Finding Parker

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual events, locales, or persons living or dead, are coincidental.

Copyright © 2014 by Scott Hildreth

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the author or publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use the material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at
[email protected]
. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

Cover Art

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PROLOGUE

“In your professional opinion?” I looked out the window and waited for him to respond.

“My opinion would be just that, an opinion. As far as medical facts go, it’s hard to…” the doctor began to explain.

“I did not ask for medical facts. I requested an opinion. Entertain me,” my voice was remarkably calm considering the response I expected to receive.

“I’ve never been one to give opinions, but if you insist,” the phone went silent as he paused for a moment.

The sound of breathing confirmed his presence on the phone. I gazed through the glass and into the courtyard as I waited for a response he was obviously uncomfortable providing. As I scanned the grounds for landscaping imperfections, he began to speak.

“It’s difficult to say with any degree of certainty, but my
opinion
would be as follows,” he took a shallow breath.

“Foregoing any treatment, I suspect between six months and a year. Treatment, as I have continued to express, could be one hundred percent successful. We have seen great successes with chemotherapy and radiation, especially at this stage. You are well aware of my professional recommendation, and I reserve hope you’ll change your mind,” he paused, hoping for a favorable response.

“Thanks, Doc. Six months it is. I’ll make arrangements holding onto the hope of one hundred and eighty days of splendor. Have you anything else?” I smiled and turned from the window as I glanced at my watch.

“Well, I’d like to go on the record as stating that treatment could be successful. Take some time to consider what may be if you would subject yourself to…”

“I hate to interrupt Doc, but I have a quick question. Treatment aside, what are the chances of living? Let us say…of living through this
without
treatment? A miracle, if you will?” I asked.

Silence filled the room.

His voice broke the silence and provided the answer I expected, “Zero. There’s not a chance,”

“Duly noted, Doc. Thank you for your time,” I said as I pressed the button on the center of the phone’s screen, ending the call.

Six months.

I needed to get busy. I had a wedding to plan.

PARKER.
Throughout my latter years of high school, I had hope of receiving a formal education at a University and becoming one of the many professional adults that were gainfully employed in the United States. Upon my graduation from high school, I received an academic scholarship to the University of California San Diego, and eagerly moved halfway across the United States to attend college in the warmth and comfort of southern California.

I had no expectation, however, of completing college and being one of the three and a half percent of the population which was unemployed. In retrospect, attending UCSD and receiving a business degree was probably not in my best interest. Humanities, Fine Arts, Social Science, or one of the many other options would have suited me more favorably from a marketability standpoint in the eyes of a potential employer.

Being eighteen years old, a senior in high school, and making decisions regarding our future as a professional adult should not be allowed. What we believe we want at an early age and what is practical are two totally different things. We are far too young and inexperienced as a senior in high school to understand our future, and far too stubborn to admit it.

After a month of unemployment, I made yet another great decision regarding my future and began seeking employment through advertisements on Craigslist. Although I had avoided the infamous Craigslist killer, I encountered approximately one hundred scams, half a dozen jobs paying less than minimum wage – in cash, and no less than three offers to act as a male prostitute.

I now sat in the law office of Sullivan, Heicht, and Astur waiting on Mr. Astur to see me. This morning, after two solid weeks of searching the same advertisements, a new ad was posted. The manner in which it was drafted made it very interesting and highly unlikely it was a scam. As I glanced around the lavish digs and waited for Mr. Astur, I was quite satisfied this was real. I opened the advertisement on my phone and read it again, making certain of the requirements.

YOUNG ATTRACTIVE EDUCATED MALE WITH HIGH MORAL VALUE

Employer seeks a young educated male who exhibits a high degree of moral value. Applicant must be between 5’-9 and 5’-11, dark hair, and not a drug user. Occasional consumption of alcohol is acceptable.

Must have current driver’s license free of infractions. Must be a college graduate. Must be right handed. Must be single, yet willing to entertain the thought of being in a relationship. Must be willing to follow directions and capable of being trusted. Applicant, if accepted, will be required to sign a twenty-four month contract of employment.

Job requires seven days a week of availability.

Compensation package: $80,000/year, company provided transportation, business related expenses, and health insurance.

All interested applicants need apply to the email address as provided. Parties of interest will be interviewed accordingly.

I had read the advertisement multiple times. One thing which troubled me was the lack of description regarding the required skill sets. There was no listed expectation of the employer concerning job performance of the employee. I turned my phone off, placed it into my pocket, and let my imagination run wild.

Actor. Hit man. Bodyguard. Personal assistant.

A personal assistant to a Hollywood type could be very entertaining. I allowed thoughts of working as a personal assistant to Hollywood’s finest fill me. Mila Kunis has always been fascinating to me; maybe I would be her assistant. Ashton’s schedule probably prohibited him from spending a sufficient amount of time by Mila’s side. A personal assistant could solve all of her concerns regarding Ashton’s absence. As I closed my eyes and attempted to resurrect an accurate profile of Mila Kunis, I heard footsteps.

I blinked my eyes and looked up from the floor.

Somewhat fascinated, I watched as an extremely attractive thirty-something year old brunette dressed in a dark navy skirt and fitted blazer walked down the hallway until she stood directly in front of me. As she stopped walking, she smiled. I promptly stood and returned the smile. Her dark framed glasses were a superb addition to an otherwise perfect face.

“Parker Bale?” she asked as she raised her eyebrows in what was more than likely false wonder.

“Yes ma’am. I am Parker Bale,” I responded as I nodded my head sharply and extended my hand.

She glanced down at my hand and blinked her eyes, “Call me Lisa. Mr. Astur and Mr. Ward are waiting. Follow me if you will.”

Gracefully, she turned and began walking down the corridor. As the sound of her heels echoed down the hallway, I followed. Her walk was interesting to say the very least. Each step was as if it were predetermined. It did not appear she was walking by
choice
; it seemed the tile floor was sucking her feet into the exact location they needed to fall into, allowing her to complete perceived walking perfection. I alternated glances between her feet and the hallway in front of us until she stopped.

“Gentlemen, Parker Bale,” she smiled as she motioned toward the open door on her left.

I stepped in front of Lisa and into the doorway. Two men, one approximately mid-sixties in age, and one I suspected in his early-forties stood from their respective seats and smiled. The elder of the two was dressed in a business suit and tie. The younger wore jeans and a V-neck T-shirt. As they stood, I walked around the corner of the large table and extended my hand.

“I’m Kenton Ward. My pleasure Mr. Bale,” the younger gentlemen said as he shook my hand and smiled.

I turned to face the elder of the two and held my hand in front of my waist as I made eye contact with him. With his lips pursed, he studied my eyes. The few seconds that passed seemed like moments as I waited for his hand to reach mine. The gold specs in his green eyes provided him a certain peculiar presence. As his hand gripped mine, he smiled.

“Hec Astur,” he lowered his chin as he spoke.

Heck Ahhhsture.
The manner in which the name rolled from his tongue gave him a greater degree of intrigue. As he released my hand he pointed to a chair positioned on the other side of the table.

“Please, have a seat,” he said as he motioned to the chair.

“Thank you, Lisa. Close the door if you will,” he nodded his head slightly toward the door.

I heard the door close softly as I lowered myself into the ergonomically engineered mesh office chair. As I rested my forearms onto the arms of the chair, I slowly inched closer to the table. Mr. Ward studied me as he lowered himself into his seat and cleared his throat.

“Would you like a beverage? We expect this may take half of an hour,” Mr. Astur asked.

“Water if you have it,” I responded as I struggled to position my chair the perfect distance from the edge of the table.

“Bottle or glass?” he raised his chin as he asked.

“Bottle please,” I responded.

Mr. Astur turned toward Mr. Ward, smirked, and walked to the rear of the large room. As Mr. Astur walked away, Mr. Ward glanced in my direction and smiled while he rubbed his hands together.

“Mr. Bale,” Mr. Astur said as he handed me the bottle of water.

Nervously, I held the cold bottle of water in my hands as Mr. Astur walked to the other side of the table and remained standing.

“I represent Mr. Ward from a legal standpoint. I have drafted a contract for the employee which will bind him to the conditions of said contract with Mr. Ward, the employer. In a moment, Mr. Ward will go over his intent regarding employment, but remember,” he hesitated as he slid a half inch thick pile of paper across the table.

“The contract governs,” he blinked his green eyes and sat down.

“Mr. Ward,” Mr. Astur said as he straightened the pile of papers in front of him.

“I’ll keep this informal. As you have probably wondered regarding your requested attire for this meeting, I wanted you to be comfortable. Are you comfortable, Mr. Bale?” Mr. Ward spoke slowly, clearly, concisely and properly pronounced every syllable in each prospective word. 

“Quite,” I nodded as I removed the lid from my bottle of water.

Upon sending my initial email in response to the advertisement, I was advised to
wear whatever you’d be comfortable wearing to meet a woman for a cup of coffee at the Barnes and Noble in the Gas Lamp district
to my job interview. An address and a meeting time were provided. Sitting here now, dressed in Khaki’s, a wrinkle-free dress T-shirt, and light blue Sperry’s, I felt uncomfortable in the presence of these two men who peered over the table as I took a drink from my unbelievably cold bottle of water.