Gynophagia Chronicles: Samantha
Tuesday, September 28, 2218, Noon.
1120 Alsatian St. San Ramon, CA
Narative Reconstructed by Peter Howard
Michael Gianni chinked bottles with Bill Acres.
“I still can't believe this!” said Acres. “I just can't believe it! I'll be able to give my wife everything she's ever wanted.”
“I hope so,” said Michael. “Just don't let me down. This accout is very, very important and I'd like to work for them again.”
They had arrived back half an hour ago, Gianni having driven Acres to San Fancisco this morning to meet with retiring Edward Mulsquevich of Mulsquevich-Arnold Payroll. The very same company Michael Gianni had aquired Friday morning in a hostile take over. Notwithsanding that Mulsquevich had sold off ten percent of his stock before his partner sold off forty five percent of his own. Mulsquevich was livid with his partner over the loss of company control, he had the good sense accepted reality. The firm's name would not change. Mulsquevich would retire next year and Bill Acres would take his place as Chief Executive Officer. Gianni would provide Acres with a competent secretary that would actually run things with Acres as its figure head.
Giani had been trying to take over this firm two weeks. Playing the stocks, buying, selling, then buying again. He lost a lot of money each time, and the Securities and Exchange Commission did not investigate insider trading if it resulted in a loss. The two could not be connected. But Gianni now had control of it. That meant access to every adress of every employee of Tucker-Klein, Mulsquevitch-Arnold's biggest client. That contract would go five years. It was just signed by Martin Tucker only a month ago.
“Do you think your wife will like the house?”
“Like it? She'll love it! This is amazing. It's a whole lot larger than what we have!”
“There are quite a few families moving in,” Gianni said. “The neighbourhood should be filled with children again soon. TWA owns some of these homes now, and has been placing its people here.”
Of course, the riot going on only a few blocks away will give your wife pause, Gianni thought as he checked his watch. It was 11:30.
“Excuse me, Bill. I need to make some private phone calls. If you don't mind, I need to be alone outside, alright?”
Gianni said his PDA to look for Mrs. Wells. She was not there. Frustration was not a comfortable emotion for Gianni. Jessica Wells had been next door helping her new neighbour with laundry all morning. He needed her home. At the last possible minute, he called Jessica Wells pretending to be from the water company to get her over there. It was easy enough, but dangerous as well. Luckily, Mrs. Wells was quite the trusting soul, and she took everything in stride.
The PDA screen showed Mrs. Wells enter the kitchen from outside with a laundry basket then into the laundry room. The laundry room. Perfect. It's at the back of the house, easy to get to.
“Good girl,” Gianni said. On his PDA, he watched as Jessica Wells collapsed onto the floor, then went back inside. Gianni pulled out the prepay phone in his pocket and dialed a number he'd called several times over the past three days.
“What?” Came a female voice.
“I know where she lives! I found out! She's going there now!”
“Where?”
“Eleven Ten Beagle. Five blocks north of the school, two blocks over!!”
“Good! We will go! Thank you! Very Much!”
Gianni cut the connection. Ten to fifteen minutes. That's how long it would take. Gianni watched, and waited hoping the fatique he felt wasn't showing.
As soon as he aquired controlling interest of Mulsquevich-Arnold Payroll, he made the call to Bill Acres.
“David! What a surprise!” Acres said on the phone.
“What are your plans for this weekend?” Gianni asked.
“Well, the wife needs to shop for a new stove...”
“I have a new head hunting assignment,” Gianni said. “I need to place a new CEO at the head of a Payroll Firm. The man doesn't need experience in in Payroll, but a good sales background is important. It's in San Francisco, and it comes with a house across the bay. Interested?”
He heard Acres mumble unintelligeably, then finally the man said something resembling an affirmation.
“I'll get you a plane ticket. I need you here Sunday so we can prepare.”
He reported to the Professor what was happening. The new font of intelligence would be invaluable to his ends.
“How difficult do you think it will be to funnel the personel lists to us?” The professor asked.
“Acres is the single most unqualified man I could find for the job,” Gianni told the Professor. “What I would like, sir, is if you'd send me a secretary for him. One that will actually run the company and make him look good. Her job will be to get you what you need.”
“Very good. I'll find the right girl right away. Tell me when it's time to send her out.”
“She'll have to know that she'll also be Acres' sex toy. She has to be able to control him.”
“She'll be ready. When do you plan on starting Acres in his new job?”
“A week from Monday,” Gianni said. “He needs time to move his family. The company has a girl who specializes in helping cut through international red tape involving moving children. Canada is not as bad as most, of course, so it should go smoothly.”
“A week from Monday is satisfactory. I look forward to your next report.”
The call to Edward Mulsquevich was another matter.
“Mr. Mulsquevich, my name is David Colvert. I just wanted to inform you that my client just aquired controlling interest of your company.”
Probing questions by Mulsquevich were revealing. The man was thourough. Gianni expected this as Mulsquevich had built the company from scratch, and having the right information made the difference between failure and success. The man was also cagey, loath to reveal anything of importance to Gianni. That, in and of itself, was immaterial to Gianni. He already had what he needed. It was very revealing about Mulsquevich's character. The man was a potential problem. Even though Gianni promised Mulsquevich a year to retire, moving him out as soon as possible would be necessary, or risk Mulsquevich pulling something that would break contracts. Mulsquevich would need watching.
Things were flowing.
The only thing that was truly bothering Gianni Friday evening was the patterns he saw in Glen Carrinton's moviements. Gianni had a tracker on both Glen's car and on Johnny's. The two were at the same location five times in the past week in five different shopping center parking lots. Bugging them was never an option. Johnny would be looking for listening devices that were not his own constantly. Trackers were very difficult to detect, however. They eminated a signal over the cell network and gave GPS coordinates every sixty seconds.
That the two were up to something was obvious. That it involved himself, he strongly suspected. Glen had been guarded the last few times Gianni had seen him, and he was not sure why. Some perceived slight on his own part toward Glen, most likely. Glen's hypersensitive side tended to make the man sullen, Gianni knew. Usually it was no issue at all. What was truly disturbing was that Glen was meeting so often with a man he hated with abject passion. It made no sense to him. What could he have done that was so terrible to Glen?
Rule 28: Never dwell on what others are thinking. It's a waste of time and will diminish your ability tot take action.
But Gianni was dwelling on it. He liked Glen. The man was a straight shooter, and Gianni respected that, even envied it.
He was set to enjoy a relaxing saturday evening when suddenly the converstion in the Wells kitchen was all about the Carringtons coming to visit. Including Glen!
Glen's converstion with Johnny had spelled everything out. A tour of the house, ostensibly to bug it. No, that wasn't it. Johnny had no reason to bug it now that he knew about young James. That would be pointless. The only thing Johnny could imagine was that there was a hit coming. Knowing the room size, knowing where everyone slept upstairs. Going in with guns woud be too loud. It would most likely be an arsonist. There would gas to keep them asleep, or knock them out quickly. Most likely quinuclidinyl benzillate, which could be acquired on the black market quite easily.
Michael had to come up with a plan quickly. When would the hit occur? The family left the house each Sunday morning to go to Church. Likely that would be when the arsonist would show. But he need more for Samantha to bite into, something to give her purpose. The only thing that would do is a threat to someone important. The Professor had a whole library on Sheila Jackson and Lydia Foss collected over the past three years. Why the Professor had never sold them to Carmine was most likely part of the Professor's holding back merchandise in reserve. There were plenty of other, more powerful legislators to control. Jackson had been a minor player. He wasn't going to win election to the Senate unless something dramatic happened. But that was already in the works.
And this would not undermine, anything. Having Marcus Jackson already pliable would make him more valuable, not less. Even if he did manage to put his lesbian bill through congress, bank fraud and export of excessive funds were still going to be crimes, regardless of motivation.
Gianni could only watch the conversation. His directional microphone was not cutting it, the breeze was just too strong up on the tower.
Finally, Gianni made the call to Samantha. Her voice was like warm velvet on his ears. Sounding breathless on the phone was not difficult to act out. She brought that out in him naturally. It was not an act at all, Gianni realized half way into the conversation. When she informed him Glen had asked her out, it felt like a punch in the gut. He should have seen that coming. Glen's would never pursue a friend's girl. They were no longer friends, and that, along with Samantha's worried, honest voice on the phone threw Gianni.
“I still feel that kiss whenever I think of you,” was the last thing he told her before he cut the connection. It was one of the few truths he told her.
On Sunday morning, Gianni watched the Wells walk out of their home with Aunt Julia and their cousins to church at seven thirty, as they always did. He slipped over the fence at the corner, and into their back yard, and waited. He only waited ten minutes before the van showed up.
The man was young, perhaps twenty five. How long he'd been in the business, Gianni couldn't say. All the arsonists he was aware of were over forty. Gianni the young man work quickly and efficiently. He planted aerosol cans in each room, the type that would bomb it: filling the room up with its contents in less than a second. The family would never detect it till it was too late. The incendiary device he placed in the attic directly above the elder girls' room. It would guarantee Samantha would die in her sleep. And he set the 12:30 AM.
Gianni loved the irony of it. The man never imagined he was being watched. The timer was not yet activated when Gianni struck. A simple plastic bag over his head was enough to do the job, suffocating the man before he could save himself. The timer was a problem. He reset the clock so that it was twelve hours off, and disabled the timer. Working to plug in his remote that would set the timer to the next ten minute mark ahead of the current time. His hope was this would never be found, as it was very advanced technology. He anticipated that he'd activate it no later than Wednesday, but hoped sooner. It would very much depend on Marcus Jackson's response.
Once Gianni had the man out of the house and into his back yard, he stripped the body, put on the man's Hat and jump suit, and took the man's van. It was a standard delivery van, the kind you see anywhere. There was a woman's body in the back. She was naked, and had obviously been raped before he broke her neck. Maybe this kid was good, but raping a woman in the middle of a job? The only help for it would be to make it a decoy. The kid's DNA would be all over her. If the police were unable to identify him, he'd be U.S. Born, which meant Jewish Mafia or Cosa Nostra. If he was an immigrant, his DNA would be all over the crime scene. He'd be identified only hours after the body was found.
Dealing with the arsonist's body was another matter. It meant dumping it somewhere on the way to pick up Acres at Oakland International Airport. He did so off Crow Canyon road by taking a corner fast and letting the man's body slip out the passenger's side door.
Gianni had to wait tedious hours till the evening news. He busied himself entertaining Bill Acres and talking mundane things. He listened to Acres go on and on about the New York Giants, who's team he followed. Finally, it was time to have a dinner and a beer with Acres and watch the news. “Police are looking for this man: Twenty three year old Andrei Borokov in connection with a rape and murder in Danville today.
It was the Russians. The volatile, stupid Russians who had no patience and little intelligence. They were upset about the Unions. Their cash cow was in jeopardy. Teaching them a lesson was no longer an option. They had to be eliminated from the equation, and there was only one way to do that. It meant eliminating their source of income entirely. That meant eliminating the Union Membership.
Monday Morning saw Gianni drive Acres into San Francisco. At 101 California Street, the two men took the lift to the fortieth floor which Mulsquevich-Arnold shared with a law firm. The expansive lobby area seemed designed for a reception rather than a receptionist. A diminutive brunette sat behind the desk and called Anne DeGraas out. Anne DeGraas was the very same woman that was a genius at moving human merchandise across the U.S. Canada border. She was, consequently, Personel manager at Mulsquevich-Arnold.
Gianni watched the interplay between the little receptionist and DeGraas, noting a lot more deference than required. The receptionist had a serious thing for Miss DeGraas, Gianni smiled.
When Anne DeGraas introduced Edward Mulsquevich, there was the most unexplainable chipper pleasure in her voice. Mulsquevich was anything but pleasant. In fact, he was arrogant, ill tempered and needed a bath. His office reeked of him. In a word in which most men pride themselves on having no scent at all, this was immediately offensive to the most hardened nose. Gianni had never had such a hard time concentrating in all his life, and he wondered if there were some scheme behind the olfactory assault.
After an hour, he finally excused himself. He went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face, and found one of Mulsquevich-Arnold's few male employees.
“Does Mr. Mulsquevich's office always smell that bad?” He asked.
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” said the man, looking offended, and left.
When a female worker came in to deliver papers for Mulsquevich to sign, her obvious discomfort made it fairly clear this was not the norm. The odor was for Gianni and Acres. What Mulsquevich thought that would accomplish was not Gianni's concern. What it did accomplish was Gianni firing Mulsquevich the moment the contract was signed, citing the “Behavior Unbecoming Clause.”
“On what grounds?” Mulsquevich was incensed.
“On the grounds that you need to take a bath, and obviously haven't for a few days. It matters not if it's normal, or a one time thing. It's offensive.”
“I'll take all my clients with me!”
“If they intend to break their contracts, I can't help that. We'll see.”
Giving Mulsquevich five minutes to clean out his desk, Gianni walked him to the elevator.
“I want a security guard at this door twenty four seven for the next thirty days,” Gianni told Acres. “If he comes back, he's trespassing, and I want him arrested.” He left Acres to clean up the mess. The company would have to run on auto pilot till next Monday.
The last piece of the puzzle was falling into place that day with mass layoffs of Food Worker's Union employees all over Northern California. It wasn't hard to find the right organizers to give them the address of Franklin High. He called them in Sacramento, San Francisco, San Jose, Stockton and Oakland. He mentioned Samantha Wells' as the reason, and each one of them knew that. Now, it was just a matter of waiting.
This morning, Gianni and Acres planned an itinerary for the Acres family move to San Ramon by conference call with Anne DeGraas. They communicated via text with Gianni doing most of the texting while posing as Acres. Acres had no problem with that. He knew nothing about the business he was taking over. The promise of a secretary who did was welcome news to him. All the while, Gianni kept CWN News Channel 40 on, waiting for word of the protest. The first mention of it came at 10AM. The overhead shot of a protest forming outside Franklin High School in San Ramon. It was only a two minute piece, but it was enough to tell Gianni his plan was working.
At 11:15, the protests became violent. A little too early, Gianni thought. Jessica Wells was next door at the Ortiz house helping young Mrs. Ortiz with her laundry. She'd been doing it all morning. Damn! Damn! Damn! By the time 11:50 rolled around and he watched the students begin a mad dash away from the school he knew he had no choice. He dialed Mrs. Wells cell phone.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Wells, hello. This is Andrew from San Ramon Water Company, how are you today?”
“I'm fine, thank you,” she said. Her voice was very much like Samantha's. Velvet smooth, but more mature. Samantha would sound a lot like her when she turned thirty.
“Mrs. Wells, we have an error, we think we read your meter wrong. Would you mind reading the numbers to us?”
“Wouldn't it be different than it was when you read it?”
“Yes it would. But your use of water has been very consistent, and we think we can extrapolate. The error I think we have shows you've used far more water than normal this month. Would you be so kind?”
“Of course,” she said. “I'm next door. Can I call you right back?”
“I can hold on the line,” Gianni said, almost about to panic and hoping it didn't show in his voice.
“Alright. Maria Theresa, I have to go home for a moment. I'll be right back, okay? I'm on my way.”
“That's just fine, ma'am. Are you helping a neighbour?”
“We were just folding cloths. Lots of diapers. Maria Teresa... Mrs. Ortiz just moved in and she's still getting used to things here. She's a little overwhelmed.”
“I see. Well, that's very kind of you to do that.”
“All my girls are in their teens now. I don't have nearly as much to do. They're good girls, and mostly take care of their own needs. I kind of miss it when I had to care for them.”
“I'm sure you do. Are any of them married?”
“No. Unfortunately. I'd very much like to see that happen... okay. Here it is.... uhm... is it the top number?”
“Bottom one, Ma'am.”
“Okay. 55760905.”
“Yes ma'am. We had 59759872. Looks like I was right.”
“Well, thank you so much for catching that error!”
“It's not a problem ma'am. All part of the job.”
“Well, thank you again. Do you need anything else?”
“No ma'am. Not at all. Thank you again. Goodbye.”
“Goodbye.”
Gianni clicked off. On his PDA he showed Mrs. Wells go into the kitchen, then into the laundry room. She was carrying an empty basket with her.
“Good girl,” Gianni said. And he activated the gas. She looked up, smelling. Then collapsed onto the floor.
Gianni then called Cora Ng. Cora Ng it turned out had been in the Franklin High School kitchen that day Samantha had witnessed her teacher being decapitated. She might even have been the one to have done the deed herself, Gianni was not sure. But Cora Ng hated Samantha Wells with an absolute passion. That she was the union shop steward made her hatred valuable.
“Yah! What you want? I busy now!”
“I know where she lives! I found out! She's going there now!”
“Where?”
“Eleven Ten Beagle. Five blocks north of the school, two blocks over!!”
“Good! We will go! Thank you! Very Much!” The line went dead.
Gianni waited. Ten minutes later, he heard the first shouting outside the Wells family home. The remote was in his hand again. He activated it, and two minutes later, at exactly 12:10 PM, he saw the roof begin to burn. The fire spread quickly.
“BILL!” He called. “Bill!”
“What?”
“Dial 911! There's a fire!”
“What? Oh My God!”
“Come On!”
Gianni went to the same corner of the fence where he'd crossed over Sunday morning, and lifted himself up. Acres was right behind him. Not bad for an overweight seemingly soft old man! The two of them bolted to the house.
“Anyone here?” Gianni yelled.
“Hello?” Bill yelled.
“Anyone here?”
“David, Look!”
Gianni smiled. Acres had found Jessica. The house was rapidly filling with smoke.
“We need to get her out of here!” Acres said, and picked up the unconcious woman. Gianni's big heroic act was to hold the door for Acres as he carried Jessica into the back yard and all the way to the back fence. Luckily, it was quite a long back yard, and they could get far away from the flames.
“Bill,” Gianni said. “Listen. You're a hero. You saved her life! I need to keep a low profile in my job, you understand?”
“Sure, Dave! Sure.”
“Can you stay here with her?”
“Yeah! You bet!”
“Thanks, Bill! I knew you'd understand! Look! Here's her phone. See if you can figure out which is her husband's number. They might cull her if they take her to the hospital. Call her husband first, okay?”
“You bet! Thanks, Dave!”
“Not a problem. Good luck. Your ticket's on will call at the airport. I'll have a taxi take you there. It'll pick you up at six. Be ready!”
“You bet! I will.”
Gianni left him then. Soon he was on the freeway, heading south toward Santa Cruz.
The Wells girls would be out of reach. Even his reach. At least for a while. The Professor might not like that, but at least Samantha would be safe. Everything had unfolded perfectly.