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  At first Paul was startled then felt the anger rising. “Fuck you, Ray!” he yelled and gave him the finger.

  “Yeah, we’ll see who gets fucked!” He slammed the van into gear and sped off.

  Even before the economic downturn Paul had been ready to fire the two drivers and Ray Evans. None were reliable. He was sure all three were involved in some sort of criminal activity. They were bullies and gutter mouths. He’d been happy to get rid of them. But last evening the ex-drivers, Cory Jefferson and Ned Warren, were hanging out in the company parking lot. Now, this morning’s confrontation with Evans, who was the worst of them, had him worried.

  Paul’s trucking company was housed in a large old warehouse on Quincy Street in Brooklyn. He had twenty-six trucks which he leased to various wholesalers. He also provided the drivers. Most of the warehouse was used for repairing the trucks and for parking the newer ones. The others were parked in the fenced lot next to the warehouse.

  On the first floor was an office for the chief mechanic, Nelson Suggs, a heavyset black man in his mid fifties. Twenty five years ago he had been sent to prison on a rape charge.

  The girl was a white teenager. He was given fifteen years, but served only ten. Paul had not wanted to hire him but his accountant persuaded him to take a chance. Suggs was an excellent mechanic. He kept the other mechanics in line as well as the drivers. Best of all, he didn’t demand a big salary. The second floor of the warehouse was used mostly for storage. Both Paul and John Albertson, his accountant, had large offices that were adjacent to each other, separated by a wall, the top half of which was glass. A single door connected their offices.

  When he arrived that morning John waved at him and then joined him in his office. “Two more of our clients went bottom up and three are late paying. The whole country’s going down the shitter,” he said.

  Paul shook his head. “I think things are going to get a lot worse. We have to cut more of the drivers, take some trucks off the road and maybe lay off a mechanic.”

  “Hate to do that. Lay off guys, I mean.”

  “So do I. One of the last ones was blocking my driveway this morning. Ray Evans, the mechanic. He was swearing and shaking his fist at me.”

  “Ray’s mean, real mean. You don’t want to mess with him.”

  “Yeah, well half the guys we got working here are ex-cons or current thugs. I think they spend half their pay on tattoos and the other half on booze.”

  “They’re pissed off about the wages and no health coverage. Most think you take advantage because they got records and have trouble getting jobs.”

  “They should have thought of that before they did stuff to get them in trouble with the police.”

  John shrugged and started back to his office but turned in the doorway. “Thursday’s your night to host the poker game. Some of the guys say they’re tired of coming to this drafty old warehouse to play. They think you don’t want your neighbors to see a bunch of black guys coming to your house.”

  “Jesus, what a morning this has been! Ok, ok, we’ll have it at my place this Thursday.” As soon as he’d said it he was sorry. Ann would be at her Catholic Youth Center, but she’d come home long before the poker party broke up. After her recent experience with the kid in her class, five black guys sitting at her dining room table, smoking and drinking beer was certain to unnerve her. In addition, he’d noticed that every time John came into his office he looked at the photograph of Ann on his desk. For that matter, so did Nelson Suggs, the chief mechanic.

  Later in the day, John mentioned that he’d like to bring someone who might throw some business their way. This guy, Gordon Watts, was CEO of a huge import/export company.

  John nodded, “This Gordon Watts is he...”

  “He’s very rich, very powerful, knows all the right people, and yes, he’s black.”

  “I just meant...”

  “Yeah, well it looks like it will be six black guys and you. That ok?” There was an edge to his voice.

  Paul was quick to answer, “Sure, it’s fine. Like you say this Watts person might be able to send us some business.”

  On the Wednesday before the poker game Paul informed Ann that the boys would be playing at their house. She frowned, “Why the change?” She disapproved of gambling but had not objected to Paul’s Thursday poker games because when it was his turn to host, he had them at the warehouse. She knew they drank and smoked and that Paul seemed to lose a lot of money. But Paul looked forward to the weekly game and anyway she spent Thursday evenings at the Catholic Youth Center. But having these men at her house was a different matter. She asked again, “Why can’t you have the game in your office like always?”

  Paul smiled at her, “I’m trying to do what you do at the Center, demonstrate that everybody’s equal regardless of religion or political affiliation or skin color.” He put his arms around her, “The guys, all of them African American, have kind of wondered why it was ok for me to go to their houses, but never invite them to mine.”

  She stepped back and looked up at him. “Yes, I can see how they might feel...feel that way. They probably think it’s me, think that I’m prejudiced. You’re right, Paul. You should have them here.” She smiled, “I’ll make some snacks and maybe my famous clam dip, but you must promise to get the empty bottles out of here and clean up after they leave. I’d rather not have this place smelling of cigar smoke and stale beer when I eat breakfast in the morning.”

  He laughed and hugged her. “I promise to get rid of the bottles, run the dishwasher, open the windows, turn on the fan, and buy a six pack of Airwick.”

  “I’ll be home before the game breaks up,” she said.

  “That’s fine. I’ll introduce you to anyone you haven’t already met and you can make a quick exit and go to bed.”

  She nodded, “OK, but I hope they see that we’re not racists or anything like that and you convince them that it’s better to have these poker games back at your office.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard. They all live closer to the garage. Going there is more convenient for them.”

  In addition to Albertson, the accountant, and Suggs, the chief mechanic, the poker players were Trevor Bass, one of the truck drivers, and his brother, Cliff, who worked on the docks. Ike Johnson was a wealthy client who owned a distributorship of women’s clothes and shoes. All Paul knew about the substitute was his name, Gordon Watts, and that he apparently was the CEO of a company that supplied armored vests to the military. He certainly would have connections and could perhaps get them some big contracts. He hated to think about it, but his trucking company was losing money every month. The scams he used to cheat the stock holders were criminal. If the tax guys started poking around he’d lose the company for sure and probably go to jail for awhile. The thing that bothered him most was the fact that Ann’s name was also on all the fraudulent papers. He simply had to find a way to keep the company solvent and to repay the stock holders not to mention the seventy-five thousand he owed his poker playing friends.

  Chapter Two

  On the Thursday night of the poker game when Ann pulled into the parking lot behind the Catholic Youth Center she opened the door of her car to find Darnell Tyman standing in front of her. She drew back and tried to close the door. He reached out to hold it open.

  He stood there a moment staring down at her, his eyes hard, his mouth a narrow slit.

  “Wha....what....do you want?” she stammered.

  He glared at her, “I don’t give a fuck about that damn school, but I don’t want some fuckin white cunt sayin when I can and can’t go there.”

  “You threatened me. You...you...grabbed me.” She began to fumble in her purse for her cell phone.

  He leaned into the car, “Callin 911 ain’t a good idea,” he said. She put the purse back. “That’s better,” he nodded. “You gettin smart.” He grinned down at her, “I be back in school Monday. How about you wearin a sexy dress or a short skirt stead of them old lady clothes?” He laughed and walk
ed away.

  The regular poker players arrived at Paul and Ann’s house on time. The new man, Gordon Watts, was late. They were sitting down at the dining room table when he rang the bell. Paul opened the door and stepped back. The man was huge, six four at least and probably over three-hundred and fifty pounds, most of it in his expansive belly. He was dressed immaculately, some gold bling but not too much. When they shook hands Paul’s was lost in his. He smiled, “Thank you for inviting me to your lovely home,” he said. It appeared that, although the other men had met him before, only John Albertson knew him well. Before sitting down, Watts looked around nodding in approval, “Your wife keeps a very neat house and has excellent taste,” he said. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  Paul was busy getting one of the two larger dining room chairs for the new arrival,

  “Ahh, she’s volunteering at the Catholic Youth Center. She’ll be home a little later.”

  Watts settled into the chair, “Helping the troubled young people in our community...she’s not only a good wife, she has a good heart.”

  Paul was sitting, shuffling the cards, “Yes...yes, indeed she does, she certainly does.”

  As the game went on Paul continued to lose, particularly to Watts. He estimated he’d lost another two-thousand when he heard Ann’s car in the driveway then her key in the door. All of the men stopped playing and looked up as she entered the room. As usual she was wearing oversized jeans, sneakers, and a baggy sweatshirt. Her cheeks were flushed, but except for a light coat of pale pink lipstick, she wore no makeup. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. Watts stood up to greet her. The other men followed his lead.

  “Ahh, Ms. Gardner,” he said smiling, “earlier I was saying what a charming home you’ve created here and now it’s obvious that the creator is even more lovely and charming than her creation.”

  Ann felt herself blushing, “Thank you, but,” she smiled in the direction of her husband, “Paul is very supportive and helpful.” She hurried over to kiss him lightly on the cheek. Introductions were made. “I don’t want to interrupt your game, “she said. “Is there anything I can get you?”

  Paul shook his head, “No, I have everything under control. You must be tired. We’ll try to keep the noise to a minimum.”

  She smiled at them, “Well, all right then. It was nice meeting you gentlemen. Please don’t let my husband lose too much.” They watched her move down the hall before sitting down. As Paul dealt the first hand Gordon Watts leaned back to take a framed wedding picture off the sideboard behind them. He studied it for a few moments and turned to Paul, “She’s a beautiful woman and quite young, yes?”

  “Almost a child bride,” Paul smiled. “She’s twenty-four.”

  “John tells me that she teaches at the High School for Business and Technology right here in Brooklyn?”

  “Yes, history.”

  “I have a nephew who goes there. I’ll ask him if he knows her.”

  The game ended an hour later. Paul had lost another five hundred. As the others were leaving, John Albertson and Gordon Watts held back indicating that they had something to discuss. Paul closed the door and the three men returned to the dining room and sat at the table.

  John was first to speak. “As I mentioned this afternoon, Gordon might have a business proposition for us...for you.”

  The big man folded his hands and smiled across at Paul. “Yes, I think I do. John tells me that the trucking company has taken some hard hits and is in a bit of financial trouble.”

  Reluctantly Paul nodded, “That’s right, sorry to say. I’d be most grateful if you could perhaps let us bid on some of your trucking contracts.”

  “Well, we may be able to do a bit better than that. How about meeting in my office tomorrow at five o’clock, just me, John, you, and your wife.”

  “My wife?”

  Watts chuckled, “John tells me she usually adds her name to obligatory notes and such so it would be convenient to have her attend.”

  “Yes, ok. She’s finished at the school at three. We can make it.”

  The two black men rose. “Good,” Watts said, “John will give you directions.”

  Journal Entry

  Poor Ann. She was still awake when I went to bed last night after the poker game. That punk kid, Darnell, accosted her in the parking lot of the Youth Center. She wants me to go to the police about him. I promised her I would if it happens one more time. I have too much on my plate right now to get involved with the police.

  Even though I lost a bundle last night maybe my luck is changing. John’s friend, Gordon Watts, was very impressive. It’s easy to see why he’s the CEO of a major corporation. He has a commanding presence and he’s big. I was afraid the dining room chair might collapse under him. He’s all but promised to throw some major contracts our way. What a Godsend that would be! I was surprised when he said he wanted Ann to attend the meeting this afternoon. I don’t understand why John told him that Ann’s name was on those obligatory notes. There was no reason for him to reveal that. When I told Ann about the meeting this morning she was not pleased. She’d have to rush home after class, shower, change, and then travel into the city with me to sit in on a meeting she had no interest in. She also mentioned that she was uncomfortable around John and even more uncomfortable in the presence of Gordon Watts (“that big guy” she called him). She said they looked at her in a way that made her want to run from the room. It’s her imagination because of that black kid. I didn’t notice anything.

  The office of Gordon Watts was in a high rise building on East 53rd Street in Manhattan. Paul and Ann rode the subway to Penn Station and took a cab. Even though it was a very hot and humid mid September afternoon, Ann wore a rather long full black skirt, a white cotton blouse and a black one button jacket, plus pantyhose and her single pair of mid heel black shoes, the little coat of pale lipstick and no other makeup. She did let her hair fall naturally to her shoulders.

  Six floors of the building were occupied by “Watts Import Export Inc”. Gordon’s office was on the top floor. The reception area was spacious and richly appointed. To the right and left of the elevator were long hallways leading to a number of offices. Behind the reception desk was a very young, very thin, very pretty black girl. She couldn’t have been more than a year out of high school. The placard on her desk read “Rona”. She looked up at them unsmiling. “Mr. Watts is expecting you.” She pressed a button on her desk, they heard a click. She gestured toward the heavy oak door behind her.

  Watts’ office was tastefully and expensively furnished: two leather couches, a scattering of leather arm chairs, his massive teak desk, modern paintings, big mirrors, a black marble bar, four black and white stools, a huge closet, a full bathroom, and on two walls floor to ceiling windows which looked out on the East River and upper Manhattan.

  Neither Ann nor Paul had ever been in an office as elegant as this. Everything in the office proclaimed that Watts was unquestionably rich and very powerful.

  He rose to greet them and indicated they should sit in the two leather wing chairs facing his desk. They hadn’t noticed her at first but a striking Asian woman at a serving bar on the far wall was pouring coffee into three cups. When they were seated, she placed the cups on small tables next to their chairs and then took the remaining cup to Watts who smiled up at her. “This is my assistant, Ms. Ying. She is not only a gracious hostess, but is a brilliant woman and valued advisor.” He paused as the woman smiled slightly and nodded at Paul and Ann. Watts continued, “She’s been with me a long time. These days the success of any import/export business depends on having connections in China. Ms. Ying has many such connections.” Ms. Ying looked hard at Ann, then bowed slightly and left the room.

  When she was gone, Ann smiled at Watts, “She’s a very beautiful woman.”

  “Yes, she is indeed. You would never guess that she’s in her mid fifties.”

  “I would have thought early forties,” Ann said.

  Watts nodded, “Yes,
some Chinese women age quickly while others seem to be ageless.” He opened a folder on his desk, studied it for a moment then looked across at Paul. “John has told me about your financial problems. It appears that you are in danger of losing the company.”

  Paul felt betrayed. Ann knew he was worried, but he’d kept the extent of the looming disaster from her. “Well, I don’t know about losing it...,” he began.

  Frowning Watts interrupted, “We’re not going to get anywhere here today if you sit there and bullshit me.”

  Paul cleared his throat, “You’re right,” he said, “Things are bad.”

  Watts leafed through several more papers then closed the folder and leaned back. “Here’s the situation,” he began, “your trucking company is losing money every month. I can send you enough business to keep it solvent and even make it profitable.” Paul smiled and started to rise and hold out his hand. Watts waved him back in his chair. “There are more serious problems that need to be addressed before I save your company.” He paused watching the color drain from Paul’s face. “Just for openers,” Watts continued, “you owe your poker playing friends about eighty-thousand dollars and last night after we left your house they told me they wanted their money or your troubles would not be limited to financial ones.”

  Ann gasped and turned to look at her husband, “Is that true, Paul? Is what he’s saying true?”

  Paul nodded, “Yes but...”

  Watts cut him off again, “More important than either the failing business or the poker debt are these.” He held up a sheaf of papers. “These are copies of the notes you and your wife signed. You’ve been scamming the poor suckers who invested in your pathetic company. You’ve stolen what amounts to a half million dollars.”