Big Bang 2012: Love Lies Burning. 4/24
Jared is propping the blinds open with his fingers again and his attention is far away across the street. Alona slaps a file loudly on his desk and makes a deliberate cough.
“You should get something for that. It’s annoying,” Jared comments without turning around. “Get some lozenges when you’re out.”
Alona doesn’t want to ask but knows she has to, “Am I going out?”
“Take the company card. Buy me a pair of binoculars. Get a vanilla latte.”
“Grande? Venti?”
“It only comes in one size.”
“No, Starbucks has three sizes.”
“I don’t drink that crap. Get it from Black Medicine.”
Alona opens her mouth to protest that he brought in lunch from Starbucks, only two days ago, but she thinks better of it. She forces her lips together in a semblance of a smile instead, “Yes sir.” She gathers her coat and handbag. “The insurance company have asked to meet with you. You said you would make it a priority, so I have pencilled it in for 4:00 this afternoon. Shall I organize our legal team to attend?”
“No. Just me, I want to keep this private for now.”
“Sure thing, sir.”
“Good. Thanks, Alona,” Jared speaks distractedly.
Alona’s step falters and she thinks her heart misses a beat. She wants to make him repeat the word because Jared Padalecki just thanked her, in name. For some reason the giddy feeling allows her to bypass all precaution and sensibility. “Kim says his name is Jen. You could go down there and talk to him.”
Jared's shoulders slump slightly and the voice that replies is soft and regretful, “He might run away and then I’d never know.”
“Know what?”
“Why.” The tall man drops the blind back into place, his shoulders stiffen. He cracks his knuckles and turns back to his work with an icy expression.
The man the insurance company sends is nervous. He licks his lips and lets his eyes wander to the paintings that hang on the walls of the impersonal conference room. Jared makes him wait in reception until ten minutes after the proscribed time, not because he has anything better to do, but because he wants him to sweat.
Jared leans back into his chair in a relaxed pose while the insurance man continues to perspire, looking about the room in confusion when he sees that it is only the CEO present. He stutters, “Can I just..?” He produces a tape recorder and puts it on the table between them.
Jared picks up the device, looks curiously at it, then places it on the floor and crushes it underfoot. “No,” he says dispassionately. He looks at the man with a penetrating gaze. “Let’s cut the crap shall we? The police are already investigating the Linden fire. Their opinion will be the one that counts. If there are any findings against Padalecki then it will be more serious than the money you are so protective of.” He stands and leans his huge hands on the table next to the man, his impressive frame looms over him and the insurance man dabs at his brow with a tissue. “Let us be clear. The police will find no proof against us and neither will you. We have paid our premiums and now, if you wish your reputation to remain undamaged, you will pay our damages in good faith. Take what time you need. Do not come back unless it is with a cheque.” The tone is dismissive and Jared flexes his substantial arm muscles as he pushes back from the sturdy wooden surface. “I have a business to run,” he says as he makes to leave the room.
Behind him there is the sound of a throat being cleared nervously but he doesn’t acknowledge the man who calls after him in a shaking, thin voice. “There was accelerant found at the scene. You can expect the police to be calling on you very soon, Mr. Padalecki.”
Jared grits his teeth but doesn’t allow his fists to furl, “Alona will show you out.”
His brother is waiting upstairs for him. Jeff’s face is set and his mood seems dark. “The insurance company sent a representative?” It is posed as a question.
“It was nothing,” he replies.
“He left under a cloud.”
“He didn’t like my attitude.”
Jeff Padalecki visibly brightens. “The Padalecki-patented attitude,” he grins.
“The one and only! Pa would be pleased.” Jared doesn’t mirror Jeff’s enthusiasm.
Jeff places a brotherly hand on Jared’s shoulder, “He wouldn’t know you!” he proudly exclaims.
Jared doesn’t let himself ponder on whether that is a good thing.
“We’re having a barbecue on Sunday, Bro. How about it? Just you, me, Lacey and the kids. Are you coming or do you have some mysterious engagement elsewhere?” Jeff is being overbearingly enthusiastic.
“My mistress is very demanding. She likes my figure but only if it is positive, with plenty of zeros after it.” It’s a standard and half-hearted excuse. He hates being reminded of his lonely, single existence and he’s resentful watching Jeff play happy families and biting back the lie of it all. In the end none of it matters because he’s an enthusiastic uncle and Lacey’s cooking is to die for.
“All work and no play…”
“Yeah. Yeah. If there’s steak I’ll be there.”
Jeff thumps his younger brother’s back affectionately. “Good Man.”
The week after the insurance man visits, the crystal lens of Jared’s binoculars reflect the sunlight and Alona wonders how wise her ready purchase of the Nikon device was.
“He’s sketching.” The observation that Jared makes is general and undirected. His assistant keeps her head down and concentrates on formatting the figures Misha has mailed to her.
The next question, however, is directed at her and catches her off-guard. “What are you thinking about the figures? Did Misha say anything to you? I mean you two are fucking aren’t you?”
She looks at him and swallows. Her expression is one of a deer caught in headlights. He lowers the binoculars to the window ledge and crosses his arms. Alona knows she will be caught in a lie so she offers the truth. “Comparatively, they appear to be the lowest in ten years, Padalecki has barely broken even in this fiscal year but the overall profit doesn’t take into account the large scale modernisation that has been rolled out and is almost complete. This dip should be temporary and herald rapid growth in the next five years.”
“Huh. You should write the text for the annual report, or is that the blurb that Misha gave you.”
The blonde flicks her hair and looks defiant, “Some of it is text I suggested.”
“Good call.” Her boss shrugs. “Or you could say that I’m flying too close to the ground and it might all crash and burn as thoroughly as Linden, with as many casualties.”
Alona starts to compare her position in the company to being on a very small island surrounded by quicksand. One false step and she sinks. Jared doesn’t seem to notice. He only has eyes for the man with the green eyes, golden brown hair and freckled nose, who sits, with his dog, in the gardens across the street.
“Have we got any art paper and pastels or charcoal?”
His P.A. knows that she’s definitely stepped from the firm ground, metaphorically speaking, “Art?” she repeats back to him.
Jared is already moving, “Forget it. The marketing division is bound to have something.” He pokes his head back into her space from the corridor before he disappears from view. “Cancel my calls this afternoon. I won’t be back today.”
Alona's mouth drops open and she gapes after his back as he strides away with his perfectly fitted designer jacket swaying in time with his steps.
Jared has planned this. He approaches carefully, using his bulk to block the small gateway which he pulls-to and locks with a sturdy key. Unless this tramp vaults the railings there will be no ready escape. He doesn’t know what reaction to expect from the man sitting on his roll, on the grass, but it isn’t this calm, watchful gaze of deep green eyes and wow, they are vivid and a little disconcerting. The tall CEO bypasses the tramp and his dog without speaking and sits on a seat a few yards from them and facing them. The dog, Sadie, shuffles on her stomach to put herself between her Master and this stranger. Her ears are upright and brown eyes assess the hazard. The vagrant, Jen, tangles his fingers into her fur, reassuringly petting her. He uses his other hand to turn the page of his journal, revealing a blank page.
Jared inhales deep and unrolls a thick sketch pad. He tears at cellophane with his teeth to release a set of brand new pastels. He pulls at the rolls of colour and feels them. They are smooth, cylindrical and comforting in his hand. His pulse slows as he lets himself be absorbed by his task. His tongue slides between his lips as his elegant fingers glide color over the page. He forms the proud jaw-line, high cheekbones, nose and the hair spikes with sun kissed highlights. Ears are added and the brunette businessman squints as he tries to perfect the pepper kissed skin and put all of the wide eyed shine and curiosity into the eyes, bordered with thick long lashes.
An hour passes in an instant, Jared's skin has cooled without notice and his subject hasn’t moved from his space on the ground. The businessman finishes his sketch with a swoosh and swirl of his signature. He clears his art materials into their box, wipes his pastel-tinged fingers in a tissue and then eases the paper from the pad and turns it for his subject to see. He stands and approaches Jen with easy confidence, stooping to be level with him. Jared takes in Jen's natural beauty and revels in the man’s fresh, spicy, but not unclean, fragrance. The vagrant’s nails are impeccably clean and Jared knows none of it makes sense. The man doesn't flinch, but his eyes don’t quite meet Jared's either. A journal rests on his knee and he has drawn a pencil sketch of Jared, sitting on the bench engrossed in his own portrait.
Jared speaks, "It’s good. Perhaps a little too perfect. I don’t think I’m as pretty as that.”
It’s the first noise either of them has made and Jen startles, as if he hadn’t noticed Jared before. He shuts his journal and hugs it into his chest which is rising and falling too rapidly.
“Mine, on the other hand, doesn’t do you justice.” The businessman offers the sketch in outstretched fingers. Jen snatches it from him and studies it with inscrutable expression before purposefully offering it back. He doesn’t want to keep it.
Jared drops the box of pastels and the sketch pad by the vagrant’s side. “You should have these. You have the better skill.” He glances at his art again and adds, “It’s a good enough likeness. Soon maybe, you will tell me what you are doing here, because one way or another I will find out, and some methods are more painful than others.” He unlocks the gate and walks down the street, away from Padalecki Inc. and the man who stalks him.
Jim Beaver calls himself a PI. It’s a hell of a sight easier than defining what he actually does. Truth is, he enables things, acts as a middle man and fixes things. ‘Things,’ being situations or people. If it don’t precisely stay within the lines of what is legal then that is none of anyone’s business and it is best not to speak of it. Jim had wanted to meet at Starbucks again but Jared refused, with oddly adamant remarks about commercial evils. They are therefore seated at a rustic wooden table in a dark corner of the bohemian ‘Black Medicine’ Coffee House, surrounded by earnest creative types in tie-dye skirts and batik shirts, discussing Oscar Wilde and Guggenheim.
Jared is surprisingly laid back in the surroundings so Jim allows himself to relax and present his findings. They order coffee and muffins then he pushes a file at the CEO of Padalecki Inc. The stocky, bearded, PI leans over the table toward him as the tall man scans the information.
Jared frowns but the information isn’t unexpected, “Arson,” he states flatly.
“The cops are coming after Padalecki with big guns blazing. They’ve already pulled the files for three other incidents on your premises.”
Hazel eyes look searchingly at him, “Becks?” the tall man asks.
“Now, why would you ask that, son?”
The answer is little more than a shake of the head and rolled eyes. Jared continues reading, dropping fine sticky crumbs as he bites at his blueberry muffin and sips at his coffee. When he is finished with the file he closes it emphatically and his fingers rub at the bridge of his nose. “This shouldn’t be,” he says.
“It shouldn’t, but you already knew it, Jay and I have to say, coming to me, I’m thinking you’re all out of people you can rely on.” He leans in further, “You don’t even trust your own brother do you?”
Jared stands, “I have to go to the men’s room,” he states. He makes his way to the rest room and back, using the trip to scrutinize every person in the building and then scan the view through the window. As he settles into his chair opposite Jim Beaver he takes a packet from his jacket pocket and slides it over the smooth polished surface, “$100,000. Make it go away.”
Jim pushes it back to him with two fingers. “Your Pa’s tactics ain’t gonna win you this fight Jay.”
“You never would have refused him.”
“Mebbe I like you a whole lot better,” Jim raises his cup in salute. “ ’sides, if this fire weren’t your doing, then whoever did it expects you to make this move. They are waiting to call you on it. Think about it Jay. How many gallons of cooking oil were still in the Linden factory when it went up? Now tell me why anyone would need to use accelerant unless they wanted it to be found?”
Jared puts his face in his hands and rubs his thumbs against his temples.
“How are the figures for your second fiscal year Jay?” Jim swings back on his chair. “I don’t mean to be presumptuous son, but your Pa made no pretence of liking you, so what was the deal with him giving you the business on his deathbed, over your brother, the son he adored?”
Jim is expecting a world famous Padalecki stare. Instead, the man opposite him looks as if the air has been punched from him. “It’s none of your business Beaver.”
“No Jay, it’s your business, which brings me to the next item on my agenda and I have to say it, or rather he is an absolutely fascinating study. If you were worried about what was in my previous folder then you might not want to open this can of worms.”
Jared pauses for the waitress to top up their mugs of coffee and move on before opening the next file. He lifts and reads paper after paper. He is biting his lip and scowling at the information.”
“I don’t understand,” he shakes his head as he speaks.
“No, can’t say I do either. Absolutely bloody incredible! And a whole lot crazy. Please tell me you have contacted the cops and you are taking this guy seriously.”
“I didn’t notice him until recently. He seems harmless enough. He sketches. We did some sketching, together, earlier today,” Jared produces his portrait of Jen with boyish enthusiasm.
“Nice. Does he sketch you in the gym each morning? Or perhaps when you turn out your light last thing at night,” Jared’s eyelashes part wide around his hazel eyes as Jim dangles a photograph in his hand of Jen leaving the sports centre, past his limousine. The image below it shows the man under a street lamp opposite his house, just blocks from the Padalecki Inc. offices. “Don’t feel too special,” the PI picks up more pictures, one of Jen outside the gentleman’s club that Jeff frequents. Another with him close to Misha’s apartment. Finally, he shows a photograph of Jen entering the public library. “Do you know what this guy does when he’s not watching Padalecki Inc.?”
Jared glances at the picture, “Presumably he reads.”
“Yes, yes he does. Sometimes he likes poetry or travel. He often uses educational texts or online courses in maths, accountancy, business and finance. Mostly, however, his library usage is narrowed to a specific topic.”
“That would be?” Jared huffs, he’s tired of Jim’s game.
“Padalecki Inc. He researches every public financial detail, transaction, rumor or piece of gossip. He knows every rival, the details of each member of each board in every business who either deals with Padalecki or opposes Padalecki Inc.”
“Who is he? Who is he working for?”
“So far I got no leads on that. He’s homeless, currently squatting, very neat and tidy, in an apartment which is tied up in probate. He survives on donations, dumpster diving and the proceeds of a few hours work at the market each week. He lives simply and clean. No drugs, no booze, no friends, no extraneous possessions. More important, he has no name and no history. He’s not wanted and he’s not missing. His prints and his face are not in the system. He has a dog. He doesn’t speak but he can sign and he’s not deaf. He doesn’t interact well with others and most people who do get a response assume he has learning difficulties.”
“Does he have learning difficulties?”
“Well, he ain’t normal in the normal sense and his routine is the stuff of OCD. You can time his activities to the minute, but he ain’t stupid. The coursework and textbooks he uses in the library are from the advanced education sections.”
“Wow.” Jared sits back in his seat, speechless. He is silent for more than a few minutes, sifting through the PI’s images of the vagrant. He picks one out, just a simple picture of the man and his dog, staring unknowingly into the camera lens. He could be a model he thinks. He runs his finger over the paper. “Can I keep this?” he asks.
“You paid for it.” Jim replies.
“Do you think he’s dangerous Jim?”
“It’s not healthy, son. You need to deal with him. He doesn’t exist so it ain’t gonna be hard to make him disappear. Do you want me to organize it?”
Jared steeples his fingers and rubs at his face as he considers the proposition. “No. I’ve got it. See what else you can dig up.”
“And the other business?”
“Let it run its natural course.” Jared pushes the folders back at the older man and the PI stashes them back in his bag.
“It’s a pleasure doing business with you Mr. Padalecki.”
“Yeah, wish I could say the same.”
They leave separately and head in different directions.
Part 5
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