Borden

When I made eye contact with him, he raised his hand and gestured me over. I froze, part of me cautious, the other part completely aware he was sent by Borden. Swallowing hard, I hesitantly made my way over.

“What do you want?” I immediately asked.

Moustache Man smiled, cheerfully. “I’m here to discuss your job role and what Mr Borden expects of you on Wednesday morning.”

“Wednesday?”

“Yes, you have the day off tomorrow to get yourself ready. I’m assigned to be your driver, so you no longer have to worry about public transportation. If you let me into your apartment, I can take out the file here in my bag and underline your responsibilities –”

“He’ll do this again if I find another job, won’t he?” I interrupted, forlornly.

He paused and then nodded solemnly. “Yes, Emma, he will.”

“Shit.”

“I know this seems out of the ordinary for you, and frankly, he’s never done this before, so I’m also at a loss. But it’s a good position with very good pay,” he consoled me. “Mr Borden has been very generous.”

“Generous? He’s forcing me to work for him.”

Moustache Man nodded. “Yes, but…at least you’re not on his shit list, Emma, and believe me, that shit list is a dangerous place to be on.” He cringed for a moment before clearing his throat. “Now, how about we go in, or we can walk to a café, anywhere with a bit of privacy so I can be thorough about this.”

“There’s a diner around the corner,” I replied, warily eyeing the bag he was carrying.

How thorough did one have to be over a simple bookkeeping position?

*

Well, shit.

Thorough was the understatement of the century. Borden was a fucking Nazi with all his rules. I went through the papers in awe. There were explicit instructions on what I could or couldn’t wear, a list of things I wasn’t allowed to bring into the office, specifically my purse which baffled me.

“Borden has…a few enemies,” Moustache Man had explained vaguely. “He needs to be careful at all times.”

“Does he think I’ll smuggle a rocket launcher into my purse or something?” I muttered defensively.

“Believe it or not, we’ve come across some frankly bizarre situations in the past that make smuggling a rocket launcher into a purse seem genius.”

Well, okay then.

“But look, I’ll give him a word about lettings yours in. We haven’t had women in his office before, so perhaps he’ll be more lenient with you.”

“Right.”

I signed all the papers I needed to, provided all the vital information, and when it came time to look at my pay, I was in for a surprise.

“That’s…three times what I make in a week now,” I whispered.

“Like I said, Mr Borden has been very generous.”

“For a reason I don’t understand.”

“Instead of questioning it, how about just embracing it?”

I frowned. I was the type of person that didn’t settle for anything short of the truth, and just embracing it didn’t work for me.

“Am I going to see bad things?” I wondered just then. “Is that why I’m being paid so well?”

“What bad things are you referring to exactly?”

I looked at him evenly. “Come on, don’t act like that. You know what I’m talking about. Drugs and death and mutilated body parts.”

Moustache Man laughed…and laughed. “No,” he managed out. “You will not be seeing drugs and death and mutilated body parts. Mr Borden is very professional.”

Except when he forcefully hires women.

When all was said and done, I walked with Moustache Man to his black Mercedes parked out front of my apartment building.

“Those men keep staring at you,” he quietly told me, eyes on the group out front of the entrance doors.

“They hang there all the time,” I told him on a shrug. “They’re harmless.”

“They don’t look harmless, Emma.”

I glanced at them more carefully, all five of them, smoking their cigarettes while studying us carefully.

“They probably are more concerned about you,” I told him. “Driving around in a brand new Mercedes around here gets heads turning.”

Moustache Man frowned, and he looked so different from the friendly man two minutes ago. He was a large man, but not particularly threatening to look at, yet the look he now had on was hair raising.

“I’ll circle the neighbourhood for a little while,” he said. “Just to be sure they’re not up to no good. I can’t have Mr Borden’s girl harmed on my watch.”

A strange feeling washed over me. Is that what he thought I was?

“I’m not Borden’s girl,” I said, seriously. “I wouldn’t be working for him if I had a choice.”

He just smiled. “Alright then. I hear you. Now I’ll pick you up at seven in the morning. Try not to be late.”

He opened the car door and was about to climb in when he stopped and turned back to me.

“Oh, and Emma,” he added, as if remembering, “when you’re around Mr Borden, never call him by his first name. It’s happened a few times around the workplace and…you’ve seen Mr Borden when he’s angry.”

Oh, I’ve seen him angry alright.

“Never call him Marcus,” I replied on a nod. “I can do that.”

He nodded, glanced back at the men, and climbed back into his car. When he drove off, I turned around and made my way inside.

*

I spent the following two nights reading over the paperwork in case I missed something – like signing my life away. Along with that, I looked him up again online. It’d become somewhat of an addiction, and I was sure I’d exhausted every website on the internet. Deciding on a different avenue, I simultaneously researched his old flame.

Kate Davenoth.

She really was a stunner. All long blonde hair and magnificent green eyes and legs that went on for miles. She had that sweetness about her too, these soft eyes and innocent smile. I spent a while trying to picture a girl like him with a hard man like Borden. How did that even happen? Wasn’t he as intimidating back then as he was now?

I saw a picture of her father. Articles of him and his hate toward Borden before he quit and moved away from the city.