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1/8/2021 0 Comments Sweet Freedom
Barry had been in the employ of the Linnez, Ehrenberg and Fothergill Company, called “Leaf” by everyone in financial circles, for some eight years, and his responsibilities had mounted steadily in that time – a reward for his tenacity, attention to detail, and, above all else, discretion – until he found himself in his current role, that of Chief Security Officer. Not everyone at Leaf was a suit who got to be a Wall Street big shot with multiple club memberships, a Ferrari, and a summer home in the Hamptons. Barry was definitely back office. But he was well respected. And well paid.
It was understood by all at Leaf that running security was rough trade. Taking care of the three main offices around the world wasn't too much of a problem. That was, as Barry liked to describe it, just babysitting the suits. The tricky part was overseeing and managing the armed security for Leaf’s international shipments, which typically consisted of gold bullion and bearer bonds. With that came huge responsibility and, quite often, risk. Barry's guys were not the usual bevy of sluggish security guards, casual camera watchers, and disinterested doughnut-eaters, as one might find in an ordinary company. Leaf was, as it turns out, far from ordinary. Barry’s direct reports – sixteen in New York, fourteen in Paris, and eight in Hong Kong – were all intelligence and strong-arm specialists, and they had all, like him, previously served in the French Foreign Legion. Barry was the only one to whom oversight of Leaf’s “special” security requirements was entrusted, and fellow Legionnaires were the only ones to whom Barry delegated his trust. Boots on the ground in Barry's world meant identifying and eliminating hostiles with zero loose ends. This was Leaf's nice way of saying "killing anyone who attempted to interrupt business." More often than not, especially of late, Leaf's business was the international movement of black money. * * * Leaf first appeared on public records in 1848 when its founders, Jorge Linnez, Roland Ehrenberg, and Tomas Forthergill, received a handsome cash commission from the sale of a textile conglomerate to the Carson Railroad Line in Arizona. Ever since that time and into the present, the company functioned, for all practical purposes, as an investment banking house specializing in corporate mergers. But, as is often the case when large sums of money exchange hands and the duration of deals exceeds the lifetime of individuals, the company’s interests evolved over time and became rather far-reaching. Its tentacles now reached deep into the hidden corners of the business, financial, and geopolitical worlds. It was not uncommon to find Leaf associates in attendance at Senate Appropriations Committee meetings, in residence as consultants on the World Exchange, seated amongst the front-row celebrities at the Academy Awards, or quietly taking notes at a city council meeting in Muncie, Indiana or Ayala, Spain. And, more often than not, wherever Leaf’s official staff might turn up, an unseen, security accompaniment, courtesy of Barry, might be present as well. * * * As Barry pulled into Leaf’s underground parking garage, he was thinking back to when he was first handshake-introduced to Adrian Hamilton at a black-tie fundraiser. Was it already four years ago? Within just a few minutes, he was able to register two points about the man. First: Adrian Hamilton was a sociopath. It was evident in the way he lecherously leered at the necks of the women in the room as he slurped Chopin out of his martini olives, and in the way he subtly demeaned the wait staff. “You’re earning your keep tonight, old boy. Har Har. Come back around with another, and I might give you a real job. Har Har.” He was able to get away with it because he had the charisma, the toothily persuasive smile, and the double-clasped handshake of a seasoned politician. Not to mention all the right family connections. He had grey, all-seeing eyes that held no humor, no remorse. Every time he spoke, he made a quick, cold scan of his surroundings for approval and camaraderie. When Barry didn’t laugh and smile along with the small circle surrounding Adrian, he could tell that it had been noted. Second: It was clear that Adrian would be running Leaf in no time. Barry had seen Adrian-like eyes twice before in his life. Both were during his time in the Legion. Once they had looked up at him from the otherwise beautiful face of a Belgian prostitute as she uttered fake fuck moans and licked her lips. Another time, they stared at him unblinkingly from the sneering face of a Moroccan assassin who, upon being captured and pinned against a refrigerator, was in the process of having his arm twisted out of its socket. Previously, the sight of those eyes had chilled Barry’s soul, and now that the eyes had found him again, there was a familiar shiver. Reluctant to linger in Adrian’s presence, Barry did his best to stay moving that night at the fundraiser, mingle, visit the multiple hors d’œuvre stations. Nonetheless, he was keenly aware of Adrian’s eyes lasering out from above his perfectly drawn bow-tie, periodically regarding him from afar. Both of Barry’s initial assessments were correct: Adrian Hamilton rose to the top of the Leaf pyramid about four months after Barry first met him. And Adrian Hamilton was indeed a sociopath. * * * Since Adrian had taken the helm, Leaf’s interests had become increasingly nefarious, and Barry’s work had become decidedly more dangerous. An air of tension had emerged around all dealings in which Adrian took a personal interest. And there were many such dealings. One example: A bullet in Barry’s left arm three summers ago while guarding a shipment to Afghanistan, served not only as a cause for a brief medical leave, but as a harbinger of dangers to come. From his time in the Legion, Barry knew exactly what was going on in the various corridors of Eurasia, but he prudently chose to observe Leaf’s “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” policy. A new Vietnam indeed. Just as money had flowed in and out of Vietnam and Cambodia in the 40s and 50s to support the refinement and export of opium to China, money was now pouring in and out of Afghanistan to keep the poppy fields, opium’s flowery source, at peek productivity. Warfare was simply a backdrop, a profitable byproduct of the trade. Wisely, Barry never admitted his knowledge of the affairs into which Adrian had entangled Leaf with The Company. But he guessed correctly that Adrian knew that Barry knew. Under Adrian’s watch, literally and figuratively, Barry began to sense that he was being placed in harm’s way on a not infrequent basis. He wondered if he had somehow stumbled onto Adrian’s black list. Had he played things too close to his chest? Had he said so little that it became obvious that he knew too much? It was impossible to guess. As Barry climbed aboard the elevator, he gathered himself – eventually suppressing the sweat that had carried forward from the previous night’s sleep and plagued him on his way to the office. However, there was no denying that something was out of sorts. It was very odd that Adrian had called him in to polygraph a fellow Bonesman, a man by the name of Parker Edmonton. Barr knew that his expertise was not explicitly required because all of Parker’s personal information must already be at Adrian’s fingertips, or at the very least, on file back at The Tomb. This was precisely what was triggering his feelings of uneasiness – If unnecessary, why had Adrian insisted upon the polygraph interview, and that it be done right away? Something was up. As he exited the elevator and made his way to the interrogation room, Barry played with the keys in his left pocket, quietly contemplating the situation. * * * After conducting the baseline polygraph questions, the ones that would determine the electronic signatures for the truths and lies to follow, Barry eased into the real line of questioning. “Have your federal income taxes ever been the subject of audit?’ Barry asked in a calm, non-accusatory tone. “No,” replied Parker, lying. “Have you ever ______?” “No,” replied Parker, truthfully this time. And so the questions continued. All par for the course. Or so it would seem to a casual observer. However, it quickly became evident to Barry that this man was not Parker Edmonton. Details were not adding up. This guy was a professional (a professional what, Barry did not know…), his lies and truths intermingling into a tapestry of complete chaos. The polygraph readings bore no record of this, but Barry was able to discern it by other means. Barry went through all the motions, though, completed his questioning in under four hours, all the time wondering what the purpose of all this might be. He did not have to wait long for an answer. * * * Barry was on his way down the hallway, heading for the break room and a cup of coffee, just an hour or so after completing his report on the polygraph interview, when he heard “Barry, my boy, could you step in here for a minute?” It was Adrian beckoning him through the slightly cracked door to his office suite. “Hi Adrian. Didn’t know you were here. What can I do you for?” Barry asked, as he swung the door open with his free hand and stepped into Adrian’s piercing line of sight. His draft report was in his left hand, and he consciously relaxed his grip on it in an attempt to reduce its prominence. He wasn't prepared to discuss it with Adrian just yet. “Sit down a minute, would you? Let’s you and me have a little chat.” Adrian stole a quick glance at the report. Walking over to the mahogany desk and sitting down, Barry looked directly in to the grey eyes of Linnez, Ehrenberg and Fothergill Company’s Chief Executive Officer. “How'd the poly go with old Parker? Is he Leaf material or what?” asked Adrian, his tone challenging, his face emotionless. “I’d say he’s a Leaf man, through-and-through,” he added without a hint of sarcasm. Barry paused, feeling out the situation, not sure if he should continue with any additional details just yet. Adjusting his posture, leaning forward a bit, Adrian asked “So you’re giving Parker the green light, eh? As a professional? Not just because he was my buddy back at Yale or anything?” “Yes. That’s right. He blew some of the poly, but he was honest in all the areas where you’d say it counts. All the details are in my report.” “Alright,” said Adrian quietly, almost to himself, his faux drama palpable, his eyes quietly simmering. “In that case, we will no longer be requiring your services here, Barry.” A dramatic pause followed. When Barry did not respond or reply, Adrian continued, “You see, you’ve been slipping. I’ve been seeing it for a while now. I can see things when other people don’t. Or won’t. You think you’re so goddam clever, running around here like a goddam general, sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong. Legion this, Legion that. Got all your buddies in here over the years too, didn’t you? Well, it’s done. You’re done. Do you know who that was that you just poly’d?” he asked, his voice quiet yet menacing. “Can’t say I do. But I know it wasn’t Parker Edmonton,” replied Barry calmly. “Bullshit you know.” Barry casually lifted his notebook from his lap, revealing the top page of his polygraph report, the executive summary. Underlined, next to the first bullet, was the underlined text: Candidate is not Parker Edmonton. Seemingly unfazed, Adrian continued, “So what. Doesn’t matter, big brain. You just sat there five seconds ago and recommended him for the job.” “Actually, I didn’t. I gave you a green light because whatshisname meets what I know to be your exceedingly low standards. You should read my…” “You can shove your lousy report up your ass, Barry,” growled Adrian. “If I told you who he was, you’d shit yourself right here and now,” slouching and pausing again. He brought his hands up just below his chin and began tapping his fingers together – not like someone might do casually or naturally, but like a bad actor might do for dramatic effect. “Let’s just say, he’s the last person you would ever imagine him to be. And you know what? Now that I’m thinking about it, I bet he’d make a damn fine replacement for you,” Adrian added, smirking, searching for a reaction. “Listen, Adrian,” said Barry, in a consciously calm tone, “It’s too bad we never saw eye to eye, and…” Smelling blood, Adrian interrupted again and went for the kill. “Barry, you’ve done some good things for Leaf, don’t get me wrong. But you’re old. You’re off your game. I make it a point to test my people, and there are no exceptions – not even for Chief Security Officers.” Eyes burning now, he continued, “My decision is final. You know me – once I make up my mind on something, it’s a done deal.” Shifting his posture once more, this time straightening himself authoritatively in his captain’s chair, he placed his elbows on his desk, and began fondle-spinning the garish, Super-Bowl-sized gold ring on his left middle finger. “Leave what you have here now, there will be no need to return to the offices. If you have anything at home – a piece, equipment, a laptop, whatever – just keep it. Consider it severance. It was a pleasure working with you, Barry. Too bad it’s gonna end this way.” Adrian grinned broadly, but otherwise remained motionless. Barry, not keen to show his anger or any emotion at all, and knowing that any “severance” was likely being confiscated from his apartment at that very moment, stood up, turned his back, and left the office of Adrian Hamilton one last time, without a further word. Only upon climbing into his car did he allow his anger to spill out. Barry pounded the steering wheel a couple of times and yelled “Dammit!” But that was it. Quickly he realized that he wasn’t really angry at all. His brief outburst was to do with that prick, Adrian, and his holier-than-thou attitude, but that dissipated almost before it began. The main feeling washing over him now like a hot shower was a feeling of … relief. A relief, Barry supposed, from being fired rather than knocked off. It surely could have been worse. * * * Adrian, from his thirteenth story office window, took the time to watch for Barry’s Ford leaving the parking garage. He watched it turn its headlights down West 57th Street and grow smaller in the distance. His grey eyes held no emotion and, in fact, Adrian was not even thinking about Barry. He was thinking about inviting his secretary, Aubrey, into his office for a quickie. * * * Later that evening Barry sat at his homemade butcher block kitchen table, elbows pinned, holding his coffee mug with both hands. Vancouver, although beautiful and idyllic in many ways, would be chilly this time of year, and thinking about his new life there gave him cause to be grateful for the warm liquid entering his body and the warmth of its container in his hands. The irony of the moment did not escape him. In order to escape his corrupt employers, he himself had become corrupt. His personal liberation, sitting before him in the center of the table in the form of eleven rectangular four-hundred troy ounce gold bars, was proof that he was no better than the Adrian Hamiltons of the world. So be it. At least he was free now. * * * Freedom occupied Barry’s mind as he drove out of the soot-singed city the following morning in an unregistered, old, blue van. “How free am I really?’ he whispered to himself. He sifted through his memories, distorted and broken images of things he had seen and done over the years, many of them predating his time at Leaf. He wondered if he could shake enough of his past loose to truly begin anew. Barry eyed with suspicion a pair of headlights in the rear-view mirror. He thought about grey eyes searching him out. Is this how it would be – forever sizing up headlights, strangers, shadows, and dusty old memories? Maybe. But Barry trusted time and its healing effects. He gunned the van and grinned mischievously. A quick belch of oily smoke and a few drops of water escaped from the rusty tailpipe, and Barry crossed the Tappan Zee bridge with New York and all else in his wake. He was not followed. * * * Afterword Linnez, Ehrenberg and Fothergill Company declared bankruptcy in March, 2009, less than six months after Barry made his way to Vancouver, British Columbia. Ostensibly, this was due to the U.S. market crash of the previous October, but, in fact, it was a matter of convenience. Adrian Hamilton, in keeping with the tradition of sociopath captains that have come before, did not go down with his ship. Instead, he avoided multiple Federal indictments, and now runs another firm engaged in similar activities. Barry lives a quiet life under an assumed name and looks decidedly forward rather than back. This story was first published by the Conscious Particles Literary Blog in December, 2009. Some changes and updates have been included in this republishing. Authorship remains with O.M. Kelsey and Copyright remains with Old Man Kelsey's Woods.
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