Seeing Red

By Mark C Brown

A young stock broker is kidnapped by a small throng of punks in exchange for his freedom. When asked to embezzeled his firm, he is tempted to steal more than asked. The female leader of the group knows about his skimming and wants badly the rest of the loot to the limit of killing his wife and kids. He has to clean up the mess himself before his wife gets killed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark C Brown
• Release date: Mar 27, 2012
• ISBN: 9780988016705

Book preview

SEEING RED

Mark C. Brown

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Published by:

Mark C. Brown at Smashwords

Copyright (c) 2012 by Mark C. Brown

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All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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CHAPTER ONE



There he was again, steadfast at his desk contemplating the facts of life, the routine of work. The brokerage office was buzzing with dozen of busy people and all kinds of other annoying noises which he was trying hopelessly to push out of his mind. He discretely observed the older guys, the elderly brokers, eyes endlessly glued to the ticker tape. He could never see his own stocks on the tape because of the speed it traveled.

Sam, his next desk neighbor, was still gung-ho about the marvel of the stock business as opposed to Blair, who thought it was somewhat futile. Sam wanted to break bread like they did occasionally, but Blair wasn’t in the mood to talk business. The conversations were always about how much money he made for his clients and thus, indirectly bragging about how much of a good broker he was. Blair couldn’t stand it anymore. 
Blair, do you want to go to lunch?’’ He proverbially asked. 
I don’t feel like it. I had a large breakfast this morning. I’m not really hungry.’’ Blair responded avoiding hurting his friend’s feelings. 
"Okay. Some other time perhaps.’’


Big Sam tried not to show too much disappointment, being turned down by such a lame excuse. Sam took a liking to Blair the first time he had met him, always expecting to be his pal, buddies forever.

Blair Manson has been a stockbroker for four years now reasonably successful he was keeping his family off the street, the way he used to tell it, in a new cottage in Belleville, some twenty miles out of Manhattan business core. University educated, late thirties, looking like a marathon runner, well liked in the office and by his clients as well. He looked like a Harvard man but he was not. His good personality was carrying him, opening accounts on a regular basis, not because he was witty on the security’ business. God had been kind to him and he was thankful for it when, at times, things were not going as expected.
Short brown hair, always conservatively dressed, he looked distinguish enough to be a Wall Street man with a future.

Blair had a ticket to do, sell two thousand shares of IBM at ninety. He was stalling for some reason. He was thinking of making a cross trade with his buddy Sam, giving him part of the commission and at a good price.
Sam, you want two thousand shares of IBM at ninety? The ask is at the quarter.’’
I don’t know if I should get in at this price.’’ Knowing he already made some good profits at this level.
Sure, it’s not too late. My client wants to get into a tax shelter. I think it’s still a good buy, lots of up-side to it still.’’ Confirmed Blair to his buddy.
Sam was a prudent broker, never did things of the whim. He hesitated.
Let me see. There is one guy who, I think will get in at this level.’’
Sam had good persuasive skills. He could sell anything to anybody when he wanted to. 
Blair thought it was because he had broad shoulders and for his capabilities of crushing beer cans with his bare hands like it was a paper cup, made him a better salesman. Jealousy! Tall and beefy, he still commanded the broker attire, the too obvious red suspenders and a dark suit over a white shirt. He told him it was ‘’passé’’ but he still insisted on wearing them. Nobody dared to tell him because of his size and his success in the business. A deep New York accent gave him some authority around people.


Blair decided to take a walk to the trading desk to see the real boys doing real business. They always managed to elate Blair by their big dealings. They spoke of five, ten million bucks while Blair spoke of thousands.
What’s up guys?’’ What’s up today?’’
One of the less busy traders took some time to chat with the retail broker.
It seemed like GM is going off the board with this strike on. Down three points.’’
His interest lay for the winners.
And on the up side?’’
Motorola seems to be flying after that Japanese talk with Clinton. Have some big money to spend buddy?’’ While still looking diligently at his screen.
No. Not really. Only looking for some excitement.’’
You won’t find any here today. Looks like we’re going to finish the day fairly flat.’’ Replied the trader keeping his eyes glued to the screen, not taking any chances of missing anything.
"Yeah. It seems like it. Thanks pal.’’ Replied Blair going back to his desk, feeling a sense of accomplishment, tossing ideas.


Blair saw Sam writing a ticket, thinking he was buying his shares.
So, you’re in for those two thousand shares?’’
Yeah. I’m writing the ticket.’’ 
On a slow day, both were making a little bit of money. Blair took Sam’s ticket and brought it back to the trading desk. It made him look busier than he really was, seeing the trader twice in the last few minutes.
He strutted back to his desk, feeling a sense of emptiness, realizing that was his job was handling little pieces of papers with numbers on them. It made everybody in the office happy, particularly the big boys’ up-stairs, the big boys of Wallace and Burns Securities. The one always dressed in dark suits, silk socks and three hundred dollars Italian shoes that they were always making sure you noticed while you were having a conversation.
Blair was not enchanted with his job, making a good living at it but, he thought it was insignificant of keeping track of numbers for other people, numbers going up and down day in day out. 


He needed some fresh air, wanting to get out of this stuffy office.
Sam, could you take care of my calls for the rest of the day? I want to kick off early. I’m fed up.’’ Pouting while asking.
Sure buddy, but I’ll keep the commission on your tickets.’’ He replied winking.
"Churn all my accounts while you’re at it.’’

As he winked back to show his respective sense of humor.

He was out of the office in minutes. Just the fresh air was soothing to his being. He questioned if he was going to spend all his life in a stale air conditioned office, trying to get rich on people’s back.



CHAPTER TWO




Behind the wheel of his BMW, Blair Manson tried vainly to relax. It was his way of taking the pressure off, driving fast without his family on board. There was something bothering him, like a bad hitch but he couldn’t tell what exactly. He turned the a/c off and opened a window to get blown by the arm tepid wind, lashing his weary face, given him a sense of freedom of having his necktie flying above his shoulders and his hair in complete disarray. 


Reaching Long Island, he managed to push the 525 to its limits, something he did once in a while, confirming he made the best choice buying the smaller model as opposed to the 535 BMW like everyone told him to. He thought the difference in cost didn’t warrant the extra amount. Besides, now that he was a responsible family man, he had to be a prudent driver. He liked to see it over one twenty mph. once in a while to get his money’s worth. It gave him a chance to think, evaluate where he was in his life and what he really wanted for the future.

His future was certainly with his wife and his two boys which he cherished more than his own. Even though he didn’t get much satisfaction from his work he had someone to go back to at the end of the day and making it all worthwhile. 
He was tempted to floor it one more time, then get back home to his dearest.

All of a sudden, the car had no power, lack of response. He was out of gas in the middle of two small towns with no gas station for miles. He pulled on the grass, a tiny patch in the shade. Now what? He asked himself.

Sitting still, he wondered how come he let a crucial element like gasoline abort his journey. Sluggishly, he went out of the car to see if there was really a station nearby, nothing in sight. 
"Shit, shit, shit.’’ Slamming the car door, getting back inside, out of the heat.

No reception on the cell. Great!
He could hitchhike, but he was too independent for that, so he decided to wait for the highway patrol to come eventually to the rescue.


He thought he could get a little shut eye before the rescue, sledding to a comfortable position. Haft asleep and aft awake, killing time until the sound of a motorcycle engine nearby stirred him up. The bike went by and came back on its track near Blair’s car. He raised his head to see who it might be and what the hell he wanted. Blair saw a black leather cyclist with a black helmet with a dark shield peering at him while he was slowly pulling himself up from his seat.

The bike driver nodded with a reserved sign asking Blair if he wanted a lift. He replied negatively and sledded down back to his snoozing position. The big bore bike went off like a race dragster leaving a haze of arid dust behind.
A few seconds later, the big bore bike came back ten feet away from the car and got off the bike leaving it on the stand, walked sluggishly over to him made him apprehensive of this black leather stranger coming at him directly. Blair kept staring at him until he was close to him. A few feet from the car, the stranger took his helmet off to release a bunch of black curly female hair, relieved to see a beautiful smiling woman instead of a wry ugly mugger.
You plan to stay here until dawn?’’ As she approached with a sexy gate near the car.
Someone is bound to come around soon.’’ He responded with a smile at his new pretended saver.
That could be for a long time yet.’’ Chewing on an oversized piece of gum.
Well, I’m still young.’’ He replied with a large coy smile.
Come on. Let me give you a lift. We’re bound to hit a gas station not too far down.’’ Insisted the young and sassy woman.
He refused again and prepared to get back into dormant position.
He was about to sleep when she came closer to the car, intruding her entire head in the car. He took cognizance of her deep black eyes, deep as bottomless wells.
Nice set of wheels. I’ll bet you can go a long way with a car like that.’’ Said the gum chewing gal, appreciating a luxury automobile.
Well, not today, so it seemed.’’ With a brazen corner smile.
She looked at him inches apart, sneering at his smart attitude. She moved cautiously outside the car keeping a watchful eye on him.
Up on. You can hold on to these if it turns you on.’’ While she unzipped her black leather jacket showing a deep cleavage proudly.
Blair was abashed by her bold gesture.
Good offer.’’ He replied in a way not to vex her since she obviously was so egotistical of her bosom.
Might be the only one today.’’ Reaffirming her offer by glancing at her feminine parts now more obvious by the way she was standing.
Blair was finding the situation amusing. A young girl in her twenties was initiating a pass at him in broad daylight. Kids today, they have no shame.

By this time it was getting late and he was pressed by the late hour. The offer made more sense every minute that went by. After all, she had a point they were bound to see a gas station in a few minutes.

A person of great wisdom in a leather outfit. Why not.
Yeah. Seems like it.’’ Are you scared of hoping on a bike?’’ She said with an obvious sneer.
Never rode a bike before.’’
It was Blair’s first dent in his pride, admitting to a younger woman he never experienced the thrill of a vibrant motorcycle.
The leather person wasn’t the type to use minced words when it came to speak her mind. There was a punk allure about her, a daring attitude, the type to play double dare with a convict on death row.
I’m not scared, it's just that....I’m not too comfortable on these things.’’
It was a good choice of words. Not compromising his manhood.
"I will be doing the driving. You just hold on tight.’’ Glancing with her black pearl eyes at her ballooned breast.
The alternatives were narrowing to a few choices. I’m not going to stay here until night, he told himself.
He was convincing himself to take this daring trip.

Logic prevailed.


A minute later he had a black helmet on, looking like a giant bug and his sensitive touch on hot leather. As the engine made its roaring sound, he became aware of his lack of control on a tiny machine that could almost fly.
He asked her not to ride too fast. But his request was muffed by the cryptic helmet. No response.

It sounded more of a supplication than a legitimate request. She nods affirmatively as she takes off, performing a cartwheel departure, forcing him to hold on her tiny waist like a toy buoy.

Like Tony Bennet had left his heart in San Francisco, Blair left his on highway 27.

As the speed picked up, he tried desperately to tell her to slow down but his screaming was muffled by the engine roaring.
His fear suddenly subsided when he saw a gas station on his left side. He tapped her on the shoulder to let her know, but to his demise, he heard the motor revving up higher. Why wasn’t she stopping? He asked himself. He repeated the single maneuver at a much harder contact. No response.

The gas station was fading away behind him as he found himself totally powerless. Half a mile down was sitting another gas station. He grabbed her firmly by the shoulders to let her know but, to no avail, the bike kept going like a steel arrow cutting into the warm wind.
A few miles down the road, she pulled into a narrow lane, than a smaller path, telling him the unpredictable journey was about to end. A row of small empty houses erected along one side of this small absent community. This was his destination and not yet known, his destiny.

The bike stopped on a piece of burn grass as Blair got off as quickly as he could realize the opportunity to be on firm ground.
WHAT THE MATTER WITH YOU? YOU DIDN’T SEE THE GAS STATIONS ALONG THE WAY? NOT ONLY ONE BUT TWO. WHERE ARE WE ANYWAY?
No response from the hijacker.
WHAT AM I DOING HERE? TWENTY MILES AWAY FROM MY CAR?’’
The woman in black had turned out to be too casual about the situation.
Come in for a beer. Met some of the guys.’’
I WANT TO GO BACK HOME.’’
Blair was losing his patience seeing her so relaxed like nothing was going on. He managed to calm down, trying to understand what was really going on.
Come in for a beer, I’ll take you back to your car afterwards.’’ She said turning around and getting into the rundown cottage.
You take me back right now.’’ He insisted, but she ignored him completely.
In disbelief, Blair took his frustration to the side of the road waiting for a compassionate driver to give him the highly desired ride back to his car. The sun was setting. Time was scarce before total darkness.

There was no living soul in sight. The alternative turned out to be limited, pushing him to go back to the haunted house. A group of bizarre people was waiting for him, peering at him like a priest most have been looked by Indians in the early years of colonization. One of them had green hair, the other red with a pony tail and another one had run out of hair and dye. All had some kind of ring in their ears, some even in their noses and some dozen small chains hanging from imaginable places with

a display of numerous tattoos exhibiting a tapestry of rebellion. They all seemed malnourished, except for one who looked like Humpty Dumpty. There was five of them and one of him.
So, where is ...What's her name?’’
You mean Spade.’’ Said the heaviest of the group coming forward.
The description fitted like a tee. The Queen of Spade.
Yes. I guess you can call her that. What’s your name?’’ 
Me? I’m Junior.’’ He answered like it was the first time someone ever asked his name.
Your father must be proud.’’ Blair quickly commented.
Yeah! What do you mean?’’ He asked with a nasal voice.
Blair thought he was venturing in a sliding terrain that could only lead him to a fat lip. By this time Spade was out of hiding place coming swively towards him. She puts her hands behind his neck and pulled him against her, intruding her wet tongue in his dry ear. The group cheered and applauded like they were at a football game, fans of the winning team. He was left baffled and perplexed pulling embarrassingly from her hardy grip.


Where’s the phone?’’
Everybody laughed again, making him realized that there was no such thing as a telephone.
I guess there is no phone.’’ Showing disappointment.
They all responded the same way, giggling like school girls.
"Great! What now?’’


He turned around to peer at the pitch black sky through