so had seen Hilton with Liz on the sailboat. Martin gripped the softball bat even tighter. He was done with taking crap from people like Hilton. Guns didn’t bother Martin either. He had grown up with guns. Hunted with guns since he was twelve years old. Hilton couldn’t just shoot Martin. How would he get his money back? Even if Martin lost everything now, he was okay with that. He thought of where he had come from. He had more than toughened up. It was now Martin who had the killer instinct.
Martin had turned off all of the lights. He needed to be quiet. Hilton had no idea what Martin knew, and would think the apartment was empty. Martin leaned back in the stuffed chair in the corner of the living room and held the big aluminum softball bat in hi
s hands, turning it over and over again, waiting for Hilton. After what seemed like hours, Martin heard footsteps. Gravel crunching near his front door. Martin quietly got to his feet and stood behind the door with his softball bat. He saw the lock turn slowly on the front door. Hilton cracked open the door and carefully took a half step over the threshold, the gun held firmly in his right hand. Martin swung down the bat with full strength on Hilton’s arm and the gun went flying. Hilton groaned and stumbled forward into the living room. As Martin reached back for a second swing, Hilton regained his balance and charged headlong into Martin. But Martin was already in midswing and brought the bat down across Hilton’s back with a dull thud. Hilton yelled in agony but hung on to Martin and dragged Martin to the floor. Hilton landed on top of Martin and pounded on Martin’s face with his fists. Suddenly Hilton stopped his onslaught and lunged in the direction of the gun. Martin dove on top of Hilton just as he reached the handgun. Martin landed on Hilton’s back and heard the air rush out of Hilton’s lungs. Hilton still clung to the gun. Martin put his hands over Hilton’s hands and they fought for the gun. “You piece of shit,” said Martin. “I’m twice the man you’ll ever be.”
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