The Contract

Mike jumped spilling his coffee when his e-mail alert sounded. With only ten minutes until quitting time, he crossed his fingers, hoping it wasn't anything that might make him stay late. Then he smiled seeing it was downloading from one of his personal e-mail accounts. The one he used exclusively for his stock broker.

The day before he had sold all of his stock. Transferred the small profit into his savings account and used the remainder to buy the new stock that Gabe, his friend and broker, had said would make them rich. He hesitated a second before clicking on the message, thinking of how he would spend the money. All the message said was for him to call Gabe as soon as possible. He almost jumped for joy. The news had to be very good indeed if Gabe wouldn't risk the news on the Internet.

He looked at the clock on the wall. Six minutes to go, he told himself. He started putting his terminal in order. All the paperwork went into a drawer. He got his jacket from the rack and put it on glancing at the clock. Two more ticks of the big hand and he would be gone. I could call from my cell phone, he thought. Naw, don't want to act so anxious. I'll wait till I get home.

When finally arriving at his apartment, he quickly called his broker. He was actually giddy at the prospect of being rich. The phone rang three times before the receptionist answered.

"Reese and Worthington brokerage, may help you?"

"This is Mike Cavena returning Gabe Worthington's call. "Yes, Mr. Cavena, he's expecting your call just a moment please." Immediately after the click, he heard the waiting-music, an old fifties Du-wop song, way too loud, in his opinion. Mike hated Du-wop and moved the receiver a little farther from his ear. With his free hand, he began jingling the keys in his pocket.

"Come on, come on," he impatiently mumble. After three of the outdated songs the dreaded music finally ended and the receptionist was back on the line.

"Mr. Cavena, ah, I'm sorry but Mr. Worthington is, ah, unavailable, but his associate Mr. Reese would like to speak with you," CLICK.

"Hello, Mike. This is David Reese."

"Hi Dave. I got a message that Gabe wanted me to call. Did he already go home for the day?" he asked. "I have his home number I'll catch up with him there," Mike said, not wanting to let Dave in on the secret stock.

"No, Mike, don't bother he's not at home." Alarms started to go off in the back of Mike's head. He knew what he and Gabe were up to was illegal. "I hate to have to be the one to tell you, Mr. Cavena, but ah Gabe he's... he's dead. Mr. Cavena? Mr. Cavena? Are you still there?"

Mike dropped the key ring he had been anxiously fidgeting with. "Yeah, I'm here. Wha. . . what happened," he stammered.

"Well, I'm not at liberty to say exactly. But," he began to whisper, "Mike, he jumped. . . jumped right out the window."

"For God's sake why?" Mike asked, in shock.

"Mike, you weren't involved in that Sisco stock with him were you?" >P>"No," Mike lied. "Why?" His heart sank, and the growing lump in his throat made it hard to swallow.

"Good. I don't know why he called you, but I'll look over your portfolio and give you a call tomorrow. I have to go now, the police are here. Sorry to have been the bearer of such sad news. Good-bye Mr. Cavena."

Mike put the phone down and collapsed into his recliner. Busted, we're busted, and Gabe, Gabes' dead. Now what do I do? Oh God, the money. I've lost all my money. I can't survive in jail. What am I going to do? Suddenly his front door opened and Carol walked in carrying a bag of groceries. He looked up but didn't move. His mind was still racing in all directions at once.

"Mike, what's wrong? You look as if you just lost your best friend." She put the bag down on the breakfast bar and hung her keys on the peg. "You didn't forget that I was cooking for us tonight , did you?"

"Huh. . . Oh, No I haven't forgotten. Just got something on my mind."

"You need to quit bringing your work home with you. That's a fast track to exhaustion." She moved behind his chair and began to message his tight shoulders, "God, you're as tight as old ladies coin purse. What happened to get you so stressed out?"

"Not now hon'. I need to think." Carol knew Mike well enough to know when not to pressure him and dropped the subject. He would talk to her when he was ready. Men are like that, she told herself. She let go of him and rounded the counter and began unpacking the groceries.

"I bought you something. I found it at that antique store on Lancaster. You know, the one you call the junk store? I think it might be worth something."

"Yeah, what makes you think so?" he asked not really paying attention. What am I going to do? Maybe they won't have anything tying me to the stock. I'm sure Gabe was being careful. I'll just go to work tomorrow like nothing happened except, Gabe's killed himself, he shook his head not wanting to believe it. Gabe, what were you thinking man? I'll miss you buddy. He fought back a tear that threatened to run down his cheek.

He and Gabe had been friends since the sixth grade. They had plans, big plans. This last trade was the one that would have made their plans possible. But now. . . "G... Ga... Gabe, he's dead," he stammered.

"What hon'?" Carol asked. "What about Gabe? Hey, you didn't invite him over did you? Not tonight, you promised it would just be us tonight."

"Gabes' dead!" he forced the words out. Carol dropped the pot she was holding, spilling water all over herself.

"Dead? That's not funny Mike."

"No, it's not," he said.

"Oh, Mike." Carol ran from behind the counter and wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so sorry Hon'. What happened?"

"I'm not quite sure. I just talked to Dave. He said that Gabe jumped."

"Jumped? You mean he jumped out the. . . Oh God, no!" "I know, I can't believe it either." Carol cradled Mike in her arms. For a while they just sat there clinging to one another and sobbing. Ring...Ring ...Ring...Ring...Ri. Finally, Carol grabbed the phone, jerking it from the wall mount.

"Yes, what is it?" Mike got up and went to the bath room to wash his face. When he returned, Carol was hunched over the kitchen counter intently staring at something in her hand.

"Who was on the phone?"

"That was Mr. Hanson. You know, the owner of the antique store?"

"What'd he want?"

"It's strange, hon'. He tried to buy this back again," she said raising the object in her hand.

"What do you mean again?"

"Well, when I was leaving the store, he came running out behind me. It seems that it wasn't suppose to be sold. It had been put out on the miscellaneous junk counter by mistake. He offered to buy it back."

"It must be worth something then. What'd you give for it?"

"Just thirty dollars. But he offered to double my money to get it back."

"Let's have a look," he said , reaching towards it. "Not much to look at, is it?"

"I thought it would make an interesting paper weight for your desk, and that maybe you could find out something about it."

"You say he just tried to buy it again?"

"Yeah, he offered five hundred dollars." Mike's eyebrows rose.

"It must be worth a lot." The object looked like an old coin, but much larger. Running his finger around the edge, Mike noticed a rough spot. "What's this," he ask, rubbing his thumb back and forth on the small protrusion? "Looks like maybe this was a pendant of some kind. Here's where the loop for the chain used to be." He handed it back to Carol.

"I think you're right hon'."

"Did Hanson tell you anything about it, or why he wanted it back so bad?"

"That's the funny part. At the store he didn't offer any information at all, but just now he said it was cursed and very dangerous."

"You're kidding?" he laughed. "He thinks he can scare you into selling it back." "I'll take it to Bob. He'll have something to remove that black tarnish in his lab. It's not heavy enough to be gold, but it's heavier than brass or copper. I can't quite make out the markings. Could be Latin?"

Carol finished making dinner but nether of them ate much. Gabes' death lay heavy on their minds. Mike gave the tarnished pendant another look before going to bed, but still, he didn't recognize any of the markings.

All night he tossed and turned. He saw Gabes' body splattered on the sidewalk, blood flowing in the gutter and down the corner drain. Once he thought he heard Gabe calling to him, he got up and splashed some water on his face, trying to forget the ghastly image, then took two sleeping pills and went back to bed.

He woke to the sound of his alarm blaring in his ear. He shut it off and looked at the clock. "Seven, damn!" He had to be at work by eight and it was a half hour drive away. He jumped out of bed almost falling when the room tilted. "Those damn pills," he chided. He went into the bathroom, turned the shower on, and stepped in, letting the cold water revive him. Running his hand across his chin, he decided to forgo the shave this morning and quickly brushed his teeth, dressed and ran for the door. Just as he was leaving, he remember the strange pendant. Maybe it'll be worth enough to make up for the money I lost on the stock that Gabe and I. . . Gabes' dead, he thought. The reality came drifting back. He looked at his watch. "Seven thirty three. I can just make it, if I hurry." he ran for the elevator and pushed the button. He put his hand in his pocket checking for his car keys and felt the pendant. It felt cold. 'DING' The elevator opened and he forgot about everything but getting to work on time.

About ten thirty he got a call from human resources, asking him to come down to their office. Upon arriving he saw two men in business suits rise from their seats in the waiting room and approach him. "Mr. Cavena," one of them asked?

"Yes," he answered. "I'm Mike Cavena."

"Sir, we are with the police department," they both quickly flashed their badges. "May we have a word with you?"

"Is this about Gabe," he asked?

"Then you know about Mr. Worthington?"

"Yes. I tried to return a call to him yesterday afternoon and Mr. Reese told me."

"When was the last time you spoke with him?"

"We talked the day before yesterday."

"Did he sound upset or worried in any way?"

"No." The receptionist was leaning forward trying to catch every word. The officer suggested they find a more private place to talk.

The interview was over and Mike was feeling low. He had tried to push his grief to the back of his mind, but the investigators had forced him to deal with it. It wasn't his style, this was personal and he was the type that kept his personal life in a box. He shook his head trying to drive the thoughts away and threw himself into his work.

He was checking facts for an article. The author, so far, had been right on the money and he hadn't found anything misleading or untruthful that the magazine could be liable for. He hurriedly finished up with the fact report saving a copy for himself and then pulled the floppy from his computer, attached the label and put it into the interoffice mail bin, then e-mailed the author, letting him know it was on the way.

After his meeting with the police he had went to lunch, dropping the mysterious pendant off at Bob's receiving office, marking the package personal and ASAP. Bob had tested many things for him in the past. Once the man had verified that a parchment, one of their authors was writing about, was indeed Sanskrit, but when testing the document, he had discovered the paper to be artificially aged and not actually a thousand years old. Yes, Bob was good, he would know what language the symbols were and the metallurgy tests would determine its age and make up. Then Mike could go to work on it. He was good at what he did too. He could find and research anything with his computer. The thought of the item being cursed was a plus, if true. It could be something a museum would be interested in and if so, he would get offers from collectors. They always showed up if a museum was involved.

After work, he stopped to collect his mail. He often had research material delivered to his home, so he wasn't surprised by the large manila envelope and stuffed it under his arm with the rest of his mail. Entering his apartment, he threw the mail on the breakfast bar and headed for the bathroom.

A quick shower followed by getting dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, then he fixed himself a drink and checked his answering machine. There was a message from Mr. Reese, a message from his mother and one from Carol, and surprisingly three from Mr. Hanson at the antique store. He smiled thinking that every time the man called meant the price had gone up. He's becoming desperate, he thought. Desperate men are easy marks, he told himself. "I ought to know," he mumbled thinking of all the money he had just lost. Gabe, he's dead. "Why Gabe? What were you thinking man?" He downed the last of his drink and poured another, this time a shot.

He decided to let the junk dealer sweat, until he found out for himself what the pendant was worth. Then the negotiations will begin in earnest. Not wanting to talk to his mother undoubtedly about Gabe, he called Mr. Reese, hoping to find out that he hadn't been implicated.

"No Mr. Cavena, I couldn't find anything in your portfolio that would make . . ah Gabe want to call you, unless..." Mike's heart skipped a beat. "Unless he was going to suggest a stock for you to reinvest with. I see you have just liquidated yours. With some profit I might add."

"No, Dave. Gabe knew I was going to take my profit and run. I don't have the nerves for the stock game. He probably wanted to talk about Saturday. We were going to go to the game, but . . ."

"I know, Mike," he offered. "We miss him too. If you ever need to talk, well, come on down to the office. I know we weren't friends, but Gabe was my friend too and maybe we could help each other get through this."

"Who's handling the arrangements," Mike asked?

"His parents were contacted; they're going to take him home to be buried there, on Wednesday."

"That's good, I don't think I could handle . . ."

"Like I said, Mike, if you need to talk, give me a ring. Maybe we should go out and have a few drinks tonight?" he offered.

"Not tonight, Dave, I'm not ready yet, but thanks." 'CLICK'. Mike hung the phone up. He didn't bother calling Carol, he didn't want to talk to anyone. He poured another shot of whiskey and downed it with a gasp. Hitting his stomach, the harsh liquor started to spread its numbing warmth. He let himself collapse into his waiting recliner, memories of his friend flooding his mind as he fell into a restless sleep.

In his dream, Gabe was alive and well. They had successfully finished their stock transaction and were on vacation, somewhere tropical. Carol was there too and sporting the biggest diamond ring he had ever seen. He woke smiling.

Ring. . . Ring . . . Ring. . . Ring. . . Hello. You've reached the residence of Mike Cavena, I can't get to the phone right now. Please leave your name and number after the tone and I'll return your call as soon as I can. . . . beep.

"Mike, are you there? Mike pick up the phone. . . Just wanted to let you know, I heard from that Mr. Hanson again. He's upped his price to fifteen hundred! Have you found out anything yet? Talk to ya later hon', love ya, bye". CLICK

Mike roused himself, shook his head and got out of his chair. Looking at his watch, he saw it was already a little past seven . "Sheesh Carol's due at eight," he chided. He went to his freezer and pulled out a frozen pizza, then poured himself another drink. He planned on getting really drunk. Carol will understand, he told himself.

When Carol came through the door she smelt the burning pizza and ran to the kitchen, turned the oven off and went around opening the windows. She found Mike passed out in his recliner smelling like booze. On the counter was half a bottle of JD. She knew it had been full yesterday, she had bought it with the other groceries. She put a blanket on Mike and returned to the kitchen to look for something to fix for dinner. "I guess it'll have to be pasta again tonight," she chided.

Thirty minute later the smell of simmering sauce brought Mike to consciousness. They had a nice dinner, Carol drinking wine with hers and Mike coffee. Afterward, Carol went home and Mike to bed. Tomorrow was Saturday and he planned on sleeping in, not looking forward to the headache to come.

Again he dreamed that his friend was alive. Begrudgingly, he woke, trying to cling to the dream world and his friend. A cold shower and a little of the hair of the dog that bit him and he felt much better, except for the headache.

After breakfast he went through his mail. Same old stuff, bills, junk mail, and credit card offers. He fixed himself some instant coffee and opened the large manila envelope. In it he found a contract. Strange, he thought. I haven't contracted for anyone lately, intrigued he started to read it further.