Chapter 4 of Novella

    Bob Francis removed his shoes and pulled his socks from his feet as he rolled up his soaked pants exposing the bones of hairy legs.  He had decided to excuse himself from Dave’s office and the complex as Dave had sat discussing a repayment plan for Nicky’s lost money opportunity.  Bob stood approximately fifteen inches deep in water as he began sloshing, trekking marrowy towards a major Tri-County thoroughfare.  Water seemed like mud, oozing and slippery, a sponger of flesh and walking like an ingrown toenail.  Rain, especially fresh rain of the same day, had a penchant for gutting houses, gutting homes as though they were inanimate objects without lives, without families, without mortgage payments that were due, separating residents and transforming them into mere people artifacts who were home alone.
    A long, luxurious black stretch limousine honked its horn at the approaching
intersection.  As Bob continued to slosh, stumbling toward it, its dark-tinted windows descended majestically, its driver meticulous.  Jim O’Connell, People’s Bank’s manager, sat royally sipping champagne from the rear interior, next to him sat Kathy Stillwell, a sophisticated attorney in her thirties who, leaning back, reclining, lapped the inside of her delicate glass flute and its rim, the sweet, fruity taste of sparkling champagne wetting the surface of her tongue.  Inside the limousine, a complete wet bar propped behind the driver, with a television monitor centered underneath a mini-game table with holders for six sets of poker chips, and a concealed cellular phone.  The interior of the black limousine was plush with Corinthian leather plastering the dash, top, side doors, and electronic amenities.  Shag grey carpet reposed from front to rear with a crisp formality that pretentiously aspired to elevate.  There was a smell of refined oil emanating from the limousine’s rear as if leather upholstery had recently been buffed, maybe polished
with a wood grain soap and a floral scent.  The closer Bob Francis approached, peering the elegant vehicle which was immersed slightly above the flood of the streets, the more he observed the condition of retreated residences constructed of brick and limestone fortressing the troves of water that had disassembled tracts of land and other professional properties like the result of many house bombings, splinters of belongings and parcels disarrayed upon a New World landscape. 
He looked to the west of one corner and saw streams of a running surge bouncing over sub-level mezzanines and angled areas of parking lots.  He looked towards the east and the remnants of the deluge trickled like drops upon a parasol, beating the ground before immersion.
    “Bob Francis …. A well-respected citizen of Tri-County …. what a coincidence …. seeing you out here …. why not hop in for a ride?”
Jim O’Connell winked knowingly at Bob who was standing, practically tipping upon
bare feet as fifteen inches of future drainage chilled his kneecaps.  His Bally shoes in one hand, socks and briefcase within the other.
      “Some night to be riding the limo …. must’ve been some special occasion …. “
Bob anchored onto the limousine as if he had been stranded upon a desert island.
    “Actually, we just felt like riding, really …. we had decided to tour Tri-County when the storm arrived …. Of course, we stopped briefly here and there but we wanted to be strict with the driver’s hourly rate …. “
Jim leaned forward holding the champagne, feeling bubbly.
    “Say hello to my Kathy …. My best girl …. You know Ms. Stillwell …. from private practice …. “
Jim beamed, eyeing Kathy with a searching for daylight voluptuous look that wanted to see more than was visible.  His suit was grey, almost charcoal and clothed a medium husk of a manager whose money pretensions seemed real.  He was reticent in giddiness, often revealing a wide even-teethed smile that was embarrassed for others and sly like a prep school boy’s.
    “Ms. Stillwell, it’s a pleasure as always to see you ….  Having a great time with Jim?”
Bob still held his shoes, socks, and briefcase, feigning an insouciant smile and bearing the coldness of his feet, ice sleds on Head skis.
    “Just get in Bob …. Jim’s taking me on a tour of our great city …. grab a glass and let’s enjoy the ride …. “
Kathy Stillwell had once defended People’s Bank in a litigious suit brought on the behalf of savings account holders who protested the bank’s inability to remain competitive by offering lower than market interest rates.  She had a reputation for toughness, tenacity and it had been rumored that she also once worked for organized crime figures who had compensated her for more than her legal advice.  In actuality, she had fallen in love with one of Nicky’s soldiers and remaining a dutiful old flame, she constantly reported to him and to Nick about developments in Tri-County.  Her natural beauty was enhanced by her professional stature.  Upon a glance, she reminded most men that an intelligent woman was also smart about her looks, and normally gave an impression that your attraction to her was more natural because she was an attorney and not just a woman. Her face was vibrant, especially when men complimented her.  Her feminine physique provided comfort to those that she wanted to comfort, her comfort being carouse, or good-nature, or confidence, or caring, or love.  To overlook her acumen would have been
denying her woman.  To waste her time would have been a swift kick to the groin. 
Tonight Kathy was the carouse, the strip-tease, the good-nature with Jim O’Connell and Bob Francis.
    “I’d be glad to Kathy …. what a night to be here amidst this massive flooding ….
You guys are saviors …. “
Bob handed his shoes, socks,  then briefcase to the driver as Jim eased closer to Kathy and Bob filled into a space nearest the wet bar.
    “Driver …. let’s get moving …. onward …. I want to tour this city ….!”
Jim reeked of champagne and two bottles were emptied upon the bar top.
    “Bob, do you really know who I am …. ?”
Jim sucked his glass and pretended not to notice Kathy.
      “I manage money …. lots of it …. so much for People’s Bank and Stan Corcoran and Victory Homes and the Hamiltonian subdivision and Liberty Architects and private investors and just about everybody else in this town for our little Tri-County …. “
Jim’s tone was inspiring.  Kathy smiled lip glossy.  Bob fished for another champagne glass before Jim started another quatrain, refrain of identity.  The tires of the sleek black limousine would not grind; they splashed, revolving almost suspended, creeping slowly so not to submerge.
      “Stop here driver …. Look here Bob …. that strip mall was built by Varney Builders before they dissolved.  Do you see where People’s Bank is developing the community  …. ?  Right over there …. We manage their property …. It belongs to us ….
    Keep moving driver …. “
Between Jim directing the driver and Kathy’s seductive winks at him, Bob didn’t know if he should have concentrated upon looking out the window or asking Jim to allow her to sit next to him. 
    “Bob, now I want you to think about the many lovely ladies of Tri-County …. and you know Kathy …. My lovely Kathy Stillwell is one of the loveliest …. but think about loving these ladies …. We make it all possible …. for them, for you …. and where do these ladies want to live …. ?  Right here in Tri-County …. where gentlemen lovers like us can take care of them …. preserve their property …. “
Kathy had yawned and winked again.  Her smile said if I talk you both will listen.  She was like a store mannequin or a game show prize and display model.  Jim rested a hand on her thigh, talked some more, and his Kathy remained transfixed.  Bob had never seen Jim O’Connell demonstrate such assertiveness.  Years of transacting with him at the bank and conversing with him on the by had yielded a bank persona of honor and responsibility, obligation recruiting customers and officiating commercial loan transactions.  Strangely, a cavalier outstanding sports gambling debt had garnered and tempered his predisposition toward usurping, maximizing his benefit at the Bank’s  and its clients’ expense, initially to compensate, mitigate a present, pending real money need,but later uncontrollably, increasingly at the risk of the Bank’s loss.  What had occurred to Jim O’Connell as had to Stan Corcoran was that illicit activities wholesaled for others to settle, suffice a short-term obligation, could be personalized and harnessed for the sake
of Tri-County, the sake of brimming their pockets.  Inevitably, Jim’s role with the bank became a functional, personal spigot, a funnel for bank pretenses but an outlet, a sham for his intentions, inuring and deceptive.  It was like an illiberal divination for Jim to substitute his role at People’s for private gain.  He had already developed the trust of customers within his visible, personable position who would have consecrated their lives for their belief in him representing People’s Bank.  They were the lambs coming to slaughter.  They were the wayward sheep from the flock, his shepherd shaving their fleece in the guise of good-nature and good business.  How could he be satisfied with an arbitrary limit, an arbitrary enough that placated an unconscionable consideration for the interests of others?  Like Stan had realized, Jim’s decision to regulate his share of the take, of the skim, of the kitty would have been a pretentious, specious denial of past action and available opportunity.  Customers like Dr. Archibald Davis wanted, needed to
be steered.  More so, he was accustomed, as was the bank rule and procedure, to
represent its interests, minimizing the discourtesy and inconvenience of such customers. If Davis couldn’t read and there was a slight Tri-County minority who could not, it was still his right to learn or protect his interests.  Aside from that he was just like any other customer being shafted by Victory Homes and the rest of the umbrella of Tri-County developers into utilizing a construction loan program which would not be monitored by the bank or cost effective to the customer.  Essentially whatever monies were needed to pay Stan Corcoran, his Victory Homes or the larger umbrella of architects, developers, and investors, its subcontractors, to cover Nicky’s money and now even Varney’s old
debts  would be drawn from the construction loan program and its recipients, their lines of credit, their margin accounts.
    The limousine’s fastidious driver plowed about another mile or so before Jim made him abridge the distance.
    “Right here, driver …. that’s it, right here ….”
Jim had requested to visit in front of a two-story ranch with a corral-like fencing.
      “We built this family’s home above the gravesite of an old eighteenth century
churchyard …. The bank hesitated because of the historical sanctity of the property
    …. but the family …. well …. it was ominous …. at least three subcontractors lost their lives …. the family divorced and sold within a year …. But what a house ….  a future finance for the bank’s fieri facias …. “
Jim sipped more champagne, grinning like a donkey with its tail being tugged.
“Driver …. Let’s move …. “
What patience the driver must have had, tolerating the storm, the acclimate road and traveling conditions, Jim’s stop-and-go tyranny.  Had the driver been somehow sedated, he would’ve lapsed indefinitely into an anesthetic lethargy, perhaps before rebelling  against, rallying against Jim.  Bob listened in mistrustful, suspended awe as if he was hearing the racist railings of a grand pooh-bah.  He wanted to see, perceive Kathy better, but when she gingerly grabbed Jim’s arm, he knew she was his proselyte.  Occasionally though, she still flirted with Bob, crossing her plump, rounded legs, winking, licking her glossy lips as if he were on them.
    “You know, Bob …. let me be frank, if I must …. a few customers have brought it to my attention that after the Varney scandal …. that Victory Homes, Hamiltonian and others were just fly-by-night shell companies …. looking to capitalize on the
gullibility of the general public …. and that People’s Bank was allowing it to happen

    ….”
Bob saw an opportunity.
    “You mean like you misled Archie Davis …. ?”
Jim laughed and sighed through his bubbly.
      “Yes …. An unusual situation …. “
      “Give Jim a break, Bob …. “
His Kathy spoke.
    “I represented People’s on that one …. I witnessed Davis skim the contract and sign on the bottom line …. “
Jim’s smirk had a gloss of its own.  She continued.
    “The fact that allegations persist about the industry or its builders …. “
Bob interrupted her, the bridge of a shrewd, handsome if hawkish nose reacting to
sinuses.
    “Davis trusted Jim as we all do …. don’t you think he’s been through enough ….
he can’t even obtain responsible advice from counselors …. “
Jim resumed his litany but not before re-commanding the driver.
    “Stop here, driver …. Take a look here, everyone …. this is the Adams subdivision …. a bit swampy tonight though …. we’ve foreclosed profitably on seven out of ten properties here …. Rising interest rates only delay the market …. And there’ll be others just like Davis …. “
    “That’s despicable Jim …. If people knew how you really conduct business …. “
Bob didn’t want to lecture.
    “Driver …. driver …. driver …. we’ve seen enough …. onward, please …. “
    “Stan deserves some credit, too …. Victory Homes is a legitimate builder ….
Davis knew about construction loans …. “
Now Kathy began to smile widely, laugh as if the night’s climax was about to commence. She spoke to Bob with negotiation.
    “Davis refused to deal with our bank expert, so the progress was not evenly monitored
…. Perhaps our expert didn’t pursue Davis sufficiently …. “
Bob was adamant.
    “Ah …. Kathy …. Your expert is discreditable and so is Jim …. “
Jim was losing grace, the grace of his chauffeured evening, the grace of his guests, the grace of his degage.
    “Bob …. Why not talk to my personal attorney, Dick Bratz …. ?”
    “Everyone knows Dick is an alcoholic …. and he is incompetent …. Too incompetent to discuss the day’s affairs or your responsibility at People’s …. “
Bob challenged Jim and his tour of the city.
      “You know, Bob, I say this without compunction …. Our builders and subcontractors enjoy their partying as much as you do ….  They do a job …. and you do yours …. You have no right …. “
      “And every right to defend my clients who have been infringed upon by the bank …. “
Jim’s mood was changing, bordering upon asking the driver to stop, and giving Bob his wet shoes, socks, and briefcase, opening the rear door.  Jim continued.
    “Those boys will enforce our projects …. make Tri-County the metropolis of the
Northcentral …. and nothing will stop them …. They work for me, the bank, Stan,
Victory Homes, Hamiltonian subdivision; they work for Nicky and his interests, his
people, our people, this town …. same as always …. same as before …. “