Sessler/ THE VELVET STORM

THE VELVET STORM

The shrill of the alarm cut through the early morning silence like a stiletto. It was

enough to rouse the dead. And dead was how Vince Roberts felt. His head throbbed to the

unremitting beat of a distant Bongo drum. He knew his morning was going to be crap and

he was going feel like crap right along with it.

Grudgingly, he shifted himself from under the heap of twisted covers that signaled a

restless sleep and slid out of bed. He yelped as the icy tile floor sent an chill shooting

through his body and he dashed for the bathroom and steamy wet heat of the shower.

After lingering for what seemed hours trying to rouse his brain as well as his body, Vince

decided he could no longer put off the day. They were waiting. They were all waiting.

“Well, Vince, what’s it going to be?”

They certainly weren’t wasting any time. They sat in ambush, expecting his answer

without delay. He had the weekend to think it all over and the answer didn’t seem any

closer now than it did on Friday when he packed his overnight and headed for the lake.

Why couldn’t they understand that this wasn’t easy for him? Why did they have to push

so hard until he wanted to rip out somebody’s throat. Of course that was what they were

hoping for That was the exact thing they wanted to provoke in him.

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And Vince Roberts could certainly be provoked. It was one of the things he did best.

He could let the smallest of nuisances get under his skin; someone who slammed on his

brakes just as the light turned yellow in front of him; someone who cut in front of him

making a left hand turn at the last minute; when they ran out of the right size cups at

Starbucks for his morning latte; when the cable when out right in the middle of a movie

ten minutes before the end. No, it didn’t take much to arouse his ire, but he could channel

that fury and tuck it away in his secret place, to be brought out at a more appropriate

time.

“Well, Vince?” the voice persisted.

Yes, Vince, he thought to himself. What’s it going to be? A turning point? A sticking

point? A point of no return? He closed his eyes and let himself retreat…remove himself

from the moment…remember.

He could feel the hot Bermuda sun beating down on his face.

“Come on, you. Wake up and kiss me,” she giggled, as she ran a cool hand through his

sandy hair.

“”And who might that be?” he smiled with his eyes still shut, as he restrained from

grabbing her right there on the beach and making love in the sand.

“Just a gorgeous native girl, sir, who wants to seduce you away from your ugly, horrid

wife,” she said in a husky voice.

“”Oh. Well, that’s different,” he said, his own voice filled with hunger. He reached up

and ran his hand through the richness of her thick, ebony hair and pulled her to him. He

could feel the warmth of her lithe, tanned body melting into his. An unspeakable pleasure

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filled his body and his soul. She was his wife. All his. Not just for now. For always.

His eyes popped open, unexpectedly moist. He turned away. They couldn’t see. They

could not know his vulnerability. His life depended on it.

“Okay,” was all he said. He stood up and took the file folder from the gleaming,

mahogany table. They watched him leave and knew they made the right choice. The

perfect choice. Who better to carry out their plans? They knew the raging fury that lived

just below his eerie calm exterior would serve them well at just the right time. And the

time was coming near. Soon. Very soon.

Vince sat at a corner table and sipped his latte. The folder sat, closed, in front of him.

There was no great hurry in opening it. He knew what it contained and he dreaded

perusing the contents. Before Isabella, it didn’t matter. It was just a job. Nothing

personal. No guilt attached. No emotion involved.

But then he met her and everything changed. Her soft, brown doe eyes pierced his

heart and softened the hard, crusty inner part of him. Her buttery warmth wrapped around

his heart and changed him…forever.

Isabella. His beloved, Isabella. His entire being ached for her. The ache filled every

part of him and threatened his sanity. He knew he was close to the edge, but there was

still a little life left in him. Enough to do one more job. Enough to do this last job.

He slid open the folder to view the contents. First, the vital statistics. The who, what

and why of it. He skimmed through it because the particulars didn’t really matter at this

point. They would only become important as the time drew near. For now, it was just

superfluous information. Then, he turned to the photos. There was an 8x10 glossy and

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some smaller family shots. Nice family, he thought fleetingly. Knock it off, Vince, he

chided. No time for sentimentality. It’s too late for that. That was then. This is now.

He replaced the photos and closed the folder. He threw his empty cup in the trash and

headed for home. His head still throbbed with the dull ache he awoke with, irregardless

of the 2 Tylenol he took. He knew his head would continue to throb until the job was

done. That was the way it always was. As if his psyche objected and fought a silent battle

for his soul until his soul finally lost.

Isabella. It was the only time his soul ever had a chance. She had come into his life

and redeemed him. Brought him out of the hell he lived in and gave his life meaning. A

bright, brief flicker of light and hope obliterated by a cruel twist of fate. Now, here he

was, back to where he knew he belonged in the first place. A life with Isabella was a

dream too good to be true and one he was utterly unworthy of. Before her, he felt no

guilt. After her, he knew he deserved to burn in Hell. And burn he would; of that he was

certain.

“Miranda, honey, where’s my gray jogging suit?” Jerry called out from the bedroom.

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s still in the dryer. I go get it,” she answered from the bathroom.

Usually, she had everything packed and ready for him to go on his business trips, but they

had celebrated their 10th anniversary the night before and he let her sleep late in this

morning. He was extremely considerate that way. Not like her friends husbands, who

wouldn’t have cared if you were up all night with a sick child. They were still expected to

wait on them hand and foot. Never a consideration for their wives feelings or needs.

Miranda was envied in her circle of friends. As far as they were all concerned, Jerry was

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the perfect husband, And as a matter of fact, she agreed.

Miranda met Jerry Polito right after college. He was working in the accounting firm

that handled her father’s financial business and he was brilliant. At least that was the

consensus from her father and his cronies. He had made them all tidy little sums of

money from various and sundry investments and they sung his praises over their martinis

and antipasto. Miranda was introduced to Jerry at a cocktail party her father asked her to

attend. It wasn’t until several years later that she discovered his intention was to introduce

his prized daughter to his prized financial advisor, in hopes of a successful merger.

And successful it was. From the moment Jerry Polito set eyes on the lovely and

eligible Miranda Sorvino, he was hooked. Her smooth olive skin and the lush black

lashes that fringed her dark brown, almost black, eyes drew him to her. Even across the

room, he watched her every move. She moved like the wind, graceful and lithe, winding

her way through the crowd, her ivory dress floating around her like a cloud. He was

mesmerized at her beauty and grace. Just the reaction Miranda’s father had hoped for.

The courtship began almost immediately. Miranda was just as taken with Jerry as he

was with her. But he was old-school and took the proper steps to win favor with

Miranda’s father. Not that he had to. Jerry was no more aware that he had been hand-

picked for Miranda than she was. In a day and age of one night stands and disposable

marriages, both Jerry and Miranda came from a background of propriety and there were

unwritten and long-established rules for just about everything. And Jerry and Miranda

would follow those rules to the letter, not just from tradition, but from a moral sense of

what was right and wrong.

So, their 2 year courtship was torture, until finally, they were able to consummate their

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union on their wedding night. It was a magical, sensual crescendo of the love and passion

that swelled in their hearts and bodies during their engagement.

Now here it was, ten years and two children later, and they were still just as enamored

with each other. Miranda’s beauty had not dimmed, but became more glorious in

motherhood. Her adoration for Jerry was enhanced by the two little girls she bore from

his love. And he worshipped the ground she walked on. Miranda and the girls were his

world. His real world. Sure, he spent most of his waking hours in the cut-throat corporate

financial world, but his reality…his essence…lived within the honored constraints of his

family. It was his haven and she was his rock. It was his protection from the cruelty of

humanity. He would be lost without her.

Vince flung the folder on his coffee table and headed for the kitchen. For some reason,

his stomach wouldn’t unknot itself. Even as his headache began to ease, the rest of his

body seemed to take over the stress. He filled the coffeepot with water and grinds and

opened the refrigerator. Hanging over the door in a stupor of indecision…turkey

sandwich or left-over beef stew…he heard the phone ring in the other room. He closed

the refrigerator door and went to answer it.

“Vinny, I’m so glad you’re home. I’ve been trying to find you all day,” the voice

echoed through the receiver.

“Hi, Joey,” he responded wearily. I have to get caller ID, he thought to himself. He

just wasn’t up to a chat with his brother at the moment. It would be the same old, same

old…what are doing? let’s have a few beers at the Tavern, let’s get drunk and remember

the good old days, can you lend me a hundred bucks for the ponies?…

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“Vinny…Dad’s in the hospital,” Joey sputtered.

“What? What happened?” Vince barked back feeling guilty. He had a cell phone, but

he didn’t give the number to his brother. He couldn’t be bothered with his brother’s crazy

life, unless it was on his own terms.

“He had a heart attack, this morning,” Joey said.

“Where is he?” Vince asked. Not, how is he? Will he live? Just, where is he? Truth be

told, Vince couldn’t care one way or the other if his father dropped dead. Truth be told, he

wished for the old man’s demise since he was a little boy and he and Joey ran running

from his drunken rages on many a cold and wintry night.

“He’s at St. Francis. I’m there, now,” Joey said, as his voice cracked.

“I’m on my way,” Vince said and slammed the receiver back on the hook. He grabbed

his coat and headed out the door. He glanced at the file folder on the table on his way out.

It’ll wait ‘til tomorrow, he said to himself. An extra day’s reprieve for the unlucky soul he

was going to kill. Family comes first, he thought and closed the door behind him.

“I’ll call you when I get in,” Jerry said, as he kissed her goodbye. He didn’t have to

travel very much. Most of his clients were in Chicago, but every now and then, he needed

to fly to New York or San Francisco. He hated to leave, but the coming home was always

worth it. Miranda would have the girls stay at their grandparents overnight. Then, she

would prepare an elaborate candlelight dinner with after-dinner entertainment that would

last well into the night. Yes, the coming home was well worth the few days away.

“I’ll be home Friday on the 3:30 from LAX,” he said. He could feel her distinctive

aroma fill his nostrils and warm him head to toe. His hand ran through her silky blue-

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black hair. Suddenly, he didn’t want to let her go. There seemed to be something urgent in

the way he held onto her. There was an inexplicable fear that gripped him and then passed

just as quickly. She smiled at him and the fear was gone. That was all it took from her.

One of her smiles could melt an iceberg. He kissed her again and headed through the

gate. As he looked back, her smile was obscured by the waving of other peoples hands,

sending their loved ones off. His heart was gripped again with a nameless fear. I love you,

Miranda was the last thought he had as he boarded the plane.

“How is he?” Vince asked.

“It’s not good, Vinny,” Joey said, with a catch in his voice. “They said he won’t last

the night.”

Vince felt a twinge of guilt for not giving a hoot that his father was dying. Why should

he, after all? He had been a lousy excuse for a husband and father and it was no skin off

his nose. He wouldn’t be missed. Well, at least not by him. For Joey it was a different

story. Joey had the need to have a parent to love and love him back. Vince had never

forgiven his father, but Joey hugged his father the night their mother died and pretended

that none of it ever happened. Vince, on the other hand, turned his back, walked away and

never looked back. It was something he never regretted. Except that little by little, he

slipped away from his brother, as well. Joey drifted into the showy, shadowy world of the

casinos and betting parlors and he, well, he became the well-respected (in the right

circles), very highly-paid hit man. Expert at his craft, a specialist of the highest caliber,

no pun intended. At least until Isabella came into his life. Then, he slipped away with her

and became a model citizen of the utmost moral character. With her, his life had been

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redeemed. And then in an instant, it was gone. She was gone. In a tragic flicker of time,

the accident claimed her life and with it went his salvation.

“Do you want to see him?” Joey asked. He was naïve, but not stupid. He knew how

Vince felt about his father.

“Yeah, sure,” Vince grunted. He would do it for Joey.

His father lay pale against the sterile, white sheets illuminated by the harsh,

fluorescent hospital light. Vince was struck by the gray color and bluish undertone of his

father’s skin. He was dying. One thing Vince knew for sure was the look of death. He had

seen it many times. Most of it at his own hands. He had seen the color drain from a man’s

face in an instant as he watched with disinterest, the life before him evaporating in a

disseminating pool of blood.

Vince could feel Joey’s grip on his arm and he knew he needed to make a gesture. He

approached the bed and sat down. He could hear the rhythmic whirling of the pumps that

sustained his father’s quickly waning life. He could see his father’s chest rise and fall to

the cadence of the respirator. He knew they would soon be called upon to make a

decision about “heroic measures” and he would have to tell them not to resuscitate the

man they would call his father. There had been nothing heroic about him. Not then. Not

now. Of course, he would be kind about it, for Joey’s sake. But it would just be one more

notch on Vince’s belt. Then when this was over, he would go back to work and add the

last notch.

“Mommy, when is Daddy coming home?” the little girl pleaded. “I miss him!”

“So do I Carly. I miss him very much,” Miranda told her daughter, as she brushed her

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dark curls back into a ponytail. Carly was five and Chrissy was six and a half. Both girls

adored their father and hated when he was away. They would call him on the phone each

night to say “goodnight, Daddy. I love you,” before bed. They would draw him pictures

that hung on the refrigerator on photo magnets of them in DisneyWorld. They would

impatiently wait for him to get home from work every night to give him his hugs and

kisses. They couldn’t imagine a life without their Daddy. Neither could Miranda.

“He’s coming home tonight. Very late tonight, so you’ll get to see him tomorrow,” she

said in a little white lie. Yes, he was coming home, but not so very late. But as was her

usual custom, she would drop the girls off at her mother’s after school to spend the night.

Then, she would come and ready herself for Jerry to come home. She would stop at the

florist to buy two large bouquets of flowers, whatever were the most beautiful in the

shop. Next, she would come home and take a luxurious bubble bath to relax and switch

gears. She would change from a multi-tasking, car-pooling mother of two, into a sexy,

seductive woman in love. She would take great care in blow-drying her luxuriant black

hair and applying her make-up with great proficiency. Not that there was need for more

than a hint of blush and lipstick. She was a natural beauty and the years only enhanced

what God had already bestowed upon her. She would change the sheets to the luxurious,

fine Egyptian cotton ones she kept hidden in her closet for special occasions. After she

had prepared a feast fit for a king, she would light the candles and dim the lights . Then,

she would slip on a new dress she would purchase for the occasion. Tonight, it was an

emerald green satin with a plunging neckline that highlighted her ample cleavage. Not a

dress to be worn for anyone else but him.

When all was set in place and Michael Bolton was playing in the background, she

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would pour the wine…and wait.

Hidden in the shadows, he watched and waited. It was what he did so well. He could

melt into the woodwork and into obscurity when he needed to. When they were

questioned, passers-by would say they never saw anyone suspicious. When the police

scoured for witnesses, no-one would have remembered seeing anyone or anything out of

the ordinary. Yes, Vince Roberts was the best in his line of work and that was why they

chose him for this particular job. They didn’t want any mistakes. There was too much at

stake. Jerry had gone too far in his threats and could ruin them. No mild-mannered,

goody two-shoes accountant was going to destroy them. They would strike first and be

done with it. That was why they needed Vince. They couldn’t let him abandon what had

been so stellar a career and usefulness to them. He had done many jobs for them over the

years and except for that brief hiatus with Isabella, he had served them well. But they

took care of that little problem. As soon as they became aware of Vince’s crazy plan to

retire and set up house with his beautiful, new wife, they nipped it in the bud. No, they

simply could not let him go. He was just too valuable to them. So they did what was

necessary and Vince never even suspected. He was blinded by love and grief and never

saw the forest for the trees. They sent a beautiful floral arrangement to the funeral and

paid their respects. No, Vince never suspected that they snuffed out Isabella without

blinking an eye. For they knew with certainty that if he did, they would be dead.

Jerry Polito turned off his lap-top and prepared for landing. He handed the stewardess

his empty plastic cup and popped a piece of chewing gum in his mouth to help

depressurize his ears during the descent. He couldn’t wait to land. He couldn’t wait to

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hail a cab and make the trip home to Miranda. Miranda. Beautiful, tender Miranda. He

closed his eyes and envisioned caressing her soft, luminescent skin and running his

fingers through her magnificent, lush hair. He could almost smell her intoxicating

perfume and was so engrossed in the image that he barely felt the plane touch down until

he heard the pilot’s voice overhead, thanking them for flying Southwest. He unbuckled

and reached up for his carry-on bag. Jerry never wasted time with checking a bag, since

he didn’t want to be kept waiting when he arrived home. He had better things to do. He

had Miranda waiting.

Vince had every facet of his face memorized. He had scoured the pictures until the

images were burned into his memory banks. His was a profession that could leave

nothing to chance. No room for mistaken identity. By the time he was ready to finalize

the job, Vince would know as much as the IRS did about his respective target. He would

have spend hour upon hour scrutinizing the information provided for him. His

employers were thorough to a fault with the details. He had worked for them for nearly

ten years and they relied on him for their most difficult and sensitive jobs. Vince had no

illusions that he was nothing more than a highly-paid thug with a unique adroitness to

assassinate his prey with the greatest of ease. There was no question. He had a great gift.

He only wished he had as great a gift for life as he did death. Then perhaps he could have

saved Isabella and his life would be so different, now. He would have a life so similar to

his next assignment that it brought an unfamiliar stinging to his eyes. As he pored over

Jerry Polito’s file and the photos of his family, Vince subconsciously replaced himself in

the images. He pictured himself hoisting the little girls, his and Isabella’s little girls, up

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onto his shoulders at the zoo. He envisioned himself as the center of the happy little

family he was about to destroy. Stop it, Vinny, he told himself. This is not your life…and

soon it will not be his, either.

Miranda put the finishing touches on the table. Today it was the pink sweetheart roses

that caught her eye at the florists. They were arranged with a generous spray of baby’s

breath and deep green ferns in her favorite crystal vase. The one her father had given

them for their first anniversary along with a generous check to help with a down payment

on their first house. Miranda could feel the butterflies beginning to flutter in her stomach,

as the clock ticked closer to Jerry’s return. Thank you, she whispered into the air…a

gentle prayer lifted up to God for the life He had given her. Thank you for the tender

mercies of a life spent with the one you love. Thank you for the hopes and promise of

eternity with a singular soul-mate. Thank you.

She looked at the clock again. Any time now. Any time.

Jerry walked briskly through the airport juggling his briefcase on one arm and his

bulky carry-on on the other. The airport was crowded as he wended his way towards the

cab stand. He didn’t notice a tall, dark man in an expensive gray overcoat shadowing

behind him. No one did. In a sea of faces, Vince Roberts was just one more. No one

noticed the almost imperceptible bulge in his breast pocket, just above his heart. A pocket

reserved for one purpose only.

Jerry was next in line for a cab when Vince strode up next to him. His overcoat

remained buttoned and as Jerry opened the cab door to get in, Vince asked, “I’m going

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your way. Would you mind if we shared the fare?” Jerry looked at the pleasant smile of

the stranger and said, “Sure, hop in.” and sky cap closed the door behind them.

Miranda checked the clock again. She was pacing the kitchen with an unexplained

uneasiness. He was late. She knew O’Hare could be a bear to get out of, but she knew his

plane was on time and traffic was no heavier than usual. She knew this because she called

the airport and watched the traffic report. She tried his cell phone, but assumed he forgot

to turn it back on after he disembarked the plane. She assumed wrong.

Jerry was glad to have company on the long ride back to the suburbs. As the cab

wended its way through traffic, he found himself jabbering on and on to this pleasant

gentleman who seemed genuinely interested. Jerry took out a picture of the girls and the

stranger smiled at the photo of the two dark-haired little girls. They look like their

mother, Vince thought. They are going to miss him, he thought.

“Do you have a picture of your wife?” he asked, already knowing the answer. He

might as well let this poor man enjoy his last few minutes remembering his family.

“You bet!” Jerry said, as he pulled out several from their plastic casings.

“This is at Christmas with the girls. This one is on vacation in Aruba. This one is…” is

the last Vince heard Jerry say. Suddenly his voice was a distant droning in the

background. He was still staring at the photo when he heard Jerry’s voice again.

“They were college roommates. Her name was Isabella,” he heard Jerry say. He was

staring at a younger Miranda with a younger Isabella. His wife’s beautiful dark eyes

stared back at him and bore into his soul.

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“She died tragically,” Jerry said, as he took the photo back. “She was murdered,” he

said flatly.

“Excuse me?” Vince heard himself ask.

“They said it was an accident, but I have proof that she was murdered. I’ve been

working on it for some time. I stumbled on it accidentally. Two of my clients were

responsible. It had something to do with her getting in the way of her husband’s work for

them. I went to them with some of the evidence, hoping they would do the right thing. I

should have known better. I’ve just been waiting until I had enough to go to the police. I

think I’m ready, now.”

Vince’s saliva had dried and his throat was frozen. He found he couldn’t swallow. He

found he could barely breathe. His emotions ran through him like a rushing white-water

river, whirling and crashing around him. His thoughts spiraled and he felt light-headed.

“Are you alright?” Jerry asked the stranger whose pallor became worrisome.

“Yes,” Vince whispered, not letting his rage surface with the realizations that had been

revealed to him.

“Pull over,” Vince barked to the cab driver. The cab darted out of traffic and screeched

to a halt. Jerry seemed concerned for the change in the stranger’s demeanor. Vince turned

to Jerry and searched his face. My God, he thought. What have I almost done? Isabella,

he thought, his heart wrenched from deep within him.

“Take care of yourself, Jerry,” Vince said, as he threw a twenty at the cabbie and got

out.

I wonder how he knew my name? Jerry thought to himself.

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They were in their office, busy at work. One was on the phone, the other on the

computer. They didn’t hear Vince enter the outer office and tell the secretary to take a

coffee break. They looked up and smiled when he opened the door and came in the office.

They knew he would only be back when the job was done. So, their worries were over

and their secret would be buried safely with Jerry Polito.

One of them reached into his desk drawer for the fat envelope. Payment for a job well-

done. His hand never had a chance to leave the drawer. He felt a searing pain explode in

his chest and then felt nothing more. The other reached in his coat pocket, but he too, felt

nothing seconds later. When the secretary came back from break, she screamed bloody

murder as she saw the bloody bodies. She had never seen a dead body before, much less

three of them.

“Jerry!” Miranda yelled, as he came through the door. “I was so worried!” She flung

her arms around his neck.

He kissed her passionately and stroked her hair.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I’m late. I gave a guy a lift into the city. Strange thing, though.

He was the nicest man and then all of a sudden he just got out of the cab. I had the feeling

he was very troubled. I just wish I could have helped him.”

“Well, I’m sure you would have if you could. Maybe he couldn’t be helped,” she said,

tenderly, so happy to have him back in her arms. The dread she felt had lifted and been

replaced with a sense of tremendous well-being. She couldn’t explain it, but years later

when she thought back to that moment, she would remember that something

extraordinary had happened.

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She was right.

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