Gardener: The Roots Of Ancient Evil (2 page)

Three

              “Good afternoon, Mr. Ayres,” the receptionist said as Arnold entered the hotel lobby. He’d been staying here for a week, and they’d all gotten accustomed to him. Mid-fifties, very friendly, and a huge tipper. He usually ate very lightly, but was very generous with the servers. He was leaving for his date, one he’d carefully spent the last month setting up. One of many, it was a very invigorating hobby of his. They’d sent emails back and forth, she talking about the difficulties of campus life, her business classes, and how competitive the job market was. He’d responded with sympathy and generous payments of her tuition and several unexpected gifts. He always liked to overdeliver.

This was the fourth time he’d set up a meeting in as many months. They always went beautifully. He had his driver pick him up in front of the hotel. Even though he lived nearby, he’d learned long ago that it was best not to let them see where you lived. He’d told Addie, the girl he was seeing today, that he was from back east and he’d only be in town for this weekend. That would preclude her from visiting him unexpectedly, something he was very wary of.

His driver pulled up in front of her apartment complex. He called her and said he was waiting. He refused to use a text message. He looked up just in time to see her coming down the stairs, wearing the skirt he’d sent her just for this occasion. It highlighted her long thin legs and fantastic behind. He exited the car and stood waiting for her. She nearly knocked him over, leaping into his arms. Seeing as how he’d spent nearly fifty thousand dollars on her in the past month, this was not unexpected.

              “Did you find it OK?” she asked, pressing her breasts up against him.

              “Just like you said. Please,” he said and motioned for her to get into the back seat.

              “How do you have your own car, I thought you were just visiting?” she asked, looking around in the back seat.

              “Well, there are several services like this,” he explained.

              “Oh,” she said, nodding her head. She sat close to him, interlocking her fingers with his.

              “I thought we might have a picnic,” he said.

              “OK, whatever you want,” she responded, looking up at him with the most innocent expression she could.

              “Driver, take us to that park you showed me earlier,” he instructed.

              “Yes sir.”

              He opened the trunk; she helped him carry their supplies to the most secluded place they could find. Not a difficult task, as it was a weekday, and most of the people wandering around the central park were on the outer walkway, either walking alone or with dogs. The large center grass area was largely vacant.

              “So, tell me about your classes,” he asked after they’d spread out, he sitting cross-legged and she reclining back, her head in his lap.

              “Oh, just business stuff. The math part is actually pretty easy. I don’t know why people make such a big deal of it,” she said.

              “Have you thought of your plans yet, what you want to do when you finish?”

              “Not really. I talked to a couple recruiters last week, just to get an idea. I won’t finish until next spring, so I still have some time,” she said, lazily gazing up at him.

              “Well, it’s never too early to start looking,” he explained in a fatherly tone. “Say, you feel like taking a hike?” he asked.

              “Yeah, I brought my stuff like you said,” she answered. They slowly got up, and she packed all the uneaten food and put it back in the cooler. He carried it to the car.

              “Driver, take us to those trails we talked about earlier,” he said.

              “Yes sir.”

              An hour later, after driving up a windy road in the local mountains, they came to a small parking lot. There were no other cars. At the foot was a small sign indicating the three different hiking trails and their eventual destinations.

              “You said you’re in good shape, right?” he asked. She’d changed out of her skirt and into a pair of shorts and tennis shoes. He was wearing khakis and a T-shirt. Both carried small backpacks.

              “Yep, I go to the gym every day,” she said. “Where are we going?” she then asked, reading the signs.

              “Let’s try the meadow. It’s only three miles up, and I hear the view is fantastic,” he said. “Lead the way.”

She nodded and slowly started up the trail. He walked behind her slowly, inwardly relishing this part. The best part. The hour or so leading up to the event. He’d learned long ago that the anticipation of the event was much more enjoyable than the event itself. Always so fast, it was usually over just as soon as it had begun, no matter how many times he’d done it before. And there really was no way to prolong it, at least not that he’d discovered.

They stopped several times on the way up, she standing close to him while they took water from their packs and drank. After an hour and a half of hiking, they came to a small rise, which opened up to a large meadow with a creek running through it.

              “This is gorgeous!” she said, stopping. It wasn’t very large, about a half-acre of several different wildflowers, thickest near the barely audible creek.

              “Do you know a lot about flowers?” he asked as they made their way through them, following the sound of the creek.

              “Not really,” she said. “You?”

              “A little. More of a hobby than anything else. I think the view is over here,” he said, finding a small spot in the creek to cross. She followed him to the other side of the meadow. There was a small flat space of relatively low grass before the hill began descending into the valley below.

              “Wow!” she said, coming up beside him.

              “Perhaps we should have another picnic,” he said, taking off his pack and putting it down. She did the same. She moved close to him, pushing her breasts into his lower chest. He put his hands on her shoulders, leaned in, and kissed her. He slowly moved his hands down her sides and onto her lower back, pushing his erection into her, which she didn’t resist. He began taking off her clothes, as she helped him. Soon she was only wearing her tennis shoes.

              “Turn around,” he said.

She complied, and pushed herself into him. She reached back and began undoing his pants. He slowly took her hands, moving them in front of her. She pushed her body back into his, allowing him to guide her. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out the blade. He put his left hand on her forehead, slowly turning her head, she eagerly and obediently allowing him. Once her head was completely sideways, he brought the blade up. Wholly focused on the sheer beauty of her nude body pressed up against him, he quickly severed her carotid in one practiced motion. He then tossed the blade behind him and deftly reached up with his right hand and held her small wrists against her stomach while she bled to death. Her body protested slightly, but within a minute, she’d gone limp. He carefully laid her down, face up, gratified that her eyes were still open. He slowly ran his fingers over her breasts, now covered in blood. Smiled and spent a moment enjoying her like this. A month’s patience and fifty thousand dollars in expenses was well worth it. Finally he stood and pulled out his cell phone, calling his driver.

              “Max, I’m ready for you,” he said.

              “Yes sir, I’ll be up in about an hour,” he replied.

He then went back to the meadow, picking only the most recently bloomed flowers, and carefully laid them on her body.

              “Such beauty,” he said out loud, and then sat and enjoyed the view, waiting for his driver, Max, to come and help him remove all traces of her from existence.

              “Hello,” Tommy said professionally. He hadn’t recognized the number, which meant it could be a potential job.

              “Mr. Ricker, my name is Cristina Robson, with Shea Industries. I’m calling in reference to a recent application of yours,” she said plainly.

              “Yes, of course,” Tommy replied and stood. He tried to soundlessly move to his laptop in his bedroom. He’d been sending out resumes like mad, and had no idea who Shea Industries was.

              “We like what we see so far, and we’d like you to come in for a preliminary screening. How is your schedule?”

Tommy paused briefly. If he said it was wide open, she’d think he was desperate. On the other hand, if he pretended to be too busy, he may miss the opportunity of his life.

              “To tell you the truth, it’s kind of full, however, I can be flexible,” he said. Sure it was full. Carrying people’s food around.

              “How does this afternoon sound, I do understand it’s short notice,” she said casually. Tommy suspected she would have said that no matter what he’d said.

              “Sure. When and where?” he asked, hoping he wouldn’t have to spend too much money traveling. So far, the furthest distance he’d been asked to travel just for an interview was over two hundred miles.

              “Please come to our local office in Colorado Springs. Two PM OK?” she asked, finally revealing a human voice tone.

              “Sounds perfect,” he said.

              “Excellent,” she said and ended the call.

Tommy was a little taken aback by her abruptness, but had long realized that it was a buyer’s market. For every decent job, there were hundreds of applicants, which meant hiring managers didn’t need to be polite. Two PM. He was scheduled to work at eleven, but he’d told Mallory when they’d hired him at the restaurant that any job interview would take precedence. Lucky for Tommy, she’d understood.

After he called her and explained, he decided to do as much research on Shea Industries as he could. After an hour of searching, it appeared to be a large real estate holding company. They weren’t involved in direct customer sales, so their website had little information other than investor relations, which Tommy knew was to be taken with a huge grain of salt. Luckily, it was in town; they’d just opened a local office.

              He sat down with his large black coffee, knowing it was a dangerous choice. He was wearing his best suit, which was also his only suit. A blue rep tie with a white shirt. One drop of coffee on his white shirt and he could kiss his job opportunity goodbye. He was only a few blocks from the HR office. He’d driven by, checked out the parking situation, and decided that if he pulled into the guest parking lot at ten minutes before two, he’d be fine. Now it was one. He was sitting at the back table in the coffee shop, taking notes about their financials. He wanted to ask intelligent questions, but it was tough to find anything other than vague mission statements and a desire for good corporate citizenship. It wasn’t a publicly traded company, so there was little financial information available.

At one fifteen, his phone buzzed. He checked the number and smiled.

              “Let me guess, you need me to bail you out of prison?” Tommy asked right away.

              “Sort of,” came the reply without hesitation. “I need more like a prison break. I’ll send the coordinates; can you dig a tunnel right up into my cell? And bring me something to eat? Man, prison food sucks!” he added.

              “What are you up to?” Tommy asked after laughing out loud, and not being able to come up with a response quick enough.

              “I got a business proposition,” Marco said.

Tommy grinned, not sure if he was still joking or not. Marco was very good at sniffing out income opportunities. Mostly short-lived, sometimes bordering on illegal.

              “Oh yeah? You got some kind of pension scam going?” Tommy asked, looking around and lowering his voice slightly.

              “No, sir, this is legit. It’s the next thing in lending, seriously,” he replied.

              “What, you going to be a loan shark?” Tommy asked.

              “No, but it’s definitely low-credit lending, and it’s really taking off,” Marco said, clearly excited.

              “Don’t you need a lot of capital for that?”

              “No, this is the whole new thing. Peer-to-peer lending,” Marco explained.             

              “Really. How exactly does that work?” Tommy asked, curious.

              “We put together people looking for yield, small to medium investors that want more than the zero point zero one percent their banks are offering,”

              “And who are the borrowers?”

              “Folks that don’t have such good credit,” he said. “Or people that don’t have much room on their credit cards.”

              “Yeah, but that means they’re a huge risk,” Tommy replied, unsure.

              “But here’s the thing. These are short-term loans. Qualified borrowers have to have some kind of asset, a non-traditional asset they can use as collateral.”

              “You mean things a regular bank wouldn’t take, like the family silver or something, right?”

              “Exactly!”

              “So how do you make your cut?” Tommy asked.

              “We’ll get five percent from each loan,” Marco explained.

              “These are short-term loans, you said?”
              “Yeah, two, three months. Max.”

              “So the lenders either get paid or they get the collateral,” Tommy reasoned.

              “And we get five percent off each one,” Marco said, excited.

              “What’s the market for these?” Tommy asked, wondering how many people would borrow or lend money online.

              “It’s huge, man. We’re not even at the bottom of the S-curve yet,” Marco said, meaning the point at which a slowly growing trend suddenly explodes in popularity.

              “And what you do want me for?” Tommy asked, wondering what Marco’s hook would be.

              “You’d be perfect for follow-up calls. We’d set up the website, offer lenders an opportunity to make ten, twenty percent on their money. Then we’d also get contact information from potential borrowers. You would call people needing in excess of, say, ten grand, and help close them,” Marco said.

Now Tommy understood why he’d called him.

              “Man, that sounds horrible! You want me to call people that are in severe financial distress, and convince them to go deeper in debt? That’s terrible!” he said, laughing.

              “Yeah, but you know nobody can do this better than you. When it comes to selling, you’re the best there is!” Marco said, buttering him up.

              “Look, buddy,” Tommy said, ribbing his friend, “I’m trying to become a financial professional. Not some sleazy sales creep,” he said, growing self-conscious.

              “Yeah, but sleazy sales creeps always make the most money!” Marco said.

He did have a point. There was a lot of money to be made in sales.

              “That’s tempting, Marco, it really is. But I just don’t see myself dialing for dollars all day, like some guy in a boiler room,” he said. “Plus, it’s too confrontational, I hate that stuff.”

              “Yeah, but you’re good at it. You know you’re good at it,” Marco said, sensing his uncertainty.

              “Correct, but I always feel like I’m conning people,” Tommy said, lowering his voice. “I told you this already, Marco. That’s just not who I want to be. I spend all day pushing people to buy stuff they don’t want, I’ll end up an angry drunk.”

              “I hear you, man. Look, I got a couple people that are interested, you change your mind or need to make some quick cash, you know who to call,” Marco said.

              “Yeah. Hey, have you ever heard anything about Shea Industries?” Tommy said, glancing at the time. Twenty more minutes.

              “Didn’t they build that baseball stadium?” Marco said absentmindedly.

              “Jesus, you’re an idiot,” Tommy said, laughing, and ended the call.