Betrayal - A Short Story

Mark smiled pleasantly, dipping his hand into the tray of olives and pulling one out.  Honestly, he considered the sweet fruit to be disgusting in the worst sort of way, but this was no time to be ungracious.  This was a time for cordiality, and more than a little discretion.

            The hotel he was in afforded several five star top-of-the-line suites with a large guest hall, two bathrooms (one with a Jacuzzi and seaside view of the Pacific, the other with a picture of the Mona Lisa staring at you on the wall), and a bedroom the size of a log cabin for anyone wishing a little shut-eye.

            But from the looks of things, anyone attending this party had more important things to worry about then sleep.

            The waitress—there were at least six that Mark had seen and probably a number more—flashed a fake smile at Mark, dipped a slight curtsy, and began swimming through the crowd to find the next waiting guest.  Mark looked blankly at the olive in his hand, and then threw it into a table side basket of flowers.  No sense in spoiling his appetite.

            A tinkling sound filled the air, and everyone quickly grew still.  At once they all turned towards the glass wall.  This wall also allowed a tremendous view of the ocean, and at the moment it was offering an astounding image; that of the sun slipping behind the horizon.  No one was looking at the Kodak moment, however.  Everyone was focused on Bryan Cowell, the CEO and part owner of Havbrent.

            Havbrent was a multi-billion dollar distributor of computer technology, enlisting the brightest minds to create defense programs against hackers.  Bryan Cowell was the originator of the company, owned a third of it in paper and another eighth in stock.  In all respects, Bryan Cowell was a rich man.

            Very rich.

            “I have gathered you all here today for one reason only.  To have a delicious meal, listen to some excellent music from the mid-nineteen-forties, and listen to the prattling of an old man well past his prime.  But mostly I brought you all here to have a party.  Are you all enjoying yourselves?”

            Everyone began murmuring, and then they collectively agreed that they were indeed enjoying themselves.

            “That is fabulous.  But I must confess that I have a sinister motive in inviting you here.  There has been a rumor spreading around that I am retiring soon.  Well, you all know how elusive time can be, and it seems that before you know it, soon has become now.  I am indeed retiring, and I am sure you are all curious as to what position this puts you in.”

            Now a hush had fallen over the crowd to a nearly excessive degree.  Most of the people in this room were more than curious as to what would happen to the company.  They were paranoid.  There were six qualified people for the position of CEO that Bryan Cowell was vacating: Aaron Landvin, Michael Schmidt, Jeremy Moore, Victor Pratt, Kevin Hess, and Mark Gibbs.  To almost everyone it seemed that Michael Schmidt was a runaway candidate for the position (he had worked with Havbrent for almost twelve years now and had a perfect record), but there were a few people who had other ideas.

            Like Mark Gibbs.

            “Before I go into the unglamorous side of this business, I would like to ask you all to raise your glasses in a toast.  This will be a toast to twenty five years of love and respect, because I respect each and everyone one of you. You have all been there for me at one time or another, just as I hope I was always there for you.”

            Hundreds of glasses were raised to the ceiling, a general cry of “Toast,” “Cheers,” and “To Bryan!” erupted from the crowd, and those same glasses were lowered to waiting lips and emptied.  Bryan Cowell swallowed the glass of crispVenicewine and let out a sigh.  Perfectly aged and perfectly grown.  There was a slightly odd aftertaste, but nothing too out of the ordinary.  Every once in a while the drink would leave a funny taste in your mouth.

            Especially if it was past time for another AA meeting.

            “Thank you all for these pleasant years of my life.  I will miss you all when I buy my condo inHawaii.” Bryangrinned.  “But seriously, it is time to get down to business.  I have thought carefully about who would take over my position as CEO, and I have decided that it would be…”

           Bryanpaused, and a look of disgust came over his face.  The crowd was leaning forward now, waiting to hear the proclamation, but there was none coming. Bryanbegan coughing, as though he had something stuck in his throat.  There was a moment of stunned silence in which no one moved, and then it seemed that everyone was in a panic.  Several people rushed forward to his side, yelling for a doctor (as in the movies when someone steps forward, proclaims that he or she is a doctor, and quickly fixes the problem) and helping him to a chair.  No one stepped forward. This was a room of technicians and computer whizzes; anything these people knew about doctoring they learned in Hospital Tycoon designing their own wards.

            Mark grinned and slid backwards, allowing other people to drift forwards.  This was absolute perfect timing, better than he could ever have imagined. By the time the squad arrived (or helicopter or whatever they wanted to send) to pickBryanup, he would be dead.  The cause of death would be completely unknown.

            “Hey Mark,” a voice whispered from beside him.  He glanced casually to his right and saw Richard Vane.  “Looks like everything is going perfectly to plan.”

            “How much Bezine did you use?”

            “Barely any.  One and a half a normal dose.  By the time they cut this guy open it’ll look like he was taking a normal prescription of the medicine.”

            One of the few facts almost no one in the company knew was that Bryan Cowell was a victim of HIV (and the doctors were certain that it was only a matter of time until it progressed to AIDS).  He had been taking expensive medications for the last twenty years, but Bezine was a relatively new drug—only a few months old.  It had been tested, and showed that in most cases it stopped the spread of the virus with very few side-effects.  But in certain cases large doses caused liver problems, effectively destroying the liver.  The problems were few and far between, and even when they did cause damage it was never to a catastrophic effect.    

            Unless it was mixed with alcohol.  Just one of the pills (and Richard had used two, a potentially catastrophic number as it was) mixed with alcohol would be enough to immobilize, and then destroyBryan.

            “Where is Bill?”

            “He’s waiting for the right moment to plant the will.  I hate to say it, but with this many people running around its hard to make it to the crapper alone, let alone the man’s bedroom.  I think he decided to wait until things got a little restless and everyone came out here before digging through the old guy’s baggage.”

            That’s understandable, Mark thought.  This wouldn’t be the best of times to get spotted openingBryan’s suitcase.  “How long does he have?”

            “Bryan?”

            “Who else would I mean?  The tooth-fairy?” He forced the anger from his voice.  “Sorry man, I’m just a little on edge.”

            “You’re not regretting this are you?”

            Mark grinned again.  “Believe me, this time a month from now I’ll be on top of the world.  You could make me regret getting rid of the old bag.  But I am a little worried about getting caught.”

            “Don’t be.  It’s off without a hitch. This time next month you’ll be part owner of a multi-billion dollar corporation with no traces left behind.”

            Mark scanned the crowd, looking to see if anyone was looking his direction (they weren’t of course. The farthest thing from any of their thoughts right now was how Mark was involved in this man’s death) and then let out a sigh.  “I really hope you are right.”

            “I am,” Richard replied, patting him on the shoulder.  “I am.”

                        *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            That night ended discomfiting for Mark.  Once the police arrived they ran everyone out of the building and put police tape up everywhere they could.  Mark hoped that Bill had been given enough time to take care of his business, but never got a chance to single Bill out to ask him.  He went to bed that night on edge and nervous.

            It didn’t take long for things to mellow out.  He was given a call two days later byBryan’s wife telling him that the funeral was scheduled for two weeks, along with the reading ofBryan’s last will and testament (she sounded somewhat surprised that he even had a last will and testament).  She couldn’t explain the actual cause of his death, because no one had given her the information.  But one thing was clear: no one had even mentioned a murder suspect (or even the possibility of a murder for that matter) to the wife of the deceased.

            It felt as if a great weight had been lifted off Mark’s chest.

            “I will be glad to come to the funeral,” Mark agreed truthfully. After all, the last will and testament would explain some rather encouraging things about Mark’s future.

            “Thank you,” the widow replied, sniveling slightly. “It’s been so hard.”

            “I’m sure it has,” Mark replied, trying to keep his voice steady.  He couldn’t hide a wide grin, however, and was glad that she hadn’t given him the message in person.

            Mark spent the next two weeks working and preparing, and inward he was restless and impatient. It wasn’t as hard a wait as he might have imagined.  He had spent years planning this situation, and waiting a few weeks seemed only a minor chore in comparison.  When the funeral was finally there Mark had no trouble in doing his part.  There were hundreds of mourners there (many of them the same people who had been to his retirement party a few weeks before).

            Once the grieving period was over, everyone gathered into a large side room to hear the reading of the will.  A tall man in an overcoat—looking impatient to be done with this business—stepped up to a podium at the front of the room and looked at the crowd.  “A few days afterBryandied we found a will in his bag.  It was not an authorized will, because it was not notarized, but we have decided that it was a truthful will.  He was probably in the process of getting it notarized when the unfortunate happened.”

            The unfortunate, Mark mused.  Only for one of us.

            “So, asBryan’s lawyer and holder of financial matters I will now read off his last will and testament:

Dear all of my beloved friends and family,

            I regret to note that if you are reading this letter than I am no doubt dead.  I have decided to keep this letter short and sweet because of my penchant for carrying on in normal conversations.  I leave everything I own to my beloved wife.  I expect that when Monika has died she will leave it individually to our children, which spares me the extra work of having to write it out.

            As to who my stock shares are being left to, as well as the job of CEO, I only hope that Mark Gibbs is doing well as part owner.  It is a difficult job, but I am sure he is more than up to the task.

            And now I say goodbye to all of you good people.

            Farewell.

            Bon Voyage.

            The room sat in stunned silence for several minutes before everyone turned and looked over at Mark.  He couldn’t help it…he was grinning from ear to ear.  It seemed that everything was going perfectly as planned.  No, that wasn’t completely true.  Everything was going better than planned.  If the second part of the letter came through then he might even be owner ofBryan’s considerable stock.

            Soon everyone began filing out of the room, whispering conversations.  The lawyer was long gone, apparently believing his living contacts were more important than the dead ones.  Several people shot Mark dirty glances (after all, how did he manage to be in the man’s will?) but he managed to ignore them all.  Not that it would do much good anyway.  The will—as the lawyer had pointed out—was being considered truthful, and if enough people backed it in court then it would be hard to go against.  Mark would be named the CEO, if for no other reason than because it would be hard to knock him out in a court.

            On his way out the door Richard came and walked next to him.  He didn’t say a word, but continued walking with him well into the parking lot.  Once they were clear of all the people he turned and glanced at Mark.  “You are in an interesting position Mark Gibbs,” Richard said.

            “Shouldn’t you be calling me Mr. Gibbs?” Mark asked, grinning.  He hit Richard easily in the side with his elbow and then laughed.  Richard didn’t follow suit.

            “As I said, you are in an interesting position.  Suddenly all of these people are going to want to be on your good side because of a little letter found in a man’s briefcase.  As far as every one of them is concerned, it is an authentic note.  Would you like it to stay an authentic note?”

            The grin disappeared.  “I have already promised you and Bill the best jobs I can get you.”

            “Yes, and we will gladly take those jobs.  But we have decided that maybe the jobs weren’t enough after all.  We want more, and since you are going to be a very rich man soon, then perhaps it will be some of that money we expect.”

            “Are you trying to blackmail me?”

            “No.  I am blackmailing you.  Understand that there are only two people out there right now who can drop you down a few pegs, and right now both of those people want to keep you on the top wrung.  But if you aren’t willing to play the game, then I’m sure there are a lot more people who want just a fraction of the information I have stored in my head.”  He pointed to his cranium to accentuate his point.

            “Then maybe I should split that head open and delete the information,” Mark replied.  By now all trace of his happiness was gone.  He was frankly pissed off.  Richard couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not.

            “Yeah…well just remember what I told you.  We’re going to expect a lot of fringe benefits in the next few years.”

            Mark sighed.  “I want you to understand something right now.  I am not someone you want to anger.  Most people have a line, and when you cross it they get mad.  My line is a little bit harder to find, but believe me when you cross it I don’t get mad.  I get pissed off.  You are treading very close to that line right now, and I would hate to have you stumble onto the wrong side of that line.”

            Now Richard was visibly caught off guard.  “Just make sure you have the money.”

            Mark didn’t reply.  Instead he turned around and walked the other way, got into his car and drove off.  Richard stood still for a few moments—hundreds of new thoughts running around in his head—and then left the other way.  No, Mark wouldn’t do anything stupid.  This job is worth too much to him.

            He had no idea how wrong he was.

                        *                      *                      *                      *                      *

            The arrogance of that man, Mark fumed, driving down the road.  I can’t believe he would attempt to blackmail me.  ME!  After everything I have tried to do for him and all he can think of is how much more he can get out of the deal.   Oh he’s going to get more alright. A lot more.  More than he could ever bargain for.

            By the time Mark made it back to his house—a condo by the river worth well over three hundred grand—he had worked himself into a considerable rage.  The first stop he made was to the bar for a drink.  Scotch, hard and cold, always managed to get him to relax.  It worked like a charm, and after a few moments Mark was thinking more clearly.  It was clear—like looking at the sky after a day of rain—exactly what he had to do.  He had tried to give Richard so much—Bill too—and they had thrown it back into his face.  They were actually trying to threaten him!

            But that was okay.  Mark had gotten where he was without using a little guile and cleverness.  Already a plan was beginning to formulate in his mind about how to handle this situation.  Mark poured himself another drink, grinned, and then started laughing.  This would all work out in the end.

            Everything.

                        *                      *                      *                      *                      *                     

            Richard went to work the next day like normal, spent his day sharpening pencils, playing computer games, and occasionally crawling around on his hands and knees to look up some girls skirts.  He didn’t expect any conversations with Mark today—it would probably be a couple of weeks before the idiot even managed to get the benefits of his new position—and was surprised when Mark came up to him on his lunch break. 

            “Hey, how you doin’ Rich?” Mark said, smiling from ear to ear.  This was the first time Richard had ever heard Mark call him ‘Rich’ (not to mention the first time Mark hadn’t exaggerated the ‘g’ in ‘doing’). 

            “Not bad Mark.  How about you?  Enjoying the high life yet?” Richard asked cautiously.

            “Yeah, actually I am, and it’s only going to get better.  Look I wanted to apologize to you for yesterday.  You two have done so much to help me get where I am today, and honestly I would be a selfish fool to not give you both what you deserve.  As a token of good health I want to offer you both dinner tonight and a gift.”

            “A gift?  What?”

            “Well, if I told you what it was then it would cease to be a gift.  I bought them both out of my own pocket, and I can at least say that they both go ‘Vroom’ really loud.”

            Richard grinned.  “Hey man, like I said, you’re going to be rolling in the dough soon, and I just don’t want you to forget who helped you get there.”

            “Believe me, I’ll never forget.  So you two want to show up abouteight o’clockthen?”

            “Sure, we’ll be there.”  Man, it was easy to break this old guy down, Richard thought.  I figured he would crack sooner or later, but this has got to be a new world record.  Fastest cave!  Mercedes?

            Mark smiled.  “Can’t wait.”

                        *                      *                      *                      *                      *         

            Atquarter to eighta Red Volvo pulled into Mark’s driveway.  The door opened and two people got out.  “Man, this guy is already bathing in the money, isn’t he?” Bill couldn’t help but ask.  “It can’t be too hard for him to spare some money, especially with what he’s going to be getting.”

            “I know what you mean,” Richard replied, straightening his tux (he considered this a business call, and it was always important to look good on a business call) and heading for the front door.  “He’s rich, and we are entitled to our peace of the pie, one way or another.”

            He rang the doorbell (it was a vanity ring with a Beethoven sonata) and waited a moment.  It wasn’t long before he heard a click.  Automated locks?  Fancy Mark, but to be honest I expected nothing less.  “Well, it’s time to go in and meet our destiny—”

            As he was talking Richard had been walking through the door.  He was cut off in his proclamation as a baseball beat collided with his skull.  He staggered to the side, half of his face crushed in.  Only his right eye was even working, and he managed to look around blankly for a few seconds before collapsing to the floor, dead.

            Bill cursed and turned around to run.  Mark was standing behind him, one hand rubbing the front of his tux and the other in his pocket.  Bill stopped—he couldn’t think of anywhere to go—and looked around frantically.  He was out of ideas.

            “Do you like it Bill?” Mark asked finally, gesturing with his free hand towards the doorway.  Richard was lying there, eerily still as a pool of blood spread out around him.  “I set up a little swing when he opened the door.  For some reason I expected that he would be the one to go in first, and it’s more than the little prick deserves.  I was hoping it would be a slower death.”

            “Why?” Bill whispered.        

            “Hmm?  I didn’t quite catch that one.”

            “I said why,” Bill repeated, only slightly louder.  Mark stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing.

            “You’re serious aren’t you?  Oh, that has to be the funniest thing I’ve heard in a number of years,” Mark said, rubbing his hand along his eye.  “Anyway, I’m going to give you the choice on how you want to die.  The sling is on an automatic reset, so it should be ready to take care of you if you want to try that way.  Or, if you would prefer, you can try door number two.”  He pulled a small gun out of his pocket.  There was a long black tube—a silencer—on the end of the barrel.  Mark looked at it lovingly for a moment and then turned his attention back to Bill.  “So what’s it going to be?  How do you want to die?”

            “You are crazy!” Bill said, looking down at Richard.  Mark smiled wistfully.

            “Aren’t we all?” He raised the gun.  “I’m only going to give you a few more seconds to decide, and then I’ll have to decide for you.”           

            Bill didn’t notice as the front of his pants started to get wet.  “I’ll give you to the count of three,” Mark said.  “One…two…”

            Bill didn’t wait for him to get any farther.  He turned and sprinted towards the door.  If the bat was on a auto reset than it would still be set to head height.  He barreled the door open and ducked, thinking the bat would swing by overhead.

            He didn’t expect how cunning Mark would be.  Another bat (about three feet lower than the first) swung at the same moment the door flew open.  Bill’s momentum carried him partway past, so at least the bat didn’t hit him in the head.  Instead it collided with his shoulder, pulverizing it.  He flew to the side, rolled along the marble floor, and came to a stop on his hurt shoulder.

            Everything was gray and time passed, but he didn’t know how much.  When he finally came to he was no longer in the foyer of Mark’s estate, actually he wasn’t sure he was still at Mark’s estate at all.  His shoulder was throbbing, but it wasn’t completely painful yet.  For the moment his mind still wasn’t sure what had happened and wasn’t accepting the pain.  It would, though, for the next six hours.

            He managed to sit up slightly and saw Richard lying in front of him.  It was too dark for him to see anything, but he got the impression that he was in a small room.  “How did you sleep?” Mark asked from behind him.  Bill leaned back and then cried out as a burst of pain shot through his body.  Dear god, was it possible to feel this much pain?

            “Don’t worry, I didn’t move you too far.  Just to my shed outback.”  Mark’s voice continued moving to the side as he circled around Bill.  “And if I can make an observation, you made the wrong choice on how you wanted to die.  You picked the bats, and I’m guessing it’s going to take you quite a while before you finally manage to die.  I’d love to put you out of your misery, but that isn’t my place. You chose.”

            “It hurts,” Bill managed to moan. 

            “It does?  What hurts?”

            “My shoulder.”

            “Your shoulder hurts?  Well I think I can fix that without interfering too much.”  Mark grunted, and suddenly a swooping sound filled the air.  Bill couldn’t see, but he got the idea of what was happening when the axe hit his leg just above the knee, completely severing it.  The entire world exploded in red dots and someone began screaming.  After a few moments Bill realized that someone was him.

            “Go ahead and scream all you want,” Mark whispered, now directly in front of Bill.  “The shed is very well insulated, and no one will have the slightest idea where you are.  I’m guessing it’s gonna take four hours for you to finally die, so you might as well get to that.”

            Bill continued moaning and writhing about, but nothing seemed to relieve any of his pain.  “You screwed with the wrong person,” Mark continued, standing up again.  “You should have taken what I offered you and been happy with it.  Oh well, it’s too late to worry about that now.”

            Mark went to the door and stepped outside.  He was off by two hours—it would take six hours and eight minutes for Bill to finally die, but by the time it was over Bill would be past the pain.  He was covered in blood, as was his axe, but he felt good.  He could go inside, take a quick shower, clean the axe and get into some fresh clothes, and then he could figure out how to deal with the two bodies on his hands.  He sighed and looked up at the sky.  He had learned an important lesson here tonight: three can keep a secret as long as two of them are dead.  It wouldn’t be that hard to hide them—who would ever connect those two bozos with the new CEO of Havbrent?—and then he could start to plan his next course of action.

            Maybe a trip toHawaii?