Mike Fuller found himself in dire straits. However unpredictable it may be, the only way he could think of out of this doldrum is to play a game of chance. Inside casinos, he had the extreme urge to risk it all as he often nervously frisked his card of a lifetime that has the fifty-fifty chance of allowing him to win it all. But that chance had always been elusive, coupled with that horrible feeling of anxiety that would grip him as he went home. He had never played it cool and often kicked things in his way to vent out his anger.
He had sold everything in the pursuit of that elusive luck that for years had evaded him. He lost his own savings in a three-day poker game while completely forgetting his wife's expectant delivery of their firstborn child. That drove his wife really mad.
He had not learned the lesson of being prudent, and his apparent weakness to play on and lift with his trained hand the shuffled card of his dream-- had not completely left him by his side. But every night, as he closed his eyes to sleep--what remains in him is that tenacity to hope that one day he would rise victorious from his unfathomable gambling addiction.
Anton Dee, aka Henry De La Riva's recent call, was an opportunity for him, which instantly watered his mouth and palm scratchy. Mike put down the phone. He did not waste any time and at once dialed a number. It rang several times before he got an answer.
"Bobby? This is Mike."
Bobby Lowell was his former colleague and was recently transferred to the Headquarter's record section, a blessing in disguise. That reassignment gave him instant access to every name there is and every derogatory record on file.
Bobby had a hunch; it was a rogue request.
"I know that tone whenever you call, Mike."
Mike laughed. Bobby had been his sidekick in the precinct, and he knew him as dependable when it's time to cover any imaginable rotten smell they have.
"Bobby, I know you missed it. You haven't changed a bit as I envisioned you now. Is that synonymous with saying we're back in business?"
Bobby laughed hard. "You got a third eye for sure. But things can be arranged…for the boys. Though I'm afraid, I have to disagree if I am diving back in."
Mike cleared his throat and began his exploit.
"That hurts. I thought you could help me look for some records."
Bobby sighed a couple of times. He was breathy. Thinking.
"There's a slight change in the policy here."
"Aww...f_ck that policy whatever that is…." Mike exclaimed.
Bobby laughed sarcastically, " Remember the last record I sent you?"
Mike was not interested in hearing them. But he listened to Bobby nonetheless.
"You mean Anton Dee's Records?"
"Yes. The HQ's going ballistic because everything in his file had gone missing."
Mike just laughed it off. "Are they nuts? Information sells nowadays. If you have it, people will come knocking for you, and that's exactly why people like us in dire situations go for people like you. Bobby, you...got the right information I need."
Bobby doubted his own decision.
"I know. I am just saying we should be discreet about this."
Mike understood the standard operating procedure.
"Tell me who will be on the payroll, and I will take care of the pay?"
Bobby seemed to understand the insinuation.
"Okay...send me the request."
----
Henry De La Vega rode his black Mercedes Benz. He checked the gas and started the engine. He had been talking lengthily with a business partner who offered him a deal he could not refuse. He was dressed impeccably, and his purpose was clear in his mind: Meet the partner. Discuss the contract.
The deal involves buying three existing companies with a failed business rating but with grade A potential. Given the vast opportunity, it offers-- the business can provide a fast return on its investment if tweaks were carefully introduced in its operation. His mind is 99 percent made up. That day he would make the deal. If talks were smooth--sign the contract.
The meeting was set at the café on the lower ground floor of the BEB building. He arrived early and followed the instruction to take a seat at table 11. A waitress by the name of Lora went to Henry's table then poured a cup of coffee.
"The coffee is on the house. Call me if you need anything," then casually went to the counter and disappeared to the inside backroom.
A young woman dressed in formal attire and a briefcase on hand entered the building and waved in his direction upon seeing him. Henry had been in recent contact with a man with a profound husky voice. He looked behind his back. The woman was clearly moving towards his table. She had shoulder-length straight black hair, titanium rimmed glasses, a slim figure, and a high bridge nose, which gave an immediate impression of someone who had that strong negotiating skillset.
"Mr. De La Vega? I am Martha. Martha Will. Mr. Silayman appointed me as his emissary."
Henry was caught unaware.
"But he said he would be here…?"
Martha took the seat opposite Henry.
"I'm sorry. He wanted to surprise you."
Henry looked around, but except for the staff on the ground floor and a man playing on the piano, they were practically the only ones around. The sound of Debussy's La Mer can be heard from a distance.
Martha is candid, and she had nothing but business in her mind. She took something out from her briefcase.
"I have here the special power of attorney to represent him in all his dealings." She handed the document, and Henry De la Vega began to scrutinize its content. "Don't worry; he is aware of everything. I am making sure he could listen to us right now." She placed her cell phone that was connected to Silayman.
But the talk was not exactly smooth sailing. There were a lot of revisions Silayman wanted, but it was mostly in favor of Henry. The partner was persistent that he took a majority decision on managing the three companies, which is fair in Henry's opinion. Halfway through the meeting, Silayman spoke on the speakerphone. "There's a fire on the top floor. I suggest you two can reschedule the meeting."
Henry and Martha were surprised as they had not heard any fire alarm. But Martha gathered all her documents and placed them back inside her briefcase.
"But where's the fire?" Henry asked, confused. He looked around, and every staff member was busy doing their job at their assigned station.
"I have to go," Martha said. "I have your number, and we can just call each other."
Just as she made a few steps, she turned around and put the cellphone close to him so he could hear what Silayman had to say.
"Drive home and don't stop. This deal depends on you stopping or not."
Then Martha walked away in the same route she first walked in.
Henry was too stunned by what he heard. His mouth dropped a bit. What the f_ck was that? Fire? There's no fire. And what about him driving and never stopping at all? Is that a premonition? He scanned the surrounding. The guard is doing his job checking the people coming in. The two women at the counter were busy answering phone calls. The piano player was now gone, possibly to spend some time at the restroom.
Henry felt too curious, and while he valued the importance of his deal with Silayman, he just needed to find out what was going on. He went near the counter to ask for any information. Just as he was about to make his step. The deafening fire alarm sounded inside the building.