The Caretaker

Standard disclaimer: if you want to complain about the hackneyed unbelievable drivel I write, lack of character development, or anything else, be my guest. Just know I won't care. I sometimes enjoy reading the commentators that criticize my writing but if you're going to, remember, I already called it drivel. If you can't top that don't bother. Why commentators insist on displaying their own stupidity for the world to see always baffles me. Let's see the plot sucks, the characters aren't believable, I write like I didn't graduate high school (I didn't by the way), I barely know a noun from a verb, etc. Read at your own risk.

And yes the rights to this drivel, such as it is, are reserved to me and any resemblance to any other real or fictional character is purely delusion on the readers part.

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I had been waiting over fifteen minutes when they finally showed him into the conference room. I had met him once or twice before, at staff Christmas parties and the like, when his wife had brought him, but he had never stood out in mind so I can't say I really remembered him. Looking him over I realized there was something vaguely unsettling about him. He was wearing a tailored suit, custom made based on the fabric, that had to cost a cool five grand. He wasn't as small as I thought, yet neither was he overly big. He didn't seem young, or old. Neither meek nor mild, as I had first thought, yet neither was he threatening. I had expected him to be shellshocked, maybe browbeaten, but he seemed bemused, or maybe faintly amused. But the amusement didn't extend to his eyes when I looked at them. Taking my first good look into his face I realized they looked odd, menacing perhaps, and maybe just a touch angry. And they were gray. Not blue, or green, or hazel or brown, but slate gray. It was only there for a second, the anger, and was quickly masked. For some reason, gut instinct perhaps, I realized this just maybe wasn't going to go the way we expected it to.

I wanted to try to keep this professional, at least as professional as I could considering the reason we were here was that his wife was fucking my boss and our firm was representing her in the divorce. I didn't like being in this position, but I knew doing a good job here would go a long way towards getting my bosses support at the next partnership meeting, and I was prepared to destroy this man if need be. I was faintly surprised he had agreed to the meeting and even more so when he showed up alone, without an attorney.

"Mr. Smith, as you know, we are representing your wife in her divorce petition against you. We thought maybe we could come to some agreement privately instead of needing to fight it out in court. Are you sure you don't want to have an attorney present?"

He just looked blandly at me. "No need" he said, "there really isn't anything to contest."

There were just the two of us in the conference room, him and I, his wife having chosen not to be present at the meeting. At least at first.

"Do you mind if I record the meeting" I asked him?

"Sure, be my guest" he said, taking a small object from his pocket that I assumed was his own recorder and placing it on the table.

"OK, first off the financial statement you gave us is wholly inadequate. You don't list any assets. House, car, bank accounts, nothing is listed here."

He just sat there looking at me. "Don't you have any response to that" I asked him?

"I'm sorry, was that a question? Sounded like a statement not needing a response".

"Why isn't the house listed as an asset? In that neighborhood they start at 5 million and go up fast?"

"The house doesn't belong to me, it belongs to a friend. I just live there."

"Your wife was under the impression it belonged to you. She said she was with you when it was purchased."

"Yes, well I was under the impression she was in love with me, and we can see how that turned out. It seems we were both under a series of false impressions."

"You do realize, Mr. Smith, that hiding assets is a crime and if you file this financial statement in response to our complaint and it is false you would be liable."

He didn't seem concerned at all. I always watch the eyes in any negotiation and, if anything, his eyes were back to their slightly bemused expression. I almost got the impression he was enjoying this. "I assume, Jim, can I call you Jim by the way? Yes? OK, I assume you researched the owner using the court records and found it was owned by a corporation. That corporation is owned by a friend of a friend who lets me stay in the house. So, as you can see, it isn't an asset in play here."

"Yes we did. The house is owned by a shell company, which is owned by a shell company, which is owned by another. We haven't traced it all the way back yet, but I am willing to wager at some point we can trace it to you."

"Now you know, if I were a betting man, I would be happy to take your money. I think if you trace it far enough back you will find that my friend of a friend is an older retired gentleman who bought it for investment reasons."

"And would you have his name handy?"

"Actually, no, I don't know it. Now I am sure if you spend enough time, and resources, you might be able to track him down, if you can do so without annoying him. That is never a good idea, but I do know he lives in Columbia."

He let the word hang there. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. People from Columbia with 5 to 10 million to drop on a house for someone else to live in are never good to annoy.

"OK, let's stipulate the house for now. What about the cars. Your wife lists fourteen different automobiles including two Rolls, a Bentley, three Shelby Mustangs, a XK120 Jag, and an assortment of what she calls daily drivers, including a Ferrari. Yet I don't see any of them listed under assets?"

"Actually, if my wife had bothered to check, I don't actually own any of the cars. Once again they are all owned by the different corporations and all I am is the caretaker. I get to drive them, and have full use of them, but I don't actually own them. Honestly, she never really checked on anything. She is easily distracted by pretty baubles, fine dining, nice clothes. As long as we went to the best restaurants and she had a cook for prepare meals and a maid to clean for her she was happy. But they are all just employee's like I am. And she is easy to distract."

"Let's talk about your employment. You eat at the best restaurants, drive a Mercedes, a Bentley, or a Ferrari, you suit looks custom made and the one suit alone must cost over $5,000, yet you list an income of $64,000. Do you seriously expect me to believe that?"

"A bit like my wife's impressions, I am not responsible for your beliefs. She has hers, you have yours but for me, I am just a simple caretaker."

"Your wife says you travel quite often on business. She says you are gone from a few days to a week at irregular intervals. What type of caretaker travels so often on business, always first class from what I understand?"

"And that's just the $64,000 question, isn't it? But the question to you is, do you really want an answer?" His eyes hardened and the amusement was gone. Suddenly I didn't want an answer, nor did I want anything to do with this sorry business. But my course was set, and I couldn't change it now.

"Want? Maybe not, but my client and my boss will insist I get one."

"Fair enough. Just in the middle here, aren't you? So, I will give you some friendly advice. Before this is over there will be damage and unless you want to become what is known as collateral damage I suggest you take a vacation. A few weeks off might be called for. Have you ever seen a cat play with a mouse?"

"What?"

"A cat play with a mouse, do try to keep up. You see the cat knows it is going to eat the mouse, even the mouse eventually figures it out, but the cat keeps on letting it run and the mouse keeps running. Even though it knows it is dead it still tries to stay alive. But it never does."

"What does this have to do with your employment?"

His eyes suddenly turned to stone. No not stone, stone isn't cold enough. I even felt a chill in the room.

"I was getting to that. You see I work for an interesting group of businessmen in an allied and competing business. At times they compete and at other times they cooperate and form alliances. Together they form what I think you would refer to as a Cartel. Now on a fairly regular basis there are people that, for one reason or another, they need taken care of. Ones that their regular people can't take care of for one reason or another. Too protected, too high profile, too dangerous for the run of the mill caretaker. So, they use my services. I take care of people that need taking care of, like your boss. He needs taking care of. He is a mouse who hasn't figured out he is already dead and is just being allowed to run around the room a while."

"You realize I am recording this" I said?

"Play it."

"What?"

He pointed to the recorder. "Play it" he repeated. I hit stop and backed it up fine minutes or so and hit play. White noise came out of the built-in speaker. He held up the device he had put on the table earlier. "Handy isn't it? he asked. "Stops all recorders and audio devices within a 500-foot radius."

He reached inside his jacket pocket, pulled out an envelope, and slid it over to me. "It's a death certificate, duly filed. John Smith is dead and left no estate so there is no need to divorce. The body was cremated. She gets nothing. Tell her, from me, to start running. I won't look for her, I have that much feeling left for her, but if I come across her she dies. She has twelve hours to bury herself somewhere. Tell your boss he's a mouse and the cat is playing with him. When the cat is done he's dead. He can run, he can try to hide, but he's already dead. If she's with him when I come for him she dies with him. Tell him if he makes it easy on me I will make it quick, but if he fights it I will make it slow and painful. Tell him I hope he has the balls to try to fight as I prefer to make it slow and painful. I suggest you take that week off. Shouldn't be longer than that."

He got up, shook my hand, and left. I told my boss, and is girlfriend, everything he said. The death certificate was legal. He was a ghost. She turned white and ran, we didn't see her again. I went to the Cape for a week when I returned I had a new boss. It appears the last one slowly roasted to death in a freak car accident.