Posted by: jockmackenzie | May 15, 2009

“Dealing with Dymans” Chapter 12, Pt. 3

Click the “start arrow” below to hear the audio of this chapter:

Monday morning saw Douglas Dymans up early and off to the store. Sunday had not been a total waste. If Darryl Gordon, the neon guy, had had anything to do with screwing with his sign, the message he’d left at his home would be a Monday morning wake-up call. If he wasn’t involved, his note of warning would have been for naught. But warnings written in animal blood should make the necessary impression, and garage doors provided such an expansive canvas.

He’d also reviewed the surveillance tapes. At first, he’d been upset at the poor quality of the images, good money paid for supposedly state of the art equipment, but a closer look, some zooming in, reverse imaging, and comparative sizing had brought his temperature back into the normal range. If he’d had the abilities those T.V. detectives had, he’d have the jerk in his sights and be ready to pull the trigger . . . or whatever.

What he did have was more than he’d started with. The guy was about six feet, looked athletic, no facial hair, glasses tinted enough to hide his eye color, brownish skin tone, and a turban that just didn’t seem right somehow. He had obviously known what he was doing because he had appeared, done the deed, and moved on in a matter of less than two minutes. He’d timed it, less than two minutes. The guy had come into view, head down, and was up the ladder in just seconds. Douglas’s cameras were meant for the interior of the shop so what he mostly had to look at were feet on a ladder. Looking at coveralled legs and some kind of hiking or work boots didn’t help much. This morning’s priority would be to see if he could view the mall’s tapes, hopefully adding to the description.

Using his card and entry code, Douglas entered the mall at the entrance nearest Sharma and Dymans. While the mall wasn’t officially open until 9:30, a gaggle of seniors went shuffling past on their morning “Strollercise.” Old buggers would have to turn it up a notch to get to “stroll” speed. Douglas headed straight for the ProTech Security Force office. Behind the counter was some octogenarian with pop bottle glasses and a nametag that read “Doug.” He wore a pseudo-military outfit that said “policeman” to many, but said “wardrobe department” to Douglas.

“Good morning, sir. What can I do ya for?”

“I am Douglas Dymans, owner of Sharma and Dymans Fine Jewellery. While you’re still employed here, you can show me the mall video surveillance tapes for Thursday the 18th. I’m a busy man. As you should be aware, the sign outside my store was vandalized, vandalized while I was supposedly being Protech-ted by your company. That’s precisely what you can do me for.”

Doug didn’t know how to react. He was used to life in the slow lane – dress up in his costume, watch the monitors and drink coffee when it was his turn, do his rounds on the same circuit he’d been doing since he got the job, write up a few reports when he had to, go home to his cozy basement suite, come back and do it all again.

Before he could react, Jeet appeared from the back office. Douglas eyed Jeet closely. Had Doug been a mind reader he would have seen Douglas X out several descriptors. Turban – no. Height – too short. Athletic – not with that gut. Glasses – none. Hell, Jeet was his boss; Doug was only too happy to let him earn the bigger bucks.

“Mr. Rouhi, this is Mr. Dymans. He wants to see the surveillance tapes, the mall’s tapes, I mean the ProTech tapes from last Thursday.” With that, Doug excused himself and disappeared into the mall.

Almost verbatim, Douglas repeated his demand. Confident that his bullying tactics would work as they always had, he leaned one elbow on the counter and gave Mr. Jeet Rouhi the evil eye. This time, he had chosen the wrong victim.

Jeet, Abhijeet to his mother when she was mad at him, had spent far too much of his life being talked down to. Part of the joy of his security guard job was his position of power. It wasn’t all that powerful really but powerful enough that, more often than not, his uniform alone gave the appearance of power. The chances of this big mouth getting a look at what he wanted were right after slim and nil, especially after Leo’s warning. Nonetheless, Jeet had learned that hiding behind a paper blizzard achieved two goals – it kept jerks like this in line, and it also covered his ass whenever push came to shove. A sweet sprinkling of feigned subservience was an added touch that he particularly enjoyed.

“ProTech is here at your service, Mr. Desmond. We are . . .”

“Dymans, d-y-m-a-n-s, Dymans.”

“Yes, yes. What was I thinking? Of course, of Sharma and Dymans. Silly me. I think I have seen you in the mall. But we, I mean, ProTech must be very professional in these matters. Do you have some kind of identification? One cannot be too . . .”

“Look, you . . . you . . .”

“No, no. I’m sure you are who you say you are. Calm down, please sir. I was just trying to do my job. Of course we can give you the tapes to look at. Well, that is after you fill in some forms that we have here. It might take me a few minutes to find them. Not much call for them as I’m sure you can appreciate. Perhaps I could deliver them to you personally . . . at your wonderful store . . . with all of its fine jewellery. I will make it one of my top priorities.”

Almost ready to blow, Douglas bellowed, “Listen to me you sorry-assed excuse for a . . . for a . . . just get me the goddam tape or tapes and bring them to my store as fast as you can get your filthy little hands on them. Don’t mess with me. Don’t give me any crap about forms. I pay good money for security. I’m not getting it. And if I don’t get what I want, you’re going to get it!”
Jeet widened his eyes in mock terror. “I would do anything in my power to be of assistance. Truly I would. I can see that I have upset you terribly. I beg you, a thousand pardons. You have my word. This has become not one of my top priorities; it has become my only priority. I will call our head office in Rockton to have them return the tape immediately. I will . . .”

Douglas leaned over the counter and would have grabbed Jeet by the throat if he could have. Calmly, and in the nick of time, Jeet had retreated just enough to be out of reach. Douglas settled for a good finger wagging. “Get me those tapes.” And with that, he stormed out of the office. Slamming the door proved unsuccessful thanks to the pneumatic opener.

Jeet returned to the back office, extracted the tape in mention from the side shelf, and began addressing the bubble pack to send it to Rockton. Gosh, how else could he request that they send it to him if they didn’t have it? He smiled as he thought how proud Leo would be.


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