Breeders (25 page)

Financially he was doing just dandy, although he had to start over twice. First was 911, when he saw his entire empire that he had spent ten years building go up in smoke and dust, literally.

Then that bastard Madoff took him and his clients for everything they had back in 2008. But he had slowly built up his base and relied on his contacts to get back to his feet. He was an investment broker, in the past he had dealt mostly with venture capitalists, but now penny shares were his bread and butter.

He knew that it was risky business, but he would research the companies meticulously, if they had solid financials, a good product and paid regular dividends, he would advise his clients to invest in them. The commissions were excellent. He never risked any of his
 
own money on the smaller shares. Blue chips were his thing. Solid companies, Google, Apple, Anglo American. Companies with large market caps and double digit growth.
 

He sighed and slapped the handrail with the guide. Nothing taxed a relationship more than financial strain. When the market crashed, that bitch Tina left him stranded, taking him for every last penny he had. She didn’t even bother with Franky, the two-timing bitch.

In 2010 he met Emerico Barba, a wealthy shipping tycoon with too much money on his hands. The man was looking at investing some money offshore, and wanted to know if there were any tax loopholes he could take advantage of. The meeting didn’t go well. Franky couldn’t keep his eyes off the sexy minx that Barba had draped over his arm. And man was he overjoyed when Barba finally introduced her as his daughter.

They had hit it off like a house on fire, her sensual looks mesmerising him. The sex was good, sure, but she also came from an influential family which meant more clients for him. It was a win/win situation.

He couldn’t complain, life was good.

“Look, dad, a plane,” Franky shouted excitedly, pointing at the sky.

Pete looked up as the Airbus A300 made a wide arc in the sky. It was awfully low. The engines whined as it banked to the side on its slow, wide turn, the flaps engaged as it tried to reduce its speed. Pete had heard that sound once before. The only difference was that he had stood on the ground on the corner of West Broadway and Park, watching in awestruck disbelief as the scene unfolded. Surely not again?

The plane straightened out its flight path.
 

And headed straight their way.

He grabbed Franky by the arm and pulled him onto his hip as he ran. Shit. The crowd panicked and surged towards the lifts. Plenty good that was going to be, folks. He headed towards the stairs.

A siren sounded from somewhere, like those that they rang during the second world war bombings. People hustled and shoved and jostled for position. He slipped and fell, then pushed himself up as he looked back.
 

The plane was less than a hundred yards away, the whine of the jet engines becoming an insistent and deafening tone that he could literally feel in his head. He closed his eyes and sucked in a raspy breath as the people mulled around him. This was futile.
 

He turned to face the roaring monster swooping down on him. People bumped into him, trying to shove him out of the way.

“It’s useless folks,” he whispered.

Franky’s eyes were squeezed shut, his fingers in his ears.

People screamed as the plane thundered towards them. Then time and place became one, as if he was watching a movie in slow motion, frame by frame, although it only lasted two seconds. He could smell the vanilla and chocolate cone on Franky’s hands, the wind jerked at the shirt that was now plastered to his back as the sweaty rivulets oozed from his over-sensitised skin.

He saw a young couple leap into the lift-shaft. The were holding hands. If the fall didn’t kill them immediately, the explosion would, Pete thought. The weapon of mass destruction screeched and Pete stood frozen as he watched the plane’s nosecone grow larger and larger.
 

The bearded pilots had a manic look on their faces, delirious smiles like they were entering the gates of heaven.
 

And then it hit. The Tower shook as the plane plowed into the lower observation deck below them. The impact jolted him off his feet. And then everything went ghostly quiet as his eardrums popped. He was watching a silent movie.

Pete screamed as the high propane jet fuel exploded and engulfed his body in flames. He didn’t scream because he was in pain, the explosion had severed all the nerve endings in his skin as it was scorched off his flesh.
 

He screamed because he was still alive as the Tower started to topple over, he screamed because he couldn’t believe what was happening and he screamed because he wasn’t ready to die.
 

He lived for one more second, saw Franky’s arms and face turn black and then a sickening red oozing mess of boiling flesh.
 

And then Pete exploded into a million tiny bits.