Chapter 46: The Bribe
Raymond Von Winkel opened the door of his medium sized restaurant. It was called Flamingo’s Rest and lately Raymond had noticed an upturn in business. It did however only add to Raymond’s anxiety. He had a wife and three children to support and overall his business had been in debt for a substantial period of time.
Raymond walked through the main dining area where some of his waiters were setting tables. He then opened the kitchen doors and noticed four chefs diligently at work.
His head chef Michel Dugarry approached him. Michel was born and raised twenty five kilometres from Paris. He had been trained in some prestigious Restaurants and now worked in a medium sized Restaurant in a small city in America. Michel was of medium build with thinning grey hair and a grey moustache. He did not look happy. He never looked happy.
“Boss, I have been informed that we have forty bookings tonight. Forty! I cannot cope with this. My staff are overworked as it is. We have to serve food to the highest of standards. We need more staff. We also need to keep hold of what we have. My staff are underpaid as it is. I am underpaid as it is.”
“Don’t worry Michel, my accountant is looking at the books at the moment. If I can afford to make adjustments to salary and staff there will be no problem.”
“Me and my fellow staff have mouths to feed. Some of us are working sixty hours a week. Sixty hours a week! That’s ridiculous.” With each sentence the French chef would get more and more animated to such an extent that Raymond feared he would have a heart attack. This was however an everyday occurrence where the chef was concerned.
“Don’t worry Michel I will look into it,” the proprietor responded calmly as he patted him on the shoulder
Raymond didn’t know how he could afford any pay rises, if he could barely afford to feed his own family. Everybody seemed to think that he was doing well just because the numbers were up but they couldn’t see the full picture.
“Raymond there is that man again, waiting for you outside,” Oscar De La Hoya a junior chef informed him. “He never leaves his name.”
It was the news that the Restaurant owner had been dreading. Sargent Jack Leading was the root of all his problems. He was the reason why Raymond was doing much worse than most people realised. Raymond was a mild mannered guy but even he found it hard not to hate the Sargent who would drain the blood from Raymond’s body if he thought it would earn him a dollar or two.
“Good morning Raymond,” the crooked police officer greeted him with a wry smile.
Sargent Leading was in his fifties and about five stone overweight. He had a thin, mostly grey beard and a dark blue eyes. His head was mostly bald and he was dressed casually in a chequered red and black shirt and blue jeans.
“What do you want?” Raymond asked with as much anger as he could muster, after closing the door behind him.
“Raymond, Raymond, Raymond, there’s no need for the attitude,” the crooked police officer responded in a condescending manner.
“What is it that you want?” the proprietor asked in a less aggressive tone. “You’re not due here until next Tuesday.”
“Business is looking up Raymond and I want my cut.”
“You already get ninety percent of my profits. That’s a pretty big hole. What happens if the IRS start asking questions?” the stressed out businessman declared.
“Which do you prefer to deal with, Raymond, the IRS, the DEA, the Reapers? I can make your worst dreams come true. Just say no and all it takes is a phone call from me.” Sargent Jack Leading knew how to get under the married man’s skin. Virtually every word that came from the policeman’s mouth made the Restaurant owner feel like he was lying helpless on the ground with tarantulas and scorpions crawling over him.
“I can barely feed my own family. My workers are looking for pay rises, costs are going up. I need a reduction, not an increase.”
“You know me, Raymond, I’m a generous man,” the corrupt police officer declared slowly. “A ten per cent increase should do the trick.”
Inside Raymond felt as if the walls of his home were steadily moving in toward him, leaving him with barely enough room to breathe.
“That leaves me with one per cent of profits. I would have to sell up before I could pay you. If I sell that would leave you with nothing. Am I right?”
“I’m sure the next owner would pay me more. I’d say that 6,600 dollars a week is chicken feed for a place like this. I’d say that you’re holding back on me. I’ll be kind. Give me the 6,600 dollars starting next Tuesday and you won’t have to worry about the Reapers or the DEA or anyone else for that matter. If I don’t get the money there’ll be consequences. Think about it. I know you’ll come to the right decision,” the crooked Sargent said before turning away.
As he turned away, the police officer noticed a homeless man hidden in a dumpster among the rubbish.
“What are you looking at?” he said raising his hand in an aggressive manner. The man whose face was dirty and who was wearing tattered clothing fell back into the dumpster in fear.
Raymond turned around to go back inside the Restaurant. He just wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. ‘What was he going to do now?’ he asked himself.