The Dam

Ken Coffman

“If you know what’s good for you,” Jeremy Harriss said,“you’ll take your goddamned hands off me. Now.”

Bruno held Jeremy’s left arm on the ergonomic office chair’s arm while Stewart wrapped a Velcro strap around it. Bruno and Stewart were not twins, but they were equally large and muscular. Bruno pressed on Jeremy’s shoulder and walked to the other side. Soon, Jeremy’s arms and legs were bound. He strained and wriggled, but could only move a small fraction of an inch. It was hopeless. He settled and relaxed his body, but the mirthless grin that spread across his face was filled with malice.

“My father will lop off your heads and mount them on a pole outside the Harriss International building. I’m not sure I’m speaking figuratively.”

Behind him, the corner office door opened. Mario Cantonelli entered.

“Ah, your father,” Mario said.“That’s why we need to speak to you this afternoon. About your father.”

He spoke in a calm, gentle voice with a melodious Italian accent. Jeremy strained to look over his shoulder.

“I apologize for restraining you. This is for your protection. During our conversation, you’ll see why it is completely necessary.”

“I tried to reach my father on his cell phone this morning. Do you know why he did not answer?”

“All in good time, my boy,” Mario said.

“I’m not your boy,” Jeremy said.

Mario stood and looked at the young man.

“You’re right, of course. At nearly seventeen, you are on the cusp on manhood. I forget myself. When I look at you, sometimes I still see the youngster with skinned-up elbows and a skateboard. I apologize.”

“Take these straps off me.”

“Yes. We will—in a few minutes. I need to show you something and we can’t have you overreacting.”

“Let’s finish with the talking part of this scene.”

“Of course,” Mario said.“You Harrisses like to get right to the point.” He walked to his expansive walnut-veneer desk and looked over the panoramic New York skyline for a moment before turning a large Apple Computer monitor so Jeremy could see it.“This se