Fearless – a serial web novel[spacer size=20]
Read from the beginning in Fearless – Chapter 1 – The Low down
Where Amy unloads and Marcy fails to understand the subtle goings about in dark alleys.
Chapter 5 A great man
Jake Ponzi prided himself on never having killed anyone. He didn’t have too. He had others that did that sort of thing.
Another pride of his was an ability to make money. He was rich, obscenely rich and wanting to be richer. Nothing was ever enough for Jake Ponzi. He had it all, he wanted the world. That was his first waking thought every morning, this one no exception. Nothing can stop me now. He thought as He softly floated up from sleep with silk caressing his body, or was that a hand? Yes, a very skillful hand stroking him, teasing him from sleep directly into blissful, relaxed, desire. Jake murmured and extended a hand, expecting a silky swell of platinum-blonde hair surrounding a perfect face. “Monica.” He mumbled and sighed contentedly. Monica knew how to use her hands, but all of a sudden the hand went still, even the quiet bedroom seemed to freeze, but Jake didn’t notice; it felt too damn good and he wasn’t done yet. He grunted in protest. “Don’t stop now. I love it when you wake me up that way. ” He crooned and snaked the hand closer to her. It found her face and he trailed his fingers along her neck, behind the ear, and tangled them in curly locks. He stiffened. Curly? He didn’t bother opening his eyes. “Sue?”
Forty-five minutes later he was in his office, saved despite all odds after a harrowing icy morning with his balls in an emotional chopping block with a sledge hammer hovering… hovering, waiting for the blow. But Maria, not Sue after all, had decided to prolong the agony with a sweet smile as lethal as an ice-pick, and a promise of horrors yet to come. She had finally left his place. A quick shower, shave, and somewhat worried bowel movements had managed to evacuate Maria and Sue both from his mind. Now, polishing the corner of his mahogany desk with a specially designed polishing cloth, ordered for that purpose alone, he preferred to think about Heather. Now that was a piece of art. Black as sin and smooth as warm baby oil. He sighed happily and put the cloth back in its leather case. The desk was perfect. Everything in Jake Ponzi’s down town office glittered and sparkled. Jake had always liked shiny things. As a child he picked the shiniest stone, the sparkliest candy, the brightest piece of glass. His treasures. That was before he understood at an early age that coins were worth more than tinfoil balls. When he grew older yet, though, he understood that paper was immensely more valuable than both coins and glittery glass. Digital currency was still something of a work in progress for Jake’s retro mind. You couldn’t touch it, smell it, bathe in electronic money. There was something so wrong with computerized funds it gave Jake hives when thinking about it. So Jake Ponzie avoided thinking about it. Paypal what?
Jake’s gaze traveled the luxurious room and finally got stuck on a small gold frame. His first dollar bill earned through less than morally justified means rested there. Crumpled and torn, more precious than any of the once that came after. The sight of it gave him a warm satisfied glow inside, and a satisfied smug look on the outside. It never failed to make him puff up and swell a bit in his oversized leather office-chair. He sometimes wondered if Tommy Marishnikov ever noticed that the magical rock Jake had sold for the dollar was actually just a pretty stone he had found somewhere. Maybe on the beach, maybe in someone’s yard, Jake couldn’t remember. He had been six. Tommy had been four.
He released the mounted loot of his prosperous childhood from his greedy stare and reached for the phone. Pushing a shiny button he barked into the small microphone. “Anna, where is that coffee? And where the hell is that fat ass banker?”
The tiny speaker kept quiet for half a second, then Anna quietly replied. Mr. Andersson is right here, waiting… sir.” She paused, apparently to take a deep breath, and continued. I’ll bring your coffee presently… Sir. Shall I send Mr. Andersson in?… Sir?”
“Very good Anna, send him right in.” Jake shouted cheerfully into the microphone, overloading the sensitive circuit for the third time since the thing was installed. Jake sat back in his chair, waiting for the door to open.
Fat-ass Andersson was a good man. He had made more money for Ponzie’s official, and legal, affairs than anyone.
Jake liked to think he was a stock market guru. Chances are though that if Jake handled a certain stock himself, he’d have his head resting on a block of them after a week, just waiting for the ax to fall. He did however, have a knack for hiring people. So over the years he had gathered the best money-makers money, and covert knowledge of sleazy affairs, could buy. He had a bank of brokers that worked exclusively for him and were making money hand over fist. These guys were in different firms around the city and they were privy to numerous business dealings at all times. They had set up a complex system that would take knowledge, gleamed from one firm and send it out to the various other members and then the buying or selling would begin. And Jake didn’t need to lift a finger.
And they had a pretty nifty setup too. Jake gave himself a mental pat on the back as the knock came on his door and the most crooked honest man in his entire fleet squeezed through. “Joel my man.” Jake stood up and offered his hand to the bank man, making sure his Rolex peeked out of the sleeve before he grasped the mans damp fleshy hand. The handshake was as loose and clammy as always. Andersson didn’t like Ponzie. But that was alright. Jake didn’t like Fat-ass Anderson either. He grinned. “sit, please sit.” Jake waited until the other man had fitted himself in the visitors chair, placing his briefcase on the floor. Jake sat and rested his palms on the desk, showing off his diamond studded pinky ring in the process; sparkling its riches, screaming its gaudiness as if the price tag still hovered in the air around it. Anderson glared. Jake smiled, eyes shining as bright as his bleached teeth. Greedy little heart pumping with expectation. But he had to soften the ill-tempered man first. Chit chat always worked. He assumed a friendly and honest expression; one of genuine curiosity. “Elvira is doing well, I trust?”
Anderson’s face darkened into a shade of mottled purple and extruded droplets of spittle along with a sputtered word jake didn’t understand. Jake fought the involuntary cringe and failed. Oops, he thought. Forgot.
The corpulent man on the other side of the desk glared some more, but then he smiled tightly, ignoring the reference to his suddenly lesbian ex wife. He cleared his throat, wobbling the extra chins and went straight to the point. “We have a slight problem with the… ehum… off shore account. ”
Jake lost the smile and leaned forward, narrowed his eyes in what he thought was a look of power with the perfect hint of implied threat; he had practiced in front of a mirror after all, but he he wasn’t even close. He did manage to seem both severely nearsighted as well as stupid. “Problem?” He asked in his most ominous tone, but again he was way off the mark. Anderson raised his eyebrows, momentarily halted and mute by the expression on the mighty Ponzie’s face, so Jake tried again. He leaned forward even farther and deepened his voice, squinting harder and trying t drill his stare into the fat man. “what kind of problem?”
Anderson opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, Anna tapped on the door. She struggled with the door for a moment and then she came waddling in, carrying a tray of coffee pot, cups, and butter tarts. She placed it on the desk, arranged the refreshments with pudgy fingers that nonetheless moved with efficient speed and practiced skill. After an appreciative glance and a suggestive smile in Anderson’s direction, she disappeared to her domains.
Jake stared at the door when it closed behind her generous backside, frowning. But with Anna’s so well timed interruption, Jake had lost momentum in his act of intimidation and Anderson had gotten his incredulity under control. They poured coffee and ate butter tarts, conversing politely about creative bookkeeping tips and tricks, and the sudden disappearance of four million dollars.