Not Always: Parts IV and IV

Part IV – The Indy 500 of Business

It lasted only forty seconds. The same amount of time it takes an average Indy car to circumnavigate the 2 1/2 mile oval at Indianapolis Motor Speedway. While the thrill of reaching 240 miles per hour in the back straightaway reaches nirvana for those special drivers, this round of emotionless sex was becoming more a chore each time performed, Tina thought. But it had its uses.

Tina DeBois had grown up dirt poor in the backwoods of Tennessee. Her uncle ran moonshine, bought off sunglass-laden sheriffs and been too friendly with her. But she fixed him – Bobbit style – and escaped to the North, like a runaway slave on the Underground Railroad. After bouncing from shelter to shelter, passing through a dozen cities in three years, Tina met Bobby in New York.

Bobby was a semi-handsome, Gregory Peck look-a-like pimp, but a nice one, that took considerable interest in Tina for more than sex. She got a better deal than the rest of Bobby’s “non-exempt” employees in getting an opportunity to attend community college during the day. Majoring in business, Tina went through an associate’s degree at SUNY in a year with all A’s.

Her going rate at night was 1,500 dollars up front, 500 extra for kink, another 250 for special dress, the cop, nurse or cheerleader fetish. Bobby only took 10% back from her; his usual kickback was 25% to 35% from 50 different girls of lesser quality. Before long, she had a considerable bank account and a closer relationship with Bobby than anyone else in years.

After nine months, they parted ways semi-amicably. Even after their sexual-symbiotic relationship climaxed and faded away, Tina could call on Bobby. He no longer made attempts to get sex from her; only wondered when she would be running the place.

Tina finished up her bachelors at City University of New York’s, Brooklyn College, once again getting all A’s. With that, she opened the door to Wall Street’s Hass, Zitters & Moss Mergers & Acquisition Department as the international finance secretary for Mr. Hyrum Hass, an overweight legend from the 1980’s when Wall Street hummed along under the depraved dealings of Ivan Boesky and Michael Milken. Hyrum got his success the old fashion way: piggy backing on other peoples’ money train. Though never caught, he was making the most of the inside information game. And nothing ever really changed.

As Hyrum rolled off Tina, and the satisfied and contented man came back to his real purpose, Tina leaned over to the night stand, got a pill and swallowed.

“So you think she heard our plans?” Hyrum reached for a snifter of double malt scotch.

“Enough, I suppose. But not enough to do anything about it. When you want me contact Bobby?” Tina was gently massaging the salt-n-pepper hair on Hyrum’s chest.

“Won’t be too long — the Arabs are anxious to get this deal done.”

“I don’t like using her child in this — even as a bargaining chip — but we’ll do it all right.”

“It has to be done. Preoccupied people are careless people.” Hyrum reflects pensively. “Those Arabs are doing much worse.”

“Yeah, they really have a knack for chaos. Thousands of years of practice, I suppose.” Tina adds.

“Well, it will be worth it. It always is on the street.” As Hyrum closes his eyes to snooze, Tina smiles almost innocently.

Part V- Texas Tea

Thousands of miles away from New York in a bright midday sun rides a fully-loaded silver Binz S-class limousine at high speed down what would be considered an immaculate freeway. The temperature in the car was a comfortable 66 degrees, 40 degrees cooler than a normal Middle East day.

The tall, tan, athletic 40ish man in the back was dressed impeccably in suit costing five thousand dollars, without the shoes. He was a renegade in his world – a world filled with renegades. He had the discipline of very few of his ilk. Spent days thinking out things, that others made snap judgments in minutes or hours. That cost them their lives or the lives of others they cared about.

The misconception in the world is that all Arabian Muslims don’t care about life. They do. Even more than many Christians or Jews. The problem was the various sides were starkly influenced by religion, national pride and secular concerns that fiercely divided the people from Algeria to Bangladesh. And the warring factions made and broke treaties in such short order that trust and understanding was no longer a realistic option. Yet they survived in the most inhospitable lands, while controlling what every other country wanted: oil.

Suresh Mamghatti Husam’s father was a successful bazaar owner in India. Through the marketplaces, Suresh learned plenty from his father. Patience and neutrality in business being the most important. Because of that, Suresh did not let religion or country of origin bother him. He made deals. And smoothed over the minute differences he had with others by knowing their hearts and their ambitions.

He adapted to the scenario, even learning languages and dialects to fit the purpose. Even though Suresh never went to a university, he incorporated his father’s advice and his innate talents for language and a photographic-like memory to met the tasks at hand.

This task though ran counter to all of that.

His cell phone rang, after a brief conversation in Hindustani, Suresh tapped hard with his cane on the bullet proof dividing glass between him and the driver. The Iranian driver answered in very good English over the intercom, “Where to sir?”

“Head to Mahtenash Corporate. Call ahead to the switchboard for Mr. Yuri Gomach.”

“Yes sir.”

Suresh had finalized the details – 200 trained men, armed and loaded with explosives – were his to command. 500 million dollars was a conservative take on his “minor role” in this scenario. Suresh Mamghatti Husam was now in charge of blowing up the largest oil pipelines and refineries in the Middle East and Russia.

Coming Soon…

Part VI – Blame it on Rio or “Taken”

This is a bad work of fiction…no events, places or people exist as far as this blogger knows. Keep that in mind…

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Comments

  • Elaine  On June 9, 2007 at 7:00 pm

    You leave me hanging again! I wouldn’t call it a bad work of fiction but hey I’m just a nurse so what do I know about writing, other than make it short and objective or the docs will never read it!

  • Bipolar Wellness Writer  On June 10, 2007 at 7:41 am

    JayPee,
    Another winner! “She fixed him Bobbit style, and escaped to the North like a runaway slave.” Very nice! So, are you naming him Suresh after the guy on Heroes? You have a real knack at pulp fiction. You may have missed your calling!
    Susan

  • cooper  On June 11, 2007 at 10:12 pm

    You’ll never know how happy I am that this blog is not totally …about baseball.

    This is very some good stuff. I’m glad I stopped by.

    I’ll be stopping in every now and again.

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