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  Foster’s Choice

  A Novella

  Jake Williams

  Copyright © 2013 by Jake Williams. All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover photography and design by the author.

  Foster’s Choice

  This book is dedicated to the reader, for giving a rookie writer a chance.

  Contents

  Friday, 2am

  Friday, 3:30am

  Friday, 3pm

  Saturday, 7am

  Saturday, 2pm

  Saturday, 4pm

  Saturday, 7pm

  Saturday, 9pm

  Sunday, 6am

  I’m not exactly sure how things got so crazy in my life, suddenly it felt like I was herding meth-addicted cats or whatever. Everything started with a call from my Mom telling me, pleading with me—actually more like demanding that I come home and spend some time with the family. I hadn’t been back much in the last few years and I was due for a change of pace, so I agreed to come there for a visit. I didn’t realize at the time just how off track things had gotten for me, but it was clear by the end of the first weekend home that things were never going to be the same.

  Friday, 2am

  The party at the frat house had gone out of control earlier than usual, probably because Saturday was graduation. I was up in my room packing and getting a little peace and quiet before hitting the road. I could still hear the thumps of the music through the walls, the high-pitched happy squeals of sorority girls, the random sound of glass breaking—all the usual shit. People kept knocking on my door and texting me, telling me to come back downstairs but I ignored them. I decided to take a shower to sober up a little before the drive home. I put out the joint burning in the ashtray, dropped my duffel bag by the door and grabbed a towel, picked up my key card for the room and slipped the cord on it around my wrist. I took off my shorts and tossed them on the floor and left the room, wrapping my towel around my waist as I headed down the hall. It was no surprise to hear girls’ laughter coming from the men’s room when the house was crowded like tonight. I pushed the door open and saw a line of girls checking their makeup in the mirrors and standing around waiting for toilet stalls to open. The guys were shoulder to shoulder along the back wall at the urinals. It looked like one guy couldn’t hold it any longer and was about to use the trash can in the corner as a makeshift pisser.

  “Dude, wait for some actual plumbing” I warned him.

  “Sorry Foster, too late," and I could hear his stream ringing off the bottles overflowing the top of the can. I felt a minor twinge of pity for what the cleaning crew would have to deal with Monday.

  I made my way toward the door to the showers, stopping along the way to pose with a few girls who wanted pics for Instagram or whatever. I noticed a huge new sign hanging next to the door to the shower room that read “NO CAMERAS OR PHONES BEYOND THIS POINT”. I swiped my card in the reader and the door clicked; the lock was installed last month after a lot of naked pics of us in there kept showing up on the internet. Some of the guys were pretty proud of how ripped they looked in the pics, but most of them got upset when they realized that the pictures were mainly posted on gay porn sites. None of them seemed to want to admit how they figured that out.

  Nobody else was in the showers; the room was quiet except for the noise coming through the door. The showers always had that humid-bleachy smell with a vague body-odor aroma that I associated with every locker room I’d ever been in. I threw my towel on the bench and cut on a showerhead along the back wall. The shower took some time to warm up but I ducked my head under it anyway and hoped that the cold water would help kill my buzz. I started to grab my soap off the shelf on the wall and realized I had forgotten my shower shit. I’d only been standing there for a minute before the door opened and I looked over my shoulder and saw Spence, another junior and pretty much my best friend in the fraternity, walking in. He threw his towel on the bench and started walking toward me.

  “Hiya Spence”, he jumped a little when my voice boomed and echoed on the tiles. He raised a finger to his lips, glanced around the room with a nervous look on his face and then cut a bunch of showers on as he headed my way. He stood under the shower next to me and started talking in a low urgent voice.

  “Keep your fucking voice down Foster!” He sounded anxious and panicky; he had this intense, almost paranoid, look in his eyes. I wondered what he was on tonight but I decided to humor him. “Spence, I’m not sure what you’ve taken but I don’t think it’s something that agrees with you. Relax buddy, I think they found all the spy cams last week if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Just keep your voice down, Foster!”

  “Okay Spence, but,” I whispered dramatically and tried to match that intense look on his face—I raised my eyebrows and got all wide-eyed like him, “I forgot my soap and I need to borrow yours.” He popped the lid on his body wash, held it over his head, and proceeded to squeeze about half the bottle over himself with some pretty shaky hands, and then he handed it over to me.

  I continued to use that urgent whisper, “why exactly are you in here, and why are we standing so close together”? I tapped him on the shoulder, “and why are we talking like this?”

  He looked around the room and then took a half step in my direction, completely invading my space. “I needed to catch you before you left, and somebody told me they saw you headed in here. I needed to talk to you about some stuff, shit I don’t want anyone else to hear. I want to resolve some things before you leave, and it can’t wait until you get back here. “

  I cut him off and sighed. “Look Bro, we’re best friends and I love you and whatever, but not really like that dude. I know there have been a few late nights in my room that we may or may not have like, done some things—but I don’t think we should take this—“

  “Yeah, Foster I—no, wait a minute—that’s not what I’m talking about you dumbass! And I can tell you right now if I WAS looking for something serious with another guy—and I’m definitely not—I really don’t fucking believe you’re my type. I’d shoot for somebody a little more serious about his future, maybe somebody who’s pre-med or pre-law, not some guy getting a degree in Dumb Jock like you.” He was scrubbing himself like crazy, he was still all bug-eyed and shit and all that soap he used was making giant blobs of foam, it began falling and sliding all over him. A big chunk of it ran into his eyes, and he closed them and backed up under the water to rinse off.

  When he closed his eyes I gave him a quick once over while there was nobody else around to catch me checking him out. We were both around six feet tall with athletic builds, he was leaner—a swimmer’s body. His dark hair and brown eyes were the opposite of my blond hair and blue eyes. He was all ripped and didn’t have a friggin’ ounce of fat on him. I glanced below his waist and I wondered if I could put off leaving for a few hours and I could get him back to my room and maybe—

  “Eyes up here Foster.” I snapped my head up and he had a smirk on his face and I felt myself turning a little red. I looked around at all the showers running and the steam that was fogging the room.

  “So what’s up with the cloak and dagger shit? It’s beginning to feel like a sauna in here.” I cut the temp down on my shower and leaned back, letting the water rinse me off and cool me down.

  “Look, Jake,” I kind of winced when he used my first name instead of my nickname, “I’ve been having se
cond thoughts about this new line of work you’ve been doing.” He took a step toward me and dropped his voice even lower so I leaned forward to hear him.

  “You know I was happy as shit when you quit dealing and handed everything over to Tony. You’re rich, bro, you didn’t need the money and even if you did I’m fairly sure you didn’t earn any cash. I’m guessing you swallowed or smoked most of the fucking profit.” I started to argue about that but honestly it was true so I kept my mouth shut. And he was right, between the fraternity, classes, and all the travelling I’d been doing I just couldn’t keep up with all that shit. Selling pills and weed was a lot more stressful and a lot more complicated a process than people thought, and it was consuming more and more of my time.

  I handed the ball off to Tony, a workout buddy from the gym in town. I went to that health club when I was bored with working out here in the basement of the house or if the gym on campus was too crowded. I knew that Tony was selling some performance-enhancing drugs there and I was tired of the whole thing. It seemed like a good business decision to me at the time, and he gave me a ridiculously low discount on all my future needs. “Yeah, Spence, like you said I got out of all that. I’m fucking done with it! So what’s the problem?”

  “The problem Foster—the issue here, is that this new fucking extracurricular activity you’re pursuing is a whole lot more dangerous.” He looked at the door again and he stared at the ceiling like there were cobras about to drop from it any second. “I really don’t like the way this thing is headed.” It felt odd just standing there chatting buck naked and all, so I started lathering up again. I felt how hard my abs was and I was pleased with myself.

  “How could personal training be dangerous, Spence? I like the guys I’m working with, the clients seem cool, and travel is fucking awesome! Plus I’m getting internship hours, the work is easy, and all of my professors, coaches, whatever you want to call them—they all think it’s great, they’ve even let me cut out of a lot of classes since I’m travelling! It’s a great fucking deal; don’t tell me I should quit this too!”

  He raised his face to his showerhead and then gave me this condescending look, like I was ten years old or something. “Look Jake, I know at first this all seemed like a sweet deal, a win-win situation for everybody. But now I’m not so sure. When you asked me to handle the pay for you I figured it was simple stuff—you know, filling out W-4 forms, giving them copies of your passport and social security, all that shit. I’m a business major, right? Seemed like five minutes of work for me, and I know you hate paperwork and shit. Plus I figured I owed you for letting me play with your money for the class projects and whatever. No harm, no foul, right?”

  “Well, sure bro, I trust you.” I was looking at his hair, it was longer than my buzz cut and I wondered if I should let mine start growing out. I didn’t want to fall behind if that was the trend or whatever.

  “Okay, right. Then trust me on this one, Foster. We need to get you out of this, we need to sunset this deal. Instead of a simply doing your forms and collecting the checks for you they had their banker call me with some pretty convoluted instructions on how to handle your pay.”

  I wondered if all this hot water and humidity would make me start pruning or whatever. “What kind of instructions?”

  “They gave me all this info on an overseas banking account and they said they would put your money in that. I figured it was some kind of payroll tax issues, some kind of accounting bullshit. I haven’t taken a course on that yet but it started to feel a whole lot like fucking laundering money to me. I don’t think that in and of itself doing that is illegal—”

  I nodded, “Yep, yep, I’ve heard my Father and his friends talking about doing that. I think it’s a pretty common business practice, right?”

  “Yeah, but I mean no, I’m not sure it’s legit or not. But I watched the account and saw some deposits being made and everything looked okay. They don’t really pay all that much, you know?”

  I tilted my head up and let the water hit my face, then I turn around and spit some water at him. “Like I really need the money, dumbass. I did it for the travel, the experience, whatever. I really can’t see what the big deal is, and I need to get out of here, soon.”

  “The issue, Foster, is that in the last week a lot of money has been coming and going out of that account. I mean a lot of money, fucking six figures and shit. I tracked down this manager, banker, whoever he is. He said he’d fix it—it was an accounting error. But none of this sounds right to me, so I did a little investigating and this whole deal is looking worse and worse. I checked to see if I could find any info on this company you work for—a website, a stock listing, corporate docs, whatever.” He started giving me that look again and I noticed his left eye was twitching a little.

  “And, so?”

  “So, fucking nada, zip, zero. It’s like they don’t exist--no LinkedIn connections, no Facebook stuff, nothing.” He was tapping the tiles on the wall with twitchy fingers and I noticed the rust stains coming down from the showerheads.

  “So they’re a startup, or they have so many clients they don’t need the exposure, whatever.”

  “Uh uh. Nope. Listen, Foster. I called a few of my father’s accountants and whatnot. When I described the situation to them, the banks and bankers involved, the overseas accounts—the whole fucking deal, they all freaked out and they said to sunset this whole deal and not to contact them again. They said to just walk away from the account a.s.a.fucking.p., and never touch the money again. They said, Foster, that things may have gone so far that the Feds might get involved, or worse, and they hinted around that people may already be tapping phones, obtaining warrants, etc. This deal has gone from me writing some business papers to me possibly testifying to a grand jury! Think about it, Jake. Wiretapping, bugs, subpoenas, these are all bad things. These are not good for your brand image. For all we know this room”, and he looked all around, “This room could be bugged, somebody could be wearing a wire!” He stared at me with a look of semi-panic.

  “There are only two of us in here”. I raised my arms and did a slow 360, stopping in the arms-up and legs-spread standard TSA pose. “And I am fairly fucking certain that neither one of is wearing a wire, Spence. Are you sure you don’t want some Ativan, maybe a valium, Spence? Something to chill you out a little?” I gave him my best let’s-all-just-relax-here smile.

  “No Jake, I’m fine. I’m just fucking fantastic, you idiot. Just concentrate!” He got right in my face, nose to nose. He was holding me there with one hand on the back of my head and every time he spoke his pecker slapped against my thigh. “So, you’re traveling around the world for this shady company, you’re spending time with these ‘clients’ and giving them a few golf or tennis lessons, or whatever. What else went on in a typical day, Foster?” He stood there staring at me and I could smell beer and maybe Cheetos on his breath. I tried to focus on what he was asking and I fumbled around for a good answer.

  “Well it all seemed pretty organized, you know? There were usually about four of us trainers on a trip. We’d give the clients some basic lessons on whatever sport they were curious about and give them some workout tips, some nutritional tips, whatever.” I couldn’t take all this physical contact going on and pushed his chest so he’d let go of me. Just typical shit, not much different from what I do around here for my graduation requirements—coaching kids at summer camps, tutoring one on one, the usual shit.”

  “Right, right, okay Foster, sounds innocent so far.” Then he raised an eyebrow, “what about the nights Foster? I’m thinking you and the other trainers would go out at night to blow off some steam, right? Other than your usual chemical cocktails and random sexual adventures was there anything else you and the clients got into—hookers, underage kids, farm animals, weird shit that maybe even you wouldn’t do?”

  “Whoa! No bro, nothing fucked up like that! I gotta admit that my bosses seemed to pass out a lot pharms, sometimes it made things a little fuzzy.” I grinned at
him as I had a little flashback, “this last trip the parties were pretty intense, Bro, the client was this little Japanese guy, he’s the guy photo bombing me in all those Facebook pics I posted from there. The guy had all this crazy new prescription shit out of Europe and I’d have to admit I was more than a little fucked up that whole trip.”

  “Yeah, that was my next item on this agenda, Jake. Do you remember his name?” He sighed and stared at me and looked like he didn’t expect much in the way of an answer.

  “Sure! It was”—and I drew a blank. “Well,…actually no,” I confessed. Some things are a little blurry around the edges.”

  He cut his shower off and stood there dripping. “No doubt, that’s kind of your brand image these days, it’s par for the course. But I started looking at your Facebook updates and pics, and I got some of the other bro’s to check out your profile, too.”

  “And?” I cut my shower off as well, but the other ones he had cut on were still going full speed.

  “Well, Foster, a couple of things jumped out at us that honestly I had never paid attention to.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, like we’re pretty fucking sure that the ‘Japanese guy’ wasn’t Japanese, he’s actually from North Korea. And we are pretty certain he’s not just any guy from there, we think he’s the fucking king or the president, something high up like that.”

  “I guess he could have been, it’s not like I asked him for ID or anything. If he lied about who he was that’s not my fault, I was just doing my job.” I walked over to the bench and started drying off; I sniffed the towel and threw it on the floor.

  “Yeah, right—I mean no, being in the wrong country and dealing with a semi-famous little fucker like that are things a lot of people might have noticed. Plus, we looked at your status updates and the locations where you thought you were, then we compared them to the actual pics you posted. The locations just don’t match up to where you claimed to be.” I stood there and considered this new twist. I had traveled a lot with my parents and I was pretty sure I had a reasonable grasp of geography, at least most of the resort destinations.