Oliver Benjamin
*
Days later a frantic Morris Bidden reported that his beloved wife and
son had been abducted by opportunists. The kidnappers had
instructed Morris to wire the money to a Swiss bank account. He
never heard from them again and so it was not long before Ellie was
presumed dead and gone. Morris took a month off from work, the
first vacation he had ever taken in his life.
Though initially a suspect, the police found no evidence to
indicate foul play. His distant neighbors remembered shots, but then
Morris fired his guns regularly. The only neighbor he shared a fence
with was legally blind, and of course Bidden’s flunkies were paid well
for their blindness. Sympathy cards flooded in from dignitaries and
business leaders, politicians and patrons, from all who had enjoyed a
cup of Bidden’s own premium blend of hand-selected beans. Popular
magazines printed features about the glamorous couple in which
they strove to sympathize with the unfortunate downside of
outrageous wealth.
The evening following the accident, the last time they saw one
another, Morris assured Roy that his son would be well taken care of.
There was no need, he said, for the boy to suffer for the sins of the
father, especially one he would never see. As it turned out, things for
Roy would not be nearly as plush.
“If you ever return,” Bidden said, “I’ll tell the police the truth—
that you killed her and that I only helped cover up for a friend. I’ll
suffer a PR crisis, but you’ll hang. I’ve got all sorts of evidence on you.
Your fingerprints are on the gun and the witnesses are in my pocket.”
“The truth,” Roy said emptily. He was standing on the deck of a
cargo ship bound for Bangkok.
Morris had provided him with one hundred dollars and a phony
passport. He wanted Roy to enjoy a life of poverty, just like the lowly
peasants he championed.
“Incidentally,” Morris added, almost as an afterthought, “While
you were gone, the market research department came to the
conclusion that people are dishonorable creatures. Consumers won’t
foot the bill for humanity. We’re scrapping the coffee consciousness
program.”
“Let me guess,” Roy said, “You’re the market research
department and I’m the dishonorable creature.”
But Bidden wasn’t listening. “Can you really blame them?” he
113
 |
 |
 |
 |