Chapter 43

Once Nick arrived the venue that day his colleague had been eager to engage in a conversation with him, but all Nick has provided was one liners and very brief replies. The very first and perhaps most important reason for this was that for one he wasn't sure he had quite mastered his wanna German accent and secondly he did not know the jargons that was common as well as other languages associated with the work of a valet. Shortly after he arrived, many other guests trooped in, driving all sorts of cars that almost made him give away his actual intentions at the theatre, considering how he cursed and subconsciously admired their beauty, what saved him however was that his colleague for the night was also a lover of fine cars and also knew a couple of them himself.
It wasn't long before the newly made parking space was also filled up with cars of all shapes and forms. By 8 p.m. prompt the opening for the night had been closed, a certain Russian man was lucky to have gotten late tickets for triple the price and park his car in order to attend the event of the evening. The voice of the host could be heard loud and clear over the new microphone, the events had kick started in earnest.
That was when Pete arrived. Nick had never met Pete before, I mean he didn't think he'd actually met him it was hard to say if you have ever met anybody before, the world was a tiny place and people meet people everyday in bus stations at subways, at the airport, at the cafe, along the streets, in night clubs under the blue lights way faces were top dimmed that you may not even recognize your own brother or sister or neighbor, or lover or mother and father for that matter but so far as his immediate memory could stretch Nick could not remember having met Pete before in his entire life, it had to be admitted however that Pete had also worn a good and very authentic looking disguise. His uniform was very worn out and old looking like he had one its too many times to different jobs or maybe he was some superior worker at the theater himself, although the shirt and trousers had been neatly washed and ironed, it still didn't look quite as new. And also, there was this air he had about him, how he acted and lifted about his chin, his stance so confident and convincing and his conversation with the few guests that still were about, speaking to each other, also, the way he related with the security men in the place gave him a certain look that was to be trusted by onlookers.
Shortly after the event had begun, as plotted and already mapped and planned out, a certain sissy-looking young man came out with two very tall glasses of champagne and a half full bottle of the liquid itself, balanced on it tiny silver tray on his left hand, the boy as arranged, tripped over his own foot in a very clumsy fashion and then spilled the drink on Nick's colleague's shirt and his trousers it did not end there, the boy proceeded to try and make amends of the situation only to make it worse by being taking out a paper towel and then clumsily smearing the liquid all over the man. The man was just short of giving him a slap on the face, he did however call him a pansy and then begged Nick to take over his duty and cover up for him for a few minutes while he went into the bathroom stall to fix his ruined outfit.
What he did not know however was that at the male bathroom stall, a certain young woman would be busy trying to get her buttons right, she would be tispy and very touchy and the said young woman would be a redhead with D cups and a very wide mouth exactly like Nick had found out that he was craving and listing for, it was a re-creation of his divorced wife, it was a plot that Nick was 102% sure would actually work out just fine
It indeed worked out because the man did not return for for the next 15 to 20 minutes and this gave Nick just enough time he needed to carry out his plan. It was when he knew that Pete was actually not a valet at all but an imposter just like himself. Before he could make his way to the backyard of the theatre and pick up his small duffel bag which he had kept in just enough equipment and tools to disconnect an alarm system and the tracking device installed in a car. He was aware in his job that the rich did not leave the cars unprotected, he could swear by his profession as a car jacker and as a criminal for the past one and half decade. Mostly because they were usually worth over a million dollar or just a little under a million dollars. They always had tracking devices on them and stealing them like that without disconnecting the tracking devices was usually a one way ticket to prison for life or for a number of years depending on how vengeful the car owner was.
So as soon as Nick got his tools and went back to the parking space, he could find that Pete was already crouched under one of the cars trying to get out the alarm system manually, well Nick would have let him be after all, there was enough cars there to be stolen by a dozen theives and still not be noticeable, why Nick did not let Peter do what he wanted to do was that he was actually tampering with the very car that Nick had is eyes on, it was a vintage Ferrari, one of the first models made by the Ferrari brand for the racing he did in his earlier years, is it had been pimp up to look flashy, also, it was gold plated in the rights places and it looked superb, not to the population that knew nothing about cars but to the population that could tell a vintage and very expensive car from an inexpensive and cheap car that was just flashy and eye candy.
When Nick did find out that Pete was after the very car that he had his eyes on, it became a battle of who got it first. Nick pretended to be on to him while pretending to be innocent himself by quickly hiding the duffel bag under one of the cars. The moment he confronted Pete, and told him to let go of the car else he called the security, Pete let him know that he knew for a fact that Nick was not Mr. Glen because he had studied Mr. Glen's picture and the other man whose name was Jeff, he had studied both their pictures for almost 2 weeks had studied their likes, dislikes and other such a behavioral patterns as well as all behaviors that would help him get them off the spot so he could steal the car.
Having said this, Pete told Nick that he knew he wasn't wasn't Mr. Glen because firstly he was not interested in a very beautiful Chinese girl that had passed that evening wearing something just shy of her buttock mounds, also he knew Nick was an imposter the moment he rejected a glass of whiskey that had been offered him discreetl by a waiter that Peter had doctored just for that purpose, he knew from information given that the original Mr. Glen would not and could not turn down a whiskey even on the job.
Having said this, Pete advised him to either let them work together or they would both walk away without the car but he made it clear to him that he would have the car one way or the other.
After they had come to an understanding, Pete contacted Valeria via the wireless communication system they had on the ready and told her it was time to high tell out of the place. Once Nick had disarmed the alarm and tracking systems of the vehicle they intended to steal, Nick quickly change into a more appropriate outfit, rinsed his mouth with a glass of champagne and tried to accessorize to look as expensive as the car, just in case he got stopped by the police or searched while on the way. Valeria had stolen and made away with a hundred year old African vintage painting, and then stealthily replaced it with a fake.
After that deal that fateful winter in Glasgow, Scotland, Nick, Pete and Valeria became invincible trio in the art of theft of all nature of crimes involving thievery. With Valeria being the beauty of the gang, Pete being the brain and then Nick was the tech wizard, great at everything technological, computer and online related, best hacker, best lock picker and all other tricks that was needed in the con artist business and so for seven years the team had remained.
If there ever was a time when Brownson wished he hadn't married Martha it was that very night, as he gazed out the window of the top floor and began to wonder if the jump would actually be as deadly as he envisioned or if the freshly lower grass would somehow help him land relatively safe. Well, he didn't know and frankly he didn't want to know. Being suicidal we was not something he liked, he didn't pity the victims and certainly didn't know what it was to be in their shoes. No, to Brownson, suicide was a cowardly act and each time he saw it in the news, he always thought that if someone was actually stupid enough to want to die, then just maybe they should be allowed to, in his opinion, the world didn't need such individuals really.
If there was one thing though that he sympathized with others, it was frustration. And yes, he refused to admit or accept that suicide was a result of frustration of any sort. No, he could work his way out of frustration, had been doing that actually for most of his life. When one lived a political life and before that a life of pleasing political business men, it was hard not the be frustrated with their antics and general ways and misbehaviours. So, frustration was part and part of his life and he lived with it each day and just fine. Living with it however, did not mean he disliked it any less.
The evening breeze was cold on his bumpy face, his lips turning a deeper red from him biting it all evening. It was not the best evening for him, not after the call he received from the Detective's office earlier that day. It was a sad reality really and if he was being honest it wasn't like he hadn't expected the bland news, it was all anyone seemed to get since the incidence. An apology for his predicament and a promise to "Do all they could" well, all they could and did do actually amounted to nothing and there hadn't been any headway after the incident at the park. The kidnappers had virtually seemed to disappear with the baby into thin air.
The very first thing Brownson took pride in being was a husband - particularly to Martha,  father, then a successful politician and business man. Well, as much as he loved his son, some nights, when he heard the anguished cries of Martha, he wished the baby hadn't even been born. Then he wouldn't be lost and Martha would be her usual happy self. He wished his son was fine but each day made him realise that that was merely that - a wish, and more times than not, wishes never did come true like many would good for. So, he has stopped wishing and just retained what was left of his sanity.
Martha, her cries were driving Brownson insane and when it wasn't her cries, then it was her silence. That deafening and dead nothing that often was accompanied with a bout of tearless cries. The sort that pierced his ear drums and was enough to make him lose his mind. And some times, he felt he had lost his mind already and was merely floating through every activity like a zombie. For sure though, life was absolutely not the same for Brownson in the  Capitol and even away from it. Martha's dark energy and grieve seemed to hover around the whole house and certainly over him too.
The bedroom they shared was now her personal screaming zone. When she wasn't screaming down the halls then he had to send someone to check up on her. Well, thankfully, she wasn't suicidal, not at the least, grieved, angry, sad and frustrated yes, but not suicidal and Brownson was grateful, considering his hatred for suicidal people, he cringed the imagine Martha acting in the same disgusting manner. He had moved as discreetly as possible to the second guest room and remained there most nights. If Martha noticed, she didn't react or maybe she was so absorbed in her sadness and self-pity that she forgot her husband not longer slept on the same bed as her. Whatever the case turned out that be, Martha didn't complain and so Brownson continued staying away from her.
Having stated that he was a proud and loving father, Brownson still missed his wife and wished he didn't lose her in all that has happened. He also knew without a doubt that he'd be much happier if the baby was sent home in a body bag, that way they could mourn him and move on with their lives, rather than keep their hopes on only to have them shattered at the end of everyday when the Police Command either sent another consolidatory text or made a very unassuring pledged to "Do their best to bring the boy back and bring the perpetrators the book". Well, it didn't happen and he was growing tired of hearing the White lies especially from people he knew where either in their homes sipping coffee or in a bar drinking beer. No, they didn't care and didn't feel his pain, first for his lost son and mostly for his lost wife, as if one loss wasn't enough to last him a lifetime.
He missed the sex, he was being blunt and maybe a tad bit insensitive but it was the truth and anyone who knew Senator Brownson well enough knew that he loved sex as much as he loved a good chess game and that was saying a lot. Well, since Martha clearly wasn't well enough to sleep with him and hadn't even shown signs that she might be anytime soon, Brownson had retorted to services that his driver and secretary discreetly organized for him. It was nothing remotely compared to Martha but then, a starving man had no choice in such matters and so he took whatever he could with  dissatisfaction.