CARLOS
&
KATRINA
A
Novel by Charles Adrian Trevino
Copyright 2006,
2018
________________________________________________
Chapter
18
David
Geeken and Stephen Schidtberger sat at their private table, secluded
at the back of their favorite luncheon spot The Ritzo, an exclusively
expensive new restaurant that had recently opened in Westview.
Located just a few blocks from the studios which they jointly
operated, its dimly lit back area served as their conference room as
well as an excellent place to feed their greedy faces, and many a
profitable business deal had been done there.
At the present
moment Geeken and Schidtberger were busily engaged in their newest
project: to make their upcoming movie attract an enormous audience
and reap the maximum profit possible, while simultaneously ridiculing
and deflating their favorite enemy and the object of their undying
hatred, a certain notorious anti–Usherite upstart of low social
and economic rank who had earned their undying enmity many years ago,
after he had started a fight with the son of a prominent Usher... at
a previously all-Usher school.
Attending their kids' schools,
applying for jobs in their town, surfing their beaches, this intruder
had immediately proven himself to be a typical lower–class
scoundrel, and the list of his offenses had mounted steadily
day-by-day as the Ushers continued to monitor him closely over the
years. Then he had taken the same course as so many other fools
before him, starting to read and believe anti–Usheric
propoganda. Transcripts of his car and telephone conversations had
reflected a change gradually coming over him, as he absorbed
information like a sponge and attempted to impart what he had learned
about the Ushers to anyone he came in contact with; anyone who would
listen to such ridiculous drivel, that is.
This knight errent,
however, was unusually assiduous; he would take the time to make
copies of pages of books he checked out from various libraries, or
cut out articles from newspapers that he would file away
alphabetically in large cabinets he kept in his bedroom. He typed
up, printed out and attempted to circulate pamphlets "exposing"
government corruption, alluding that there was a hidden cabal which
absolutely controlled the UFS by manipulating its economy and
political structure. Although he never actually used the word
"Usher," he had come close enough in their opinion; a
rabble–rousing troublemaker who spoke without knowledge.
He
was also a myopic idiot who either couldn't see or refused to heed
the numerous admonitions the Ushers had so graciously provided to
him. They had repeatedly given him fair warning that they and their
constituents could track his movements and watch him anywhere he
went, knew all about his private affairs, and could have him
arrested, beaten up or even killed if they so desired. These
"warnings" were generally delivered through intimations
implanted in various outlets in the form of popular movies, song
lyrics, television programs, best–selling novels, advertising
commercials and billboards, and maybe newspaper cartoon strips if one
was so inclined; or they might plaster a huge monition or "warning"
insult on the side of a bus or even a tall office building, an
outrage they had managed to impose on society after gradually
quelling heavy public opposition. There was virtually no way for a
citizen of the UFS to miss the messages which the Ushers so
generously imparted in order to persuade their enemies to "correct"
their wayward behavior.
Yet this dummy had continually failed
to take the hints; surveillance had disclosed that he didn't like
going to movie theatres, and didn't even watch television or listen
to the radio anymore. Thus, he was infuriatingly immune to these
primary vehicles of subliminal persuasion, with their surreptitiously
will–eroding, spirit–deflating qualities. Moreover, he
was quite vocal in expressing his contempt for the "new
entertainment" and the "usurping hyena scum"
responsible for it. As far as the two entertainment industry titans
were concerned, that in itself was enough to incur their wrath; but
there was more.
In
an unforeseen turn of events, a strikingly beautiful girl of some
talent had inexplicably come into his low life, an unusually
intelligent one at that, and the incredible, unbelievable fact that
she was a Usher from a monied family had raised the hackles of some
very powerful people. This thick but lucky moron had already
stupidly bitten the hand that fed him, and with a partner like that
on his side, he might do anything. Even win.
"What's her
name?" Geeken asked his grubby–pawed cohort, as he shoved
huge pieces of lobster into his mouth.
"Katrina
Fury," Schidtberger responded, sipping tea and soda from a big
crystal goblet.
"You've met her?" Geeken gulped,
gagging on his mouthful as he talked.
"Yes,
several times. She was going to sign with me, but then she... her
mother didn't want her to do it, thought it would affect her
schoolwork," Schidtberger lied, as he set his weighty glass
down. "But later the bitch signed with Goldmann, that
straight–laced little alter boy... and told her friend in a
phone conversation it was because his films were much better than
mine, higher class! After all I tried to do for the cunt..."
Geeken
stopped gorging himself long enough to incredulously blurt out his
next question. "And now she's fucking Fontana?"
"No,
I didn't say she was fucking him! She's a goddamned virgin prude,
for christsakes... just like him!" The two moguls exchanged
giggles for a moment, then Schidtberger continued. "She's just
on some kind of head trip... went a little crazy after her father
died, and somehow bonded with that... thing!
They
were in a college class together, that's how he met her. They became
good friends...real good friends. Now, under his influence, she's
been giving Harry Rosenberg's boy Jacob a hard time... even though
Jacob's the one who introduced her to Goldmann!"
"What's
she done?" Geeken was trying to talk and gobble his food
simultaneously, so interesting did he find the conversation.
"The
bitch bamboozeled the poor kid, completely fucked him over. She got
him to give her some videos and tape recordings of Fontana, told him
she was going to show them to her friends. Then the Eyes caught her
talking to a lawyer... they checked him out, he's her late father's
partner. She told this lawyer she would pay him to advise her on a
certain matter, a case of defamation, it seems."
"What?
She's putting out her own money? What the fuck is
this guy Fontana? He's fucking ugly,
for god sakes! Why would anybody... I mean, what the fuck is going
on here, Schidt?"
"That's not all, Geek. She has a
lot
of money... her father left her a small fortune. She could
conceivably make trouble for Jacob, which might have repercussions
higher up. Also, the story is she has talent... she's probably
gonna' be big, going through that jackass Goldmann, and could become
very influential unless we, uh... take steps to override that..."
Schidtberger let his sentence trail off as he shoved a forkful of
sardines into his gaping orifice.
Geeken
began to laugh as he chewed, struggling to keep his food in his
mouth. "Sounds like she needs to be put through the process...
ha ha ha! But seriously, timing is critical here... we should wait
until she gets a little bigger, more well–known, before we do
anything. So all the goiks will know who it is they're laughing at!
If she's not famous yet, they won't know we're talking about her,
you see? It's all a matter of timing..."
"Oh, of
course... she's already given a lot of interviews though, and
Goldmann's movie is due out next month... it'll gross big; she'll
soon be famous. But now that we're finishing up with this Fontana
project, I think we should start working on Katrina right away,
starting with the television network stuff."
Geeken's
eyes were glinting as he bolted down his food. This was the kind of
thing he enjoyed... loved... lived for! And he was so good at
it!
"O.k., it'll be fun... let's do it!"
*******************
Jacob
Rosenberg was cursing under his breath as he drove past Katrina's
house in Westview, slowing down to stare at the large stately
mansion. He hadn't been able to keep himself from doing this,
several times a day, ever since he had found out that Katrina was
betraying him.
Jacob's
curses grew louder as he continued down the road. He had been
totally duped by this foul, cunning vixen whom he had given
everything to, had trusted completely. Not only had she passed him
over for some dirtbag from the gutter, she had also betrayed his
trust and tricked him into turning over his most prized and valuable
possessions to her, with the intent of stealing his money and giving
it to an enemy of the Ushers -- a person whom she rightfully
should have despised.
By the time he had reached the end of
the long street, Jacob was screaming obscenities out his open window.
He only began to calm down when a Westview Patrol cruiser suddenly
turned the corner in front of him and headed his way. By the time it
passed by him he had completely recovered his composure, and had
already begun thinking of his revenge... again.
The
matter of how to deal with Katrina could wait; he had a more
important item on his agenda. Fontana had been asking for it for
years, and now he was really going to get it. No more of this kid
gloves shit... Jacob was ready to avenge himself, and he knew how to
do it.
It
was Jacob's custom to meet as many people in as many walks of life as
he could; he maintained a large book of telephone numbers, and he
very astutely kept in contact with the people who could be most
useful to him at any given time, depending on his needs. Given his
propensity to either make enemies or else to revenge himself on those
enemies, that phonebook included a fair number of lowlifes who were
more than willing to hire themselves out as amateur "hit–men,"
and who would perform dirty deeds ranging from vandalizing property
to assault and battery; he could even have someone murdered if he so
desired. Jacob knew exactly who to call now.
He had met John
Boot through Bill Bronsky, his ornery old friend and partner in
debauchery. Although Jacob had instantly abhored Boot, he had also
seen the advantages of knowing him; Boot was a slow–witted but
physically imposing brute of a fellow, and was also very easily led,
as he was frequently strapped for cash due to an exorbitant drug
habit. He possessed all the requisite qualities of a good pawn.
Jacob had established a rapport with Boot, who quickly revealed
himself to be a jack–of–all–trades; he could deal
drugs, steal cars, hold up stores, and even rob banks; he knew lots
of bad–ass types, and some of them
knew real mob gangsters.
Bronsky was the one who had told
Jacob about Boot's other line: beating people up for a very
reasonable fee. He had done it several times already, and had no
compunction about doing it again; he liked it. Jacob had ingratiated
himself with this beast and had skillfully begun to extract
information from him about his mercenary activities. He learned that
the mentally unstable, drug–addled Boot was more than willing
to stalk and attack anyone, anywhere, either by himself or employing
helper–thugs for the bigger, higher–paying jobs. After a
while Jacob had hinted that he might have some business for him,
whereupon Boot immediately began to quote prices for different types
of assaults. A simple intimidating punch in the face might only cost
$50, for instance; however, a more thorough beating that would
require helpers would cost many times that amount. It mattered
little to Jacob; he was willing to pay Boot handsomely for what he
was going to ask of him.
It
was a delicate matter, and would have to be carried out with the
utmost care in order for Jacob to avoid being implicated. It would
require some planning, and would take a bit of time to put all the
pieces together; he would have to spend some money. But he was
determined now, more than ever before, to deal with this doltish
manipulator Fontana. A good thrashing was exactly what Carlos
needed; maybe even some broken fingers. He'd have a lot of fun going
on his goddamned tour and trying to play guitar with his hand wrapped
in a cast! Maybe then he would learn who not to mess with in
Westview.
"Or anywhere else, for that matter," Jacob
said out loud, laughing.
******************
_______________________________________
Copyright
2006, 2018 by Charles Adrian Trevino.