BEWARE THE ABANONED
CHAPTER 22
FALL FROM GRACE
On returning from their honeymoon, John and Naomi settled into that day-to-day routine that all marriages fall into. John’s apartment at the golf club continued to be his office. Each morning, he made the short commute between the beach house and the golf course. Now, besides his workload at the golf club, he found more and more of his time was being spent managing Naomi’s affairs.
With enough cash flow to meet all her desires, Naomi had little motivation to manage her surplus funds. John found that over the previous twelve months, she had accumulated over two million dollars in dividend income. It was just sitting in her bank account, not making enough interest to offset inflation.
When a small private zoo came up for a quick sale on the outskirts of Benji Beach, he pushed Naomi to buy it. The large tract of land it sat on was worth far more than they were asking for the business. It was one of the few amusement destinations that existed within twenty miles. Naomi had no interest in managing it. John found a competent manager to run it for her under his Supervision.
A few months later, the largest bar along the Benji Beach tourist strip came up for sale. John met with the bar’s owners and did a complete analysis of its potential. It was losing money but John could see an opportunity. He recommended that Naomi buy it. When she did, he arranged for Matteo Dafina to supervise it.
Matteo upgraded the bar’s fixtures and its menu, just as he had done with the private dining room at the golf club. He applied the golf club’s food and beverage supplier discounts to its purchasing. When Benji Beach Golf Club members found that they could use their membership cards to get a 10% discount at the bar, the bar’s sales and profits soared. It was one more reason to buy a golf club membership.
The reality of marriage changed John. A careful planner, he did not believe in leaving any loose ends. Although Naomi would never need his fortune, he still felt that as his life partner, he needed to show his total commitment to her. Under the warm afterglow of the honeymoon, he set up an appointment with his lawyer and to draw up a will that named Naomi as the beneficiary of his estate, less, the fifteen percent, The Sanctuary would receive.
He saw the two of them getting old and grey together. When he revealed this expression of love and total commitment to Naomi, she insisted that she must do the same. A few weeks later, in the same lawyer’s office, she signed a will that named Raymond Powell as her sole beneficiary.
Like Naomi, John had also set up a small office in his dressing room at the beach house. Late one evening, as he was reviewing bills and approving payments, Naomi appeared at his dressing room door. She waited until he looked up and noticed her. When he did lookup from his computer, he smiled and greeted her, “Sorry, I guess I haven’t been much fun. The zoo and that bar have taken longer to settle than I expected. What can I do for you?”
“Let's get out of Benji Beach. It's springtime. Paris is beautiful in the Spring. Why don't we go?”
“We will, but not right now. I've got some fairway reshaping to do and I want it done right. There’s also that real estate development company I want to buy into. They have contracts and plans and I have to review before we meet. Maybe next month, we could go to Paris.”
“Money. Money! Christ, Ray, there's more to life than chasing money. Moneys for enjoyment, to provide comfort, new experiences. I swear making money, to you, is like some kind of religion.”
Ray looked up at her and realized that their relationship was not as deep as he thought it was. He wondered if there was a meeting place between their two expectations of life. He paused before he answered her, “Naomi, you've always had money. You can’t believe that within seconds it can all disappear. Unless you are on top of things, you can lose it all, just like that.” John snapped his fingers loudly before he continued, “I lost one business because I was overconfident. I was certain that I was too smart to make a mistake. Well, I'm wiser now, and I sure don't intend to lose another business because I was negligent or unprepared.”
Naomi did not appreciate his response. She interpreted it to be a suggestion that she was both spoiled and negligent. She replied, “Funny, but I seemed to have got along just fine before I met you. Let me tell you that unlike you, I do not intend to sit around counting my money all day. If you want to sit here and count your money, then have fun doing it. I'm going to Paris.”
“Naomi, I can't go to Paris right now. You are free to do whatever you want. Go to Paris. I will keep an eye on things for you. If I can get this deal closed sooner, I’ll join you in Paris.”
Naomi, angry that she could not bend John to her whims, turned and stomped off down the hall to the master bedroom.
As she left, John muttered to himself, “Spoiled Bitch” and then felt badly for having even thought it. Disappointed in her attitude, he returned to the analytical work that he had been doing. It was after midnight when he finally finished.
Quietly, he made his way to the matrimonial bed. Naomi curled away from him, feigning sleep. Let sleeping dogs lie, John thought. Tired, he turned his back to Naomi and was asleep with minutes.
The next morning, he was up before sunrise and on his way to the golf club. Naomi usually opened one eye and wished him a good morning, as she heard him preparing to leave. This morning, she did not acknowledge his departure. As he backed his car out of the garage, he thought to himself that the honeymoon must be over. He assumed that she would be over her pique by the time he got home, later in the day.
When he got home late in the afternoon, Naomi wasn’t there. On his desk, she had left a note that said she was on her way to Paris and, if he wanted to join her, then he would find her at La Reserve. John took the note, crumbled it into a ball and tossed it into the wastepaper basket.
The next morning, he dropped by his lawyer’s office and signed a new will. The sole beneficiary of his estate would now be The Sanctuary in Taos, New Mexico. He had reached the conclusion that Naomi neither needed, deserved, or appreciated his money. The Sanctuary would invest it to benefit thousands of children.
Naomi returned home two weeks later. When John got home from work, she greeted him with a kiss. He put his arms around her and held her. She told him how she had missed him and was so disappointed that he had not joined her in Paris. John did not want to justify his behavior, so he said nothing. They made love that night but John could feel that their relationship had changed. That special spark was no longer there.
They carried on, both aware of their disappointment in each other. They accepted that relationships were never perfect and people do not change. John continued to invest her money and his own, buying more and more businesses and properties in the area. With ever more income to invest in and more enterprises to manage, he worked even longer hours. Ever greater amounts were being forwarded by him to The Sanctuary. Unbeknownst to Naomi, income from her investments were being included in the cash shipments being mailed to New Mexico each month.
The only selfish pleasure he now indulged in was painting seascapes. He did these in his office at the golf course, late at night. Naomi knew of it. She concluded, from his absences, that painting now satisfied him more than she did. Naomi was often asleep when he returned at night.
He tried to make Naomi happy. They took a Baltic cruise. John had to end it in St Petersburg, Russia when one of his deals started to fall apart. He flew home and left Naomi on the ship to complete the cruise.
Naomi could not believe he had left her. She could not understand why the more money John made; the more John worried about losing it. While his wealth was a small fraction of her wealth, he had enough invested that he no longer needed to work. If he should ever need money all he needed to do was ask her for some. She would never have hesitated in providing him with anything he might want. Watching him get into the taxi, taking him to the St. Petersburg airport, she had felt rejected and angry.
That evening, the ship left St. Petersburg for Helsinki. Abandoned and depressed, she drank too much wine at dinner, followed by too many vodkas at the floor show. When later that evening she reached the nightclub, on the top deck, she continued to drink. A six-piece band was playing slow, romantic music. Couples were dancing and laughing, enjoying life to the fullest. This made her feel even more sad and lonely.
As she sat at the bar, a tall, well-dressed man approached. He paused and took the stool next to her. She could feel his eyes on her but she ignored him. He leaned towards her and enquired, “Naomi Green?”
“Yes?” Naomi responded, surprised that this stranger knew her name.
“I thought it was you. You probably don’t remember me. We were in the same economics class at Harvard.”
Naomi peered at him and hesitantly replied, “Bob, Bobby Hollander? You look older.”
Bob Hollander laughed and in a pleased voice said, “You do remember me. Yes, I am older. How would you like to dance?”
She held him tight as they danced. He liked being held tight. Unlike John he didn’t want to leave her. If she couldn’t be John’s center of attention, then she would settle for the first person who would give her the undivided attention she craved. It was close to two in the morning when Bob Hollander walked her back to her suite. She invited him in for a nightcap. One thing led to another.
She woke up in the morning, curled naked, next to Bob. It turned out that Bob also had his challenges. His wife had left him two months before they were to leave on the cruise. He was on the cruise because he had paid for it and couldn’t get a refund. Until the cruise ended in Copenhagen, the two of them were inseparable.
Naomi learned that Bob had completed a law degree after his MBA and was now a lawyer for a large corporation in Washington. The company managed a restricted database for the federal government.
When they parted at the airport in Washington, he suggested that he could be down to Benji Beach in a little over two hours. The idea excited Naomi. It made her feel alive. She thought about how she could arrange it.
The weekends were John’s busiest time. Naomi rarely saw him from Thursday until Tuesday. Sometimes he would sleep in his apartment at the golf club. For Naomi, weekends were her time to indulge in her selfish love of being on the water. She would take the boat out and make her way to some quiet, deserted cove. Sometimes by herself, but often she would invite friends to join her. Few people turned down a chance to spend a pleasant time on a yacht, drinking and eating the yacht owner’s food and drinking her fine wine.
While she had schooled John in operating the boat, and he was a quick learner, he had no passion for the water. She accepted that he was from the dry South-West and only accompanied her on the boat to keep her happy. On the boat, he would pace the deck, like a caged animal, expressing his eagerness to get back on dry land to manage their money.
When Bob phoned her a few days after they got back, she asked if he wanted to spend the weekend with her. Bob responded that he would love to. The first time, not want tongues wagging about her at her own yacht club, she met him up the coast at the Nanoose River Yacht Club.
They fell into a routine. Bob would leave his office late on Friday afternoons and drive back to Washington early in the morning on Mondays. As Naomi’s affection for Bob grew and the weekend liaisons became more and more routine, she no longer cared what the boating people at her own yacht club thought. Naomi had reached that point, where she did not care whether Raymond learned about her affair or not. Being wealthy and privileged, she felt divorce had become an attractive option. She did not need Raymond Powell in her life.
About ten, on Monday morning, Naomi got a call on her cell phone. It was Bob, “Hi Darling.”
“Good morning lover. How was your drive home?”
“No problem. I was sitting at my desk by eight o’clock.”
“You were just great last night.”
“Not as good as you. Unfortunately, I’ve got to go to a meeting on Friday evening but I can leave early on Saturday morning. Would you like that?”
“Oh yeah, we could take the boat up to the cove. There are things I want to explore. If you know what I mean.”
“What about Raymond?”
“Don’t worry about Raymond. A gallery in Dover is having a show of his paintings this weekend. He’s going up Friday afternoon and won’t be back until late Sunday.
“Doesn’t he wonder what you do on that boat by yourself?”
“As long as I stay away from his business, he doesn’t give a damn what I do on that boat, or anything else. Sometimes, he forgets I even exist. Thanks to you, I realize what a mistake I made in marrying him. I emailed my lawyer this morning. He is setting me up with the top divorce lawyer in the state. I should have listened to my father and got a prenuptial agreement. That bastard may walk away with half of what I’ve got.”
“I can’t say that I’m surprised that you will finally divorce him. Too bad about your investments.”
“Mind you, he’s invested my money well, so I probably won’t lose much. He’s put it into some weird investments but they have certainly paid off. Did you know he bought that small zoo on the edge of town? Raymond says the land is worth a fortune. Got to go. Love you, Bobby. Meet me at the boat by seven, Saturday morning. Can you get there by then so we can leave before the wind picks up?”
“No problem, I’ll get to bed early enough on Friday night and leave D.C. at four in the morning. That way I’ll miss all the traffic on the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. See you Saturday morning. I love you.”
CHAPTER 23
DISCLOSURE
That same morning, in his office at the golf club, John Cross was concentrating on the previous month’s financial figures, when his phone rang. He answered it with, “Hello, Powell here.”
“Hey Ray, it's Wally Martin here. How’s it going?”
When John had expanded beyond his original investment in the golf course and bought more businesses in Benji Beach, it got the attention of the local business leaders. Soon they had him on the Tourist and Accommodation committee of the Chamber of Commerce. Several times they asked him to run for president of the Chamber. He rejected such overtures because he was worried that a higher profile might come to the attention of those who were still searching for him. He believed that the interested parties in Las Vegas would never give up their hunt.
It was important that the local businesses leaders have a good relationship with the local constabulary. Walter K. Martin was the local Chief of Police. This sounded impressive until you learned the police force comprised Wally and ten other permanent employees. In the high season he added another fifteen temps. John, like other business owners, had gone out of his way to establish a friendship with Wally.
The golf club employees understood that Wally’s was not expected to pay for anything at the club. They were to treat him like royalty. Wally wasn’t stupid. He did not take advantage of John's generosity. He made sure the police force turned a blind eye to minor infractions. John never got a parking ticket or a speeding ticket. Late night noise complaints by the club’s neighbors were ignored. Wally looked for every opportunity to ingratiate himself with the town’s power structure. The townspeople considered John to be the richest and most powerful businessman in Benji Beach.
John responded to Wally with, “Catch any murderers today?”
Wally just laughed at John’s humorous dig, like good buddies do when they tease each other. He replied, “Ray, this place is so dead tonight that I think it’s time I raided the bootlegger and got some booze for the weekend.”
John knew that Wally was only half kidding about how he got his free booze. He wondered what nugget of information Wally had for him. His calls were not frequent, and he usually had confidential information that no one else was privy to. To speed thing up, John asked, “To what, do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
“I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you Ray.”
“Yeah, what's that.”
“You ever hear of a friend your wife, by the name of Bobby?”
“No, can’t say I have.”
Well, I happened to overhear a conversation between him and your wife on my scanner, while I was staking out a drug dealer.”
John knew there was no drug dealer. Crime in Benji Beach was boring. Wally relieved his boredom by listening in on private cell phone conversations. He responded with “Yeah.”
“I don't like being the bearer of bad news and, I’m not sure if I should pass this onto you, but if it were me, I would want to know.” Wally paused, leaving the bait hanging in the air, waiting for a cue from John before he continued.
“What news Wally?” His voice had become flat and hard. All the humor had evaporated from it.
“Apparently, Naomi will be meeting with a divorce lawyer.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, and she is meeting this Bobby guy Saturday morning at seven at her boat. They are going up to some cove. Apparently, you've got an art show up in Dover and you will not be back until Sunday.”
There was dead air. Wally wondered if John had hung up. He asked, “Ray, you still there?”
“Thanks for the heads-up Wally. I owe you. What night are you off this week?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Make sure you and Trish drop around to Matteo’s for drinks and dinner. Try one of those giant steaks. I've reserved it right now.”
“You don't have to do that. We're friends.”
“I do it because we are friends. Would a seven o'clock reservation be good for you? If I can't treat my friends then what is the point of my hard work. I’m sure I can show Naomi that she is making a big mistake.”
“Thanks a lot Ray. That's really generous of you.”
“I appreciate you keeping an eye out for me. You take care, Wally. Bye.”
John placed the phone in its cradle. In the quiet stillness of his office, he faced this sudden threat. He felt he was back on the mean streets of Los Angeles where disrespect called for retaliation. His dedication, to saving thousands of lost children, was too important to allow for such obstructions. Too many children depended upon him saving them. While Naomi was frivolous and selfish, without a real purpose in her life, her money could save thousands of children. He was not about to allow her to pursue a divorce.
First, he had to verify what Wally Martin had just told him. Wally had always supplied him with accurate information but this was too important to act on without verification. How might he do that? He looked at his watch. It was eleven-thirty. This was Naomi’s bridge day. She would soon leave the house and would not return until late afternoon.
At noon, John left the golf club and returned to the beach house. In the beach house, he went to Naomi’s dressing room and switched on her computer.
Naomi lacked John’s systematic patience to solve problems with a PC. It seemed every month John would have to re-establish her connection between the computer and her laser printer.
He entered her password. The computer opened, and he started to read her email.
Not only was Naomi careless, but she rarely filed or deleted anything. It took John only seconds to find the email confirming her appointment with the divorce lawyer in Wilmington. He skipped over several affectionate emails from Bobby.
Having confirmed Wally’s information, a plan took shape in his creative mind. He crossed through the bedroom to his own dressing room and turned on his own computer. He clicked onto the Craig’s List app and entered a search for motorcycles in Washington, D.C. Within an hour, he had appointments with two sellers for the next day.
The following morning, carrying a small gym bag containing a black sweat suit and black canvas shoes, he walked over to the golf club’s equipment garage and got the keys to one of the half-ton pickup trucks. In a pile of discarded lumber, at the back of the hut, he found an eight-foot long, sturdy, plank that he threw in the back of the pickup. He put the gym bag on the seat beside him.
On the drive to Washington, all he could think about was how Naomi’s leaving him would diminish the monthly flow of money he was sending to The Sanctuary. Children would suffer and die because of her decision. She had given him no choice. He had to remove this threat to the survival of thousands of street children. His motivation was the guilt, he would feel, if he did not do everything possible to maintain the flow of funds to The Sanctuary. John could not allow her to end the marriage by divorce.
The first seller with a motorcycle for sale was in a row house just East of 16th Street Northwest in Washington. John parked the truck out of sight more than a block away. He walked back to the house, climbed the porch steps and rang the doorbell. A squat, middle aged woman answered the door. She scowled at him. She didn’t look like a biker. John wondered if he had the wrong address. He asked, “You've got a dirt bike for sale?”
Without answering him, she turned towards the interior of the house and yelled out in a grating, thick, Italian accent, “Vittorio, it’s a for a you.”
She went back into the house. A few minutes later, a bearded brute appeared at the door. He was devouring a bright green Granny Smith apple that hid in the palm of his huge hand. It looked like he was eating his fist. He was wearing a blue work shirt, like mechanic’s wear in garages, with “Vitto” embroidered on the pocket. John judged him to be at least six foot four and over three hundred pounds. His greasy, brown hair was long and shaggy. He looked down at John and mumbled,” Are you the guy who phoned about the bike?”
“Yeah.”
“It's around back in the garage. Come in. You’ve got to go through the house.”
He led John through a living room stuffed with ugly upholstered furniture, covered in clear plastic. Past a crowded dining room into the kitchen. The mother was stirring something in a pot that smelled sweet and of tomatoes. They stepped down three steps to an outside door. It opened to a walkway leading to the garage, flush to an alley way that ran from one street to another, behind the row houses.
The brute opened a door into the old, red brick garage. A shiny Honda CRF250OL motorcycle was in the center of the garage. To John it looked in good condition. He checked it for any cracks or dents. The chain and sprockets weren’t corroded or worn. When he sat on it and compressed the forks, they gave firm resistance.
He asked if he could take it for a test run. The brute reached into his blue jeans, fished out a key and handed it to John. He then pushed up the garage door and watched John climb unto the motorcycle, kick up the stand and push it, with his feet, to the open door. He then engaged the motor. It started with a roar and settled into a gentle purr. , John took it out into the alley. He circled the block and came down the alley from the opposite end. The Brute waited for John's buying signal.
John smiled and said, “I’ll take it.”
The brute replied as if expecting an argument “It’s $4,500 dollars’ cash?”
“Yeah, I know, I saw the ad.”
Reaching into the zippered left pocket of his jacket, John took out a roll of one-hundred-dollar bills and peeled them off. He made stacks of ten, on top of a forty-five-gallon drum, that was in a corner of the garage. The brute gathered up each pile as John started the next pile. John wondered if the brute might try to rob him of the rest of the roll after he had finished laying out the whole $4,500.
John had put his small, PM9, 9 mm, Kahr in the other pocket of his jacket. The zipper was down, so he could retrieve the weapon if needed. You can never be too careful.
The brute smiled. He had perfect teeth and his wide smile showed his pleasure with the transaction. With the money counted, he stuck out a gigantic paw and shook John’s hand. John waited a few seconds to see if the brute would bring up transferring ownership of the bike but he just stood there smiling.
John climbed on the bike and returned to his truck. He took out the plank and used it as a ramp to wheel the bike into the truck’s cargo box. As he pulled away from the curb, he concluded that the bike must have been stolen.
The second motorcycle that John wished to buy was on a street off Pennsylvania Avenue, south of the Anacostia River bridge. It was a quiet, leafy, residential street of century old, run down mansions converted into rental units. The house he wanted was on a corner with a four-foot chain link fence around it. Once again, he parked the truck out of sight.
He walked back to the house and opened the gate. The walkway led to a small, covered porch. There were two doorbells. He pressed the one for apartment two and waited. He heard footsteps thumping down a set of stairs inside the house. The door opened and a tall, thin, long-haired man, who looked like a college student, was staring at him.
“I phoned you earlier about the motorcycle you have for sale?”
“A lot of people phone and say they are coming but they don't.”
“Yeah, well I’m here.”
"The motorcycle is around back."
He led John to the back of the house. The motorcycle was under a blue plastic tarpaulin, tied down with a bright yellow rope. The seller undid the bindings. It was a Yamaha V-Star 250.
John went through the same inspection routine as he had with Honda except this time, he remembered to lift the seat and checked the battery for corrosion. He wheeled the bike down the walkway to the street, climbed on and rode it down a block and returned. It met his requirements.
“You want $4,100 for it?”, he asked the vendor.
“I’ll take $4,000.”
“OK, $4,000 it is.”
Once again, there was no mention of changing the Department of Motor Vehicle's registration. John wondered if all the motorbikes on Craig’s List were stolen. He counted out the $4,000 and then rode the bike back to the truck. Once loaded it into the box, he tied it down beside the other bike. Anxious to beat Washington’s afternoon traffic he headed back to Delaware.