The Thieves of Darkness by Richard Doetsch Read Free Book Online

apartment, only one block away on Vristed Street, was used solely for sleep. He took all his meals while at work and postponed life and marriage so as to always be on the job. He dedicated himself to Venue and his visions, knowing that this would lead to the beginning of his own fortune, to being able to give back to his family, to being able to create a life of meaning and value.
    But fortune is a word with many meanings, and his fortune had changed less than a half hour earlier. The mistake wasn’t his, it was made by an underling. It was a simple error that could not have been detected by regulators, an error that was easily corrected without consequence, but an error nonetheless. And in the eyes of someone like Venue there was no room for error, unless it was committed by himself. Venue delivered a two-hour lecture to Jean-Paul, most of it on his own brilliance, his own honesty and integrity, exhaustively expounding on his own genius and how moronic the rest of the world was.
    Venue demanded Jean-Paul’s resignation and typed up the email announcement to the employees that Jean-Paul had left to pursue other interests.
    Venue stood and walked around his desk. Leaning against it, staring down at Jean-Paul, he explained he didn’t want to hurt him; he just didn’t have room for a single mistake. He stood over him like a father over a son, silently staring down in disappointment at the seated young man.
    Then, with a blinding swiftness not natural to a person of sixty-two, Venue grabbed the paperweight and, in a single motion, swung it around, hitting Jean-Paul square in the side of the head. He raised the paperweight again and smashed it down on Jean-Paul’s nose, driving the bone back into his brain. Again and again he hit him, the gore exploding about the room. Jean-Paul tried to spin away, but it was useless. He tumbled out of the chair and the old man leaped upon him, pummeling his blond head until it was unrecognizable, his blue eyes swollen shut, what was left of his hair matted red with blood.
    Venue finally stood, walked to his private bathroom, and showered. He dressed in a pair of linen pants, a green sport coat, and crocodile loafers. He headed back to his desk, being sure to give a wide berth to Jean-Paul’s bloody corpse so as not to stain his clean clothes and shoes. He looked once more at the email announcement of Jean-Paul’s resignation and departure from the firm and hit Send.
    The phone upon Venue’s desk rang. He hit the speakerphone and was greeted by a static-filled voice. “Venue?”
    “Well?” Venue said as he leaned back in his chair.
    “Barabas is dead,” the man said.
    “Am I to assume that is not the state of his two latest inmates?”
    “They’re gone,” the man said, as if announcing a death in the family.
    “That’s what I get for trusting things to corrupt wardens.” Venue tried to contain his anger. “What a waste of money, thank you very much.”
    “Hey, Barabas was your guy,” the man shot back. “He did your bidding, not mine.”
    “If we’d killed them here or at least let the police handle it like I said in the first place—”
    “If they were killed in Amsterdam and the bodies traced back to you … if they were sent through the court system and it was revealed what they had stolen … think about it.”
    “Don’t think you are beyond reproach,” Venue said.
    “Seems I’m having to clean up more and more of your messes—” the man began.
    “And you will continue to do so until I say otherwise,” Venue screamed, pounding his fist on the desk, silencing the man. “And how the fuck did they even know we had the letter? How did they know it was in my office? Of all people to know it was in my office … What the fuck’s going on? The girl and a priest, for Christ’s sake, you know what my feelings are on that.”
    The man on the other end of the phone remained silent but for his steady breathing.
    Venue took a moment, allowing his mind to calm.