Ice Heart Ch. 03

"Very funny," Ann Marie screamed at Sandra. "Where the fuck is Cris?"

"Don't know," Sandra said, truthfully. "Faxed in his resignation then left yesterday, hopped on his Harley and rode off into the sunset."

"Resign...Cris resigned?" Ann Marie asked, stunned.

"By the way, I like your hair short like that," Sandra said.

"He, but he LOVES this job," Ann Marie sputtered.

"Want some coffee?" Sandra asked as Ann Marie sat down heavily in the small chair in front of Sandra's rotunda.

"Thanks," Ann Marie said as she took the offered cup.

"And how is Sophia doing?" Sandra asked. "I was real sorry to hear she's deaf, but they're doing all sorts of..."

"And just who, may I ask is this?" Charlie demanded as he stood in the doorway of his office.

"This is Ann Marie Sampo, Cris's former wife," Sandra said and went on talking to Ann Marie as if Charlie wasn't standing there, glaring at the two of them.

****

A diner in Monroe, Louisiana offered him a weak cup of coffee and some greasy eggs. He kept an eye on his bike; there were a few admirers that looked over at it. One teenaged girl actually touched the handlebars reverently, then came in and spoke to the waitress, who pointed at Cris. The girl's face fell slightly as she spotted a middle aged man eating his breakfast.

"Sorry I'm not the bad ass you were looking for," Cris smiled to himself and rubbed his smooth chin. "Think a beard would help?"

The girl looked like she wanted to say something as Cris strapped down the duffel bag and started the powerful engine. Her mouth opened when Cris purposefully made eye contact with her, but she closed it, blushed hotly, and then went back inside the diner.

****

"He's right, though," Nicole said as she cleaned up Sophia's lunch.

"What?" Fred looked up from the game show he was watching. "Who's right?"

"My Daddy," Nicole said as she made the signs for 'All done,' to Sophia. "Only time I ever said anything's when I needed something, then I don't say nothing for two years?"

She looked over at Fred, already dressed in his Taco Bell uniform, even though he didn't have to be at work for two hours. Most of the employees waited until they got to work to change into their uniforms but he wore his with pride. He was a good man, a sweet man.

"You got some stamps?" she asked.

"Yeah, "Junk drawer," he said, pointing to the drawer. "Why?"

"I'm going send him some pictures of Freddy," she said. "We got bunches of them, right?"

Fred got her an envelope and quickly found the stamps, after Nicole dug around fir five minutes looking for them.

"Shut up, smart ass," she groused and jerked them out of his hand.

She didn't have an address for her father, so she just addressed the envelope to PPEDI's office in DeGarde.

****

The diner in Alistair, Missouri gave him a bit of a chilly reception and he kept an even closer eye on his motorcycle.

He paid the bill and walked outside. Three young men were standing around and a fourth one sat on Cris's bike.

"Hey, lard ass, get the fuck off my bike," Cris demanded.

"Fuck you, old man," the kid sneered, much to the delight of the others.

"No, but how 'bout I let you suck my cock?" Cris asked, and then slammed his fist in the smug youth's mouth.

One of the other boys took a swing at Cris and Cris easily blocked it and elbowed the kid in the ribs, hard.

"Uh uh, let's make this a fair fight," Cris heard a man say, and then heard the sound of a pump shotgun being pumped.

The other two kids immediately ran off, leaving their two buddies to fend for themselves.

"You," the trucker said, indicating the first kid, the one that had been sitting on Cris's bike. "You tell the nice man you're real sorry you was sitting on his bike; you ain't had no business doing that."

"Fuck off, ass hole, the kid sobbed, feeling his loose teeth gingerly with his finger.

"Thanks," Cris said sincerely.

"Uh huh, I'm a biker myself, hate when these punk ass kids think it's all right cop a squat just 'because it's sitting there. So, what's the '1041' stand for?" the trucker said, opening the door to a big rig.

"That's what time the clock said when I decided to change my life," Cris said.

"Well, has a good one, Ten Forty one," the trucker said and put the shotgun back into the truck before going into the diner.

"My old man's a fucking lawyer, sue your fucking ass for everything you got," the kid with the loose teeth whined.

"Tell him to bite me," Cris said, kicked the bike into life, spit on the kid, and then drove out of the parking lot.

****

"He just quit and Sandra don't know where he is; called his phone and everything and there wasn't any answer," Ann Marie told Harriet.

"Still carrying a torch, huh?" Harriet asked.

Ann Marie stopped, looked at her boss hard for a moment, then slowly nodded her head yes.

"Yeah, you know what?" she said. I kind of do. I mean, he's always been..."

"Uh huh, let me ask you something," Harriet said. "You still be carrying that torch if Mr. Wonderful hadn't been such a snake in the grass?"

"What you mean?" Ann Marie asked.

"You know damned good and well what I mean," Harriet laughed. "If Tom Sampo hadn't been such a low life con man and a crook and hadn't run off with all your money, you still stand there pining after Cris Dumas?"

"Probably not," Ann Marie agreed, ashamed.

"Man's waiting for them fries," Harriet reminded Ann Marie.

****

"Let them bitch," Cris thought as he brought the bike into the motel room.

He did spread newspapers on the carpet, even though he thought a grease stain might actually improve the very well worn carpet and parked the bike on the papers. The bike should not leak; he maintained it lovingly, but he didn't want the motel coming back on him, claiming he damaged their property.

His cell phone buzzed, reminding him that he had at least one message. There were actually five, all from Sandra.

The first one was about her disappointment in him for quitting and not telling her. The second one was about Ann Marie's visit. The third was her asking where he was; she stopped by his apartment at lunch, and the funny little Chinese lady said 'Missah Cris no here; he leave early early motorbike ride away, no tell nobody where.' The fourth and fifth one was actually work related; Norman James had refused to accept the resignation and was demanding that he be back at work A.S.A.P.

"Tough shit," Cris said, smiling. "First time in years my insides ain't all knotted up."

"But I'll bet that has Charlie's all twisted up, little ass-kiss," Cris said as he lay down on the uncomfortable bed.

After a long day on his bike, though, he was asleep in minutes and slept soundly until sunlight streamed into the room.

****

Out of habit, Sandra opened the envelope for Cris Dumas, and then remembered; he wasn't there any more. She put it aside, with the other stack of mail she'd collected for him.

Curiosity got the better of her and she looked over the numerous photographs of Nicole and some unknown man and the infant. The unknown young man, she assumed, would be Nicole's future husband. In the last photograph, the baby lay on his back, smiling up at the unknown photographer.

"Oh, Cris, he's adorable!" she gushed into her headset, leaving him yet another message.

She hung up quickly when Norman James strode briskly into the lobby, did not acknowledge Sandra, just walked into Charlie's office.

Sandra could not help but smirk as Norman James gave Charlie a piece of his mind over one of Charlie's flippant e-mails.

"This is a professional office; when I send a professional communiqué, I expect a professional response, not some little smart ass answer," Norman bellowed.

"Where the hell is Dumas?" he barked at Sandra.

"Canada, last I heard," Sandra shrugged. "Toronto, I think."

"Get him back here and get him back here now," Norman ordered."

Tried, said 'no,'" Sandra shrugged.

"No?" Norman bellowed. "No?"

"What he said," Sandra said, watching Norman's face get redder and redder.

"I don't care what it takes, you get him back here and I mean NOW!" he screamed at her.

"Tell him, no, better yet, put him on," Cris smiled as Sandra relayed the information.

"Dumas you got twenty four hours to get back here or..." Norman threatened.

"What you going to do, fire me?" Cris laughed. "But I tell you what, I got about seven months vacation time saved up; how about I take a month of that, then come back to a twenty percent raise?"

"Twenty?" Norman asked. "You'll be lucky to get..."

"Twenty five and it goes up every time you argue with me," Cris said.

"Twenty," Norman agreed.

"And Sandra gets a twenty percent raise too, and you get Charlie Wertmuller the fuck out of my hair; I don't care if you take him to Houston with you, send him to Nigeria, Mexico City, wherever, just as long as I don't have to see that pain in the ass and that whining ass wife of his ever again, and William Kennedy gets Charlie's old job; see you in August," Cris said and hung up.

****

Sandra felt a huge stab of resentment as she sat and watched the wedding; they held it out at the gazebo of the condominium complex. Every now and then, Nicole would look around and Sandra watched a few tears slide down the girl's face. When Cris did come back, she planned to give him a piece of her minds; abandoning his daughter like that.

Sweet William sat on the other side of her husband, Jimmy and Sandra almost laughed out loud as the large man dabbed his eyes with his handkerchief. A large man, almost a giant, crying like that as he watched little Nicole exchange her vows.

"I am just furious with your father," Sandra said to Nicole at the small reception held in the condominium club house.

"Don't be," Nicole said. "For years I been letting him know I don't care; guess he's just letting me know he don't care neither."

"That's no excuse," Ann Marie chimed in.

"Mom, we already been through this," Nicole said and then laughed as Sophia's eyes lighted on the wedding cake and the little girl began signing 'Happy Birthday me.'

"No, no, silly goose, it's not a birthday," she laughed and took the little girl over to the cake.

"This Me marry cake," she signed to the girl.

"I guess we better cut the cake before we have a riot on our hands, huh?" Fred asked as he carried Freddy over and watched as Sophia struggled to get her hands on the large wedding cake.

"Everyone, everyone," Nicole called out over the DJ's music. "Small change in plans; my sister wants cake so we're going to cut the cake now, okay?"

"Cris would be real proud of his little girl, huh?" Sweet William asked Sandra. "Look at how she caring for her sister."

****

He'd been at a casino in Toronto that promised to 'bring Las Vegas to Canada' when it hit him; he'd never been to Las Vegas. Ann Marie and her mother had gone several times, making a 'Mother --Daughter' long weekend out of it, and when Nicole got older, the two women promised they'd bring her along, but Cris had never gone.

Caesar's Palace, with the fountains out front appealed to him; he remembered Evel Kneivel attempting to jump those very fountains, then remembered Robbie Kneivel doing it and succeeding where his old man had failed.

The little bar promised 'more girls in one place' so he shrugged and stepped into the cool darkness of the bar.

The girls were young and attractive; he didn't kid himself. They weren't showing this old guy all the attention they were foisting on him because he was the most handsome man they'd ever seen. They were interested in the old guys in his wallet.

"Modified Harley," he said when 'Diamond' noticed the helmet and asked what kind of bike he had.

"Give me a ride?" she begged, pressing her silicone enhanced breasts against him. "I get off in an hour; my roommate's already left."

"Sure," he agreed and immediately switched to drinking coke instead of beer.

Diamond was a leggy brunette, a little on the haggard side, as if she'd been doing this for a while.

She showed up, ready to go, dressed in tight blue jeans and a crop top that emphasized her large breasts and exposed a good deal of her abdomen.

"Hey, what the fuck you doing with my girlfriend, cock sucker?" a stout man yelled, waiting for them by Cris's motorcycle.

Diamond squeaked in fright and crowded against Cris, preventing any movement in Cris's right arm. The stout guy held a length of lead pipe.

"Done this before, huh?" Cris said as Diamond clung to him 'for protection.'

He rammed his right arm back, aiming his elbow for Diamond's solar plexus; she was crowding him, giving him no opportunity to protect himself against the boyfriend.

He missed Diamond's solar plexus, getting her in the ribs instead. He heard the bone snap and Diamond shrieked in pain and fell to the pavement. He lunged forward, aiming his boot heel at the man's knee. His aim was true on this strike and the man fell to the pavement.

"Las Vegas Police Department," the almost mechanical sounding operator intoned. "What is your emergency?"

He was right; Glenda and David Falconi had done this sort of thing before. Cris had deduced as much, especially since the man was waiting for them, right by Cris's motorcycle, the only modified Harley in the parking lot.

Usually, Glenda sweet-talked a client into a ride home, then called her brother, told him what kind of car the target drove, then David would play the part of enraged boyfriend, knock the target out, and the two would snag the target's cash.

When he returned a nasty message from Sandra she was still quite upset with him.

"And what was more important than watching your daughter get married?" she hissed into the telephone.

"Fighting crime in Las Vegas, of course," he laughed.

"Well, Mr. Smarty Pants," Sandra spat into the phone. "You gave the bride and groom red kitchen appliances and cookware."

"Mighty generous of me," he said easily.

"Yes, almost as generous as the five thousand dollars you gave them," she said.

"Five thousand!" he shrilled. "Damn it, Sandra!"

"Have been only one if you had been here," she said and hung up on his tirade.

Chapter 11

Another exploration company played the game with the Nigerian government and beat PPEDI out on the contract. Norman James was furious over their losses, until the other company's employees were slaughtered by terrorists, slaughtered for 'consorting with the American Devil.' No Nigerian would work for the American company and the other company lost their multi-million dollar investment.

But he did not admit to Cris that Cris was right to suggest that PPEDI not proceed with the venture.

He would also not admit it, but promoting William Kennedy from rough neck to vice president of the Louisiana Division had been a correct move. His massive size hid the intelligence the man possessed, as well as his business acumen.

"Oh my God," I just don't know how I'm going to be able to work in this office with such hot, well-dressed men," Sandra said and fanned herself as Cris and Sweet William walked in.

It was a competition that neither man said aloud, but they were trying hard to be better dressed than the other. Cris's closet bulged with the tailored suits from Abdul's and Babbage's department stores and his dresser had very few cotton items. Silk was the preferred cloth of his undergarments. The colors of his shirts and his ties were bright, eye-catching.

Sweet William was limited by his size, but made the best of what he could get from the few specialty stores.

"Well, just do the best you can," Cris smiled as he walked into his office.

Sandra had gleefully thrown out anything Charlie left behind in his departure and put Cris's awards and certifications in new frames and hung them behind her boss's desk. The photographs of Freddy and of Nicole's wedding were put into matching frames and were hung on the wall in front of Cris's desk; so that every time he looked up, he would see his daughter, see his grandson.

He laughed out loud the first time he'd tried to take them down; Sandra had super-glued them to the wall.

"Oh here's another one," Sandra said as she bustled into Cris's office, and slapped a new framed picture of Freddy on the wall. "His one year birthday; isn't he adorable?"

Cris looked up from the latest charts projecting the path of a category three hurricane and squinted slightly at the latest addition to the collage on his wall. The kid was a mess; face liberally coated with remnants of chocolate ice cream and birthday cake.

"Wow, any more chocolate ice cream on that kid's face, people would think that's one of Sweet William's kids, huh?" Cris asked and looked back at the forecasts.

"Oh no I know he ain't THAT good looking," William said and walked into Cris's office, dressed in his bright orange sweat suit.

"God damn, Sweet William, why you wear that thing?" Cris said, shielding his eyes.

"So no one hits me," Sweet William said.

"No more fifty mile runs like last time," Sandra warned.

The day before, both men ran together. Neither one wanted to admit they were tired so they kept running. They'd gone nearly five miles before Cris started laughing as did Sweet William.

"Mother of God, I don't even know where the hell we are!" Cris laughed out loud.

"Aw, shit!" Sweet William laughed as well. "Come on, let's get back; you run behind me."

"What? Why?" Cris asked and started running back to the office, or the general idea of where he thought the office was. "You got gas?"

"'Cause, people out here see a black man running behind a white man, might put cap in my ass," the large black man smiled playfully.

"And if they see me chasing you, might think I'm chasing a mugger," Cris said. "Better run side by side."

"Y'all spent all day yesterday whining about how sore y'all were," Sandra said. "Hey! Here's an idea; why don't y'all use some common sense?"

"And what fun is that?" Cris asked, stepping out of his private bathroom, dressed in gray sweat suit.

"What you know about the Muslims?" Cris asked as they started at a steady jog.

"I know it ain't just a religion; it's a way of life," Sweet William said. "Them Muslims take it one hundred and one percent seriously; ain't no gray area ain't no 'maybe' about nothing, it's all or nothing. Why? You think about becoming Muslim?"

"No, no, my tenant upstairs says he's Muslim, says his girlfriend is too," Cris said.

Amaan Kaberrah, he called himself. "It means 'Scholar of Integrity," he smugly told Cris as he and Alicia Scandurro looked around Apartment 3. "See, I am studying the Koran; you don't just read it, you STUDY it."

"Uh huh," Cris said, not caring what the kid's name meant.

Both appeared to be in their early to mid twenties but that was the only thing the two had in common.

Amaan was a stocky African-American youth, loud, flamboyant, and dramatic.

Alicia was short, pale-skinned, slightly underweight, even as her belly showed her to be around six months pregnant. She was quiet, kept her head down, like a beaten dog.

"You are a queen," Amaan declared. "Is this; is this place suitable for a queen?"

"I guess," she shrugged.

"No, no. No 'I guess,'" he demanded. "My queen deserves the best; would my queen be happy here?"

"Yeah, I mean, out of all the places we been, this is the nicest," Alicia said and looked up for a moment.

Cris looked at her pale face; she was beautiful. Her eyes were a light brown, almost hazel or golden in color. Her nose was small and her mouth had a delightful little pout, even as the corners of her mouth were drawn down. Her long, light brown hair had several blonde highlights streaks through it. She quickly looked back down when she realized that Cris was looking at her.

Amaan filled out the lease application with a flourish; everything he did was a production. Cris handed him one set of keys and turned to hand Alicia the other set of keys. Amaan quickly grabbed the keys out of his hand.