The Gleeful Banker

by Richard Fairsing

Overview

Dave is a successful middle aged banker who has grown indifferent to the needs of his wife of 20 years. He spends most of his time successfully selling mortgage back securities to unsuspecting clients located around the world. It's 2007 and things are very good for Dave and his bank. Then suddenly it's 2008 and his world and the bank's begin to shudder. Dave must change his ways or both him and the bank, he works for, will end up in the rubble created by the financial crisis of 2008.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781504334563
Publisher:	Balboa Press
Publication date:	06/16/2015
Pages:	112
Product dimensions:	5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x 0.44(d)

Read an Excerpt

The Gleeful Banker

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By Richard Fairsing

Balboa Press

Copyright © 2015 Richard Fairsing
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5043-3454-9

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CHAPTER 1

Suddenly awake, Samantha squinted at the glowing red numbers on the alarm clock. They read five a.m. In fifteen minutes it would begin to blare. Fully awake, she reached over and shut off its pending alert.

"God, I don't feel like running this morning. It's such a hassle trying to maintain my figure. I'm nearly fifty years old and I'm trying to look like I'm thirty. I don't know how long I can keep it up. Hell, most women my age can't fit their derrieres into a large gunny sack. But what's the point? All Dave wants from a wife is a quick lay every week or so and lots of food and beer every night. He must be 50 pounds overweight. I can't understand his attitude. His father died, from a coronary, when he was fifty. Dave's almost fifty one and he sounds like a bull moose when he climbs a flight of stairs. Nobody, including Dave, knows what the hell his blood pressure is ... probably best not to know. He wouldn't do anything about it if it were off the chart. He could go anytime and if he does, I'll be back on the auction block. If I'm going to bring any kind of a price, I'll have to look the part. I suppose that's why I expend all my energy trying to keep the old chassis looking good.

Dave might be a slob but he's a successful one. He's like most bankers, he makes a lot of money. It's certainly enough to allow us to live comfortably in this snobby neighborhood. I suspect, though, it's money not well spent." She concluded.

She was about to get out of bed when her husband turned over and slung an arm over her waist. Fearful that he might be interested in a morning session, she slipped out from under his arm. As she did, she remembered she had to wake him. He had to be at the local airport in a little more than an hour.

"Dave!" She shouted. "Up, up now, your plane leaves in a couple of hours and you have to be on it. Do you hear me? Up." she repeated.

"God damn it Samantha! Stop screaming like a goddamn banshee. I know, I know." He said as he rolled out from the far side of the bed.

"Fine! Fine, Dave! Just another example of the thanks I get from you. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't get your lazy ass out of bed for your own funeral."

Thinking about what she had just said, Samantha wondered what had prompted her to use such a strange expression.

I was probably hoping, subconsciously, for his demise." She thought, while mildly chastising herself for thinking such.

"Aren't you cute this morning?" Dave countered. "If I miss the plane, can I use one of your broomsticks to fly to New York?" "You could, Dave, if you lost 50 pounds."

"You know, Samantha, I'm really looking forward to this trip. Do you know why?"

"I can guess, Dave. I can guess" she replied as she left the room.

After completing her morning's routine in the bathroom, she emerged wearing her jogging outfit and went into the kitchen to begin preparing breakfast. Normally, she jogged on an empty stomach. But this morning she thought she would share a light breakfast with Dave. She had just finished preparing it, when her husband, dressed in a business suit, entered the kitchen.

"I appreciate you making chow Sam. The only thing you get on a flight nowadays is a scented picture of a bag of peanuts." he grumbled as he sat down at the breakfast table.

"Well, make sure you go before you get on board. I hear they're charging twenty dollars to use the john."

Dave briefly acknowledged his wife's quip. But then, he quickly returned his attention to the white of his wife's hips that showed thru the slits in her black shorts as she dashed from one kitchen chore to another. His interest in her appearance intensified when she bent over to load the dish washer. Her long black hair tumbled over her shoulders to partially hide her white breasts' struggle to ascend the sagging neckline of her black jersey.

"God, she's still a beautiful women." he murmured as he looked down at his groin and continued as though he were speaking to someone; "Down, down, you growing beast, your master has other plans for you."

"I'm sorry Dave, what did you say?"

"Oh, oh nothing really, Sam, I was just thinking out loud. If you're anxious to go off on your romp in the woods, go ahead. I'll clean up here before I leave. You are still running, through the woods, aren't you?"

"Yes, I love the feeling of being close to nature, when I run there. But I'm in no rush. I'll wait until you've finished." As she sat down at the table, she thought; "That's strange. He usually warns me about running in the woods. Oh well, Dave is Dave and he can be strange indeed, at times."

Dave lifted his cup, to his lips, and drained its contents. He stood up and then bent over to peck Samantha on the check.

"I'll call you late tonight when I get to London. If it gets too late, I'll call you tomorrow. I've got to run. Hope you enjoy your run, I'm gone." Dave said while closing the front door behind him.

Samantha finished cleaning up the kitchen and then left the house, pausing only to lock the front door.

Sometimes, she ran around the artificial lake that centered their upscale village. But this morning she decided she would run in the wooded area that separated the wealthy from the rest of the city's population. Dave had cautioned her, many times, about running in the woods. There had been reports of some young thugs making lewd suggestions to joggers. But that had been four or five months ago. Nobody had come forth lately with any complaints.

She had only started her run when she looked up to see her neighbor running towards here.

"Hi Samantha" Her neighbor, Frank Logan, called out. "Things are good?"

"Fine, Frank. How are you and Debbie doing?" She replied, as they passed one another.

"Fine, Samantha. You and Dave will have to come over and visit." He shouted back as he drew away.

"Okay Frank. Have Debbie give me a call." Samantha replied. She knew that Debbie would never call because Debbie weighed 190 pounds and was still eating everything in sight with both hooves. Debbie didn't like the contrasts she had to endure when she was in the company of slim ladies.

Samantha felt good and picked up her pace as she entered the wooded area. She felt close to nature running beneath the canopy of trees that shaded the path in front of her. In places the foliage of the trees was so thick it shrouded the path in darkness. She grew apprehensive as she approached what appeared to be a perfect spot for mugging.

Suddenly, a man who had been concealed behind a bush, stepped out right in front of her and blocked her path. He was so close to her she could smell the alcohol on his breath. Before she could react, he restrained her by holding a large knife against her breast. She froze and stopped instantly.

"Do you like living dangerously?" he asked as he pressed the knife against one breast and then the other.

"What do you want?" Samantha asked with an unconvincing air of authority that quickly wilted when be brought his knife up to her chin.

"That depends?" he growled.

"I have a few dollars. Here take them." Samantha pleaded as she reached out to hand him the money.

"We have time for more then that. Take off your ring and that pretty watch." He demanded and then continued. "What are you doing running out here in the wilderness? Do you know what happens to pretty women caught out here by people like me?" he inquired menacingly.

"Please let me go and I'll have my husband give you money; a lot of money. Please, just tell me how much you want."

"Lets not talk about money. Lets talk about what else you can give me. You're very attractive. Let's get off this path. Let's go." He demanded as he prodded her back into some dense bushes several feet away from the path. Once there, he told her to turn around.

Samantha immediately did what he asked. She was terrified. All kinds of options raced through her mind. He wasn't a very big man and he didn't look at all that robust. If she kicked him in the groin hard enough, she might be able to out run him. However, she was afraid if she bolted and he caught her, he would kill her. He had the knife and she knew she couldn't risk trying to wrestle it away from him. As long as he had the knife, Samantha realized that she was going to be the mouse in "the cat and mouse game" he wanted to play.

He moved closer to her and looked intently into her eyes. He appeared to be considering various alternatives. He was obviously enjoying his power over her. He reached out to her breast to remove her gold necklace. But Samantha stepped back. Her move infuriated him.

"Look Lady, you're not my guest. You're my prisoner. Do you understand? Do you know what prisoners do? Do you?" He hissed.

"They do what they're told." she whimpered.

"That's right; you're learning. And if you do exactly what I want you to do, you're going survive."

"Please don't hurt me. What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to play with this." He said, as his hand clutched his groin and then he undid his belt and let his pants drop to his ankles.

Realizing he couldn't run very fast with his pants dragging on the ground, she bolted. Instantly, he had his pants up. But, he dropped the knife before he plunged into the brush after her. She was only a few feet ahead of him when she stumbled and he fell on top of her. As they turned over and over; Samantha kicked and scratched him. Finally, he pinned her face down with one hand and with the other he grabbed the back of her jersey and pulled the neckline against her throat. But it tore and he fell backwards allowing her to briefly break free. As she tried to get up, he grabbed her shorts, by the waist band, and pulled her back down onto the ground and crawled on top of her. Desperate, Samantha started to scream.

"Shut up you bitch! Now I'm going to fuck you over good." He screamed, as he ripped off her torn jersey and threw it aside.

His strength surprised and horrified her. She realized, as he reached back and threatened to punch her, that he could easily kill her. She knew she couldn't flee nor fight. So, in order to survive; she accepted she would have to submit to his indecent demands.

"Please don't hit me; I'll do what you want. Please don't hurt me" She pleaded as he pulled her to her feet. She stood in front of him meekly with her arms hanging by her sides. He seemed pleased by her passive demeanor.

"That's better honey. Maybe we can get along after all." He said. "Now what's under here?" He whispered as he reached out with both hands and squeezed her breasts.

Samantha instinctively raised her hands to cover her breasts.

"Didn't you just say you weren't going to give me anymore grief? Do you want some of this?" He threatened as he pressed a fist against her jaw.

Samantha meekly dropped her hands to her sides.

"These are lovely. Why would you want to hide them?" He smirked, as he attempted to remove her bra.

"I've got my hands full." He sneered. "Reach down and get rid of your shorts. I don't want anything between us." He insisted, as he continued to tug at her bra.

Obediently, she reached down and released the string holding up her shorts and was about to slide them down over her hips when she heard someone rushing towards them through the bushes. Realizing help was imminent, she pushed him back with such force he stumbled to his knees just as a tall elderly man ran into the clearing.

"What's going on here?" Samantha's rescuer shouted.

Samantha's assailant answered boldly; "She's my wife." Her assailant shouted out boldly. "She's giving me a hard time. Stay out of it or I'll kick your ancient ass."

"I'm not his wife. He's a lying bastard." Samantha screamed, as she rushed to the man's side, seeking his protection. Her assailant picked up a small log and swung it at the newcomer's head. But, he ducked and then knocked the assailant to the ground with a straight left jab to the assailant's chest.

Samantha's rescuer shouted. "Get out of here and get the police. I'll take care of Romeo if he wants to continue the fight."

Samantha pulled her bra back into place but refused to leave. "I'm not going anywhere until I'm sure you've got this bastard totally controlled."

As she spoke, her offender started to get up. Samantha picked up the log and stunned him with a blow along side his jaw.

"Okay lady, that's enough. Let's roll him over and we'll tie his hands behind his back. Get that jersey over there and tear it into two pieces." He urged, as he held the felon down. Samantha tore it apart and handed her rescuer the pieces.

"Okay now, sit on his shoulders." As she did, her rescuer tied the felon's hands together behind his back.

Satisfied he had him properly secured, he again urged Samantha to run for the police.

This time Samantha took off running as fast as she could. In a moment or so she reached the nearest house where she immediately began to pound on the front door. When a startled woman opened it, Samantha fell into her arms.

"Please call the Police." Samantha sobbed hysterically. "Some savage tried to rape me. He ripped off my shirt and had a stranger not come to my rescue, I could be dead right now, or I could have aids. Thank God he heard my screams, or I could be out there right now, being forced to do whatever that bastard wanted. I've never been so frightened in my life. I was paralyzed by fear. I'm so ashamed. I would have done anything to keep him from killing me. Please, could I use your bathroom? I think I'm going to throw up. Just thinking, about what he wanted me to do, is making me sick. Please, where is your bathroom?" Samantha pleaded and then added.

He has the bastard pinned to the ground. I don't know how long he can hold him."

The woman's husband immediately called 911 while his wife led Samantha to the bathroom. Left alone in the bathroom, Samantha looked in the mirror and suddenly her fear and anxiety was replaced by a fierce rage.

"That son of bitch, god damn him, if I ever get the chance, I'll kill the bastard. What he tried to do to me will haunt me forever, if I let it, and I'm not going to give that low life that satisfaction. I can't wait to testify against him. He's going to do time for what he tried to do to me."

Samantha's raging was interrupted by the lady of the house.

"Are you all right my dear?" The woman asked, as Samantha opened the bathroom door.

"I certainly am now. Thank you." Samantha said, as the woman handed her a clean blouse and attended to Samantha's scraps and bruises.

"Where do you live Ms.? I'm sorry, what is your name? Is there someone we can call?" The man of the house asked, when he put down the phone.

"I'm Samantha O'Connor and my husband and I live over on Collai Street. He's on a flight to England and won't get there until late tonight. I don't want him to know about this until he gets back. So please don't tell anyone about what happened. I have a lot of neighbors who might try and to inform him. I'm fine now, thanks to your wife. I'm sorry I can't thank you properly unless I know your name.

"I'm Bill and this is my wife Susan Hanrahan."

As Samantha finished thanking the Hanrahans, a policeman rapped on the front door.

"Excuse me folks. Are you the lady who was attacked in the woods?" The policeman asked, as he stared at Samantha.

"Yes; but please lets hurry. I only hope we're not too late. The man who helped me has my assailant tied up on the ground. We've got to hurry. Please hurry." Samantha urged, as she brushed by the policeman and moved quickly to the police car.

After thanking the Hanrahans, the policeman turned and followed Samantha. A second policeman opened the back door of the car to let Samantha enter the vehicle, while she continued to urge the police to hurry.

"Okay, lady; point the way!" One of the policemen ordered, as they entered the car.

"Straight ahead, to that stone gate" Urged, a pointing Samantha.

Once there, the two policemen and Samantha vaulted from the car and ran into the woods.

Arriving at the scene; they discovered Samantha's rescuer with his foot still on the neck of the prostrate thug.

One of the policemen recognized the assailant. As he pulled him to his feet he said: "Well look at who we've got here, you scumbag. It looks like you got your ass kicked by one tough old bird. I want to thank you, sir, for nailing this bastard. He's been getting away with beating up on people for years. But, this will be the last time; won't it Wilber? Hold your hands still while I fit these bracelets on you."

Wilber mumbled something about a cheap shot and then fell silent after the policeman read him his rights and told him to keep quiet.

As he was about to be lead off, Samantha poked her index finger into Wilber's face and demanded he return the jewelry he had taken from her.

"How am I going to do that you dumb bitch? Haven't you noticed where my hands are? Reach in my pockets yourself. But watch out for butch. He might spit all over your hand."

"Shut your mouth Wilber; or I'll stick this night stick down your throat." One of the policemen threatened. Then he turned to Samantha to ask her to describe her jewelry.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from The Gleeful Banker by Richard Fairsing. Copyright © 2015 Richard Fairsing. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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