Chapter Five
Are you sure it was him?” Ray Sizemore asked, crushing the empty Starbucks
coffee cup he sat on his desk the moment his cell’s ring tone started to play.
“If you’re correct, Tom is going to have a cow. This could kill the whole
operation.”
“It was him,” the voice over the phone gravely said. “But I don’t think this will necessarily kill the project. There is still a small chance Paul may survive. And if he does, it would only be a minor setback.”
“A minor setback?” Ray pounded the top of his desk. “Have you lost your mind, Phillip? Hearing that Paul had caught a virus would be a minor setback. From what you just described, there’s a strong chance the kid might not survive. And even if he did, most likely he won’t make it back to school this semester.”
“I know. But all’s not lost yet. We still have Tim Hegler and Daniel Whitehouse. They’re both proficient with computers. Couldn’t they complete the program?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.” Ray tapped the screen on his iPad, so he could access the latest data the company recently had gathered about the boys. “Tim was one of the co-developers of Clash of the BattleStars. However, Daniel’s just an eleven-year-old freshman who happens to be a computer whiz.”
“Well, there you have it,” Phillip said trying to sound reassuring. “If Tim utilized Daniel’s help, there’s a good chance the two of them would be able to finish it.”
Ray paused to take a semi-relaxing breath. “I hope you’re right Phillip. But I’m still going to have to consult with Mike and get his opinion. He knows software development better than I do and would know if Tim and Daniel have the necessary skills to complete the game. In the meantime, as soon as you’re done with lunch, I want you to head back to Alamance Regional. We need to know the instant Paul Pontiac’s status changes – either good or bad.”
“Will do Boss.”
Ray stared at his phone a second after hanging up before deciding to get himself another cup of coffee.
“I can’t believe it. … I just can’t believe it,” he then muttered as he passed through his office door toward the employee’s lounge. “Of all the dang things to happen.”
George soon walked up beside him. “Hey. What’s up, Bro? You look upset. Isn’t everything going as planned?”
Ray shook his head. “No. We’ve got big troubles George. You know how we were planning to steal the game the Gibsonville’s Computer Club designing for Titan’s Industries’ contest?”
“Yeah. What about it?”
“Well. Originally, everything was cool. With Clash of the BattleStars hitting the top of the gaming charts for the past couple of months and both Paul Pontiac and Tim Hegler being in Gibsonville’s computer club - the game their club’s developing for Titan’s contest was guaranteed to be a surefire winner. The only thing we needed to do was steal a copy of it before the final version shipped.”
“So what’s the problem?” George asked as they stepped inside the employee’s lounge.
“Everything!” Ray said, verbally exploding. “Phillip just called and told me Paul Pontiac had to be rushed to the hospital yesterday, and he’s in critical condition.”
George looked at Ray and frowned. “You must be joking. Aren’t you Ray?”
“I sure wish I was George,” Ray said, taking a dollar out of his wallet and slipping it in the coffee machine. “Unfortunately, I’m not. According to Phillip, things look mighty bleak for the kid.”
“Oh? … So what happened? Did he slip and fall down a flight of stairs or get injured playing baseball?"
“I wish. He would have been far better off.” Ray replied, pushing the large, square button labeled mocha grande. “Apparently, he pissed off some gang leader named Butch McGuire, and the kid gave him a thorough ass-kicking.”
“A thorough ass-kicking? George raised a single eyebrow. “What exactly did Butch do to Paul?”
“Well. According to Phillip,” Ray began while reaching to get his coffee. “… not only did Butch do a serious number on Paul’s face and abdomen, just for the heck of it; he deliberately stomped the kid’s sternum – the part that lies directly over his heart.”
“Oh my gawd!” George replied, almost dropping the soda in his hand. “And Paul’s still alive?”
“Just barely.”
George stared at Ray and shook his head in disbelief, then the two of them began to walk in the direction of Ray’s office.
“I imagine Paul will have to be shipped to Duke,” Ray stated matter-of-factly. “It’s the only hospital I’m aware near Burlington who’s designed to handle this type of injury.”
“No doubt. Have you already told Tom about this?” George asked as they arrived in front of Ray’s doorway.
“No. Not yet. How do you tell your boss that the main developer of the game you were planning to steal just got a substantial ass-kicking and might not survive?”
George rose his palms in a way that clearly expressed he didn’t know.
*****
Stepping into his office a few seconds later, Ray stopped to take a sip of his coffee before grabbing the phone and punching Mike’s extension. “Hi, Mike. This is Ray. Would you mind stopping by my office? Something’s come up that we genuinely need to discuss.”
“Is it absolutely critical, Ray? I’m extremely busy at the moment.”
“I’d say it’s definitely important, Mike,” Ray replied. “It’s seems like Operation Chicken Hawk might soon be turning into what we’ll have to call Operation Dead Duck.”
“Operation Dead Duck?” Mike hesitated. “What in the world are you talking about Ray? … Never mind, don’t tell me over the phone. It might not be secure. I’ll meet you in a few.”
*****
“Let’s step outside and take a short walk,” Ray suggested the minute Mike appeared inside his doorway. “Out there, there’s a smaller chance we’ll be interrupted or overheard.”
“Is what you need to tell me that bad, Ray?”
Ray nodded and the two of them quietly proceeded down the hallway. However, before they could pass through the building’s smoked glass entranceway which faced the west side of the Appalachian Mountains, a black Cadillac limousine came to a halt in the semi-circle driveway in front of them.
“Ray. Mike,” Tom cheerfully said, greeting them as he exited the Limo’s rear door. “What are you two doing here? Stepping out to get a breath of fresh air? The weather does tend to be beautiful this time of year. Isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir. Today is nice,” Ray replied, taking in the view. “But unfortunately, these clear skies aren’t going to last. Tomorrow’s forecast is calling for a few storms.”
Tom stopped and gazed at the clouds above him. “Oh? Well hopefully we won’t get any twisters like those that recently hit the Midwest. That was quite a messy business. In fact, a few innocent people even died.”
“Yes. That they did,” Ray said as both, he and Mike gave their boss an insincere smile.
*****
“So what exactly has got you riled?” Mike asked minutes later, after they had followed the company’s exercise path into a natural wooded setting.
Ray stopped to stare at the upper limbs of an oak tree. And just before he responded to Mike’s question, a black crow passed directly above and deposited a lengthy smelly streak down the front of his shirt.
Mike instantly started to laugh while Ray gazed down the front of himself and began to demonstrate his extensive knowledge of profane declaratives.
“So. Do you think Tim and Daniel will be able to finish the game without Paul’s help?” Mike continued, moments later. “If they can’t, then Operation Chicken Hawk is as good as dead.”
Mike paused to take a plug of tobacco out of the can in his pocket and placed it in his mouth. “Well. It all depends. If the main modules of the Club’s game are already completed, I doubt if Tim would run into any problems. However, if they not, then we’re in deep trouble. Paul has always done the programming for all complex items, and without him there, I’m not sure Tim has the necessary skills to do it - even with Daniel’s help.”
“But I always thought Tim was just as good of a programmer as Paul.”
Mike shook his head no. “No. Not when it comes to the integration of complex three-dimensional graphics. … I’ve only seen a small number of coders that have the natural knack Paul appears to have been born with.”
“So. Are we going to let Tom know about this?” Ray asked as they turned to head back.
Mike raised his hand to his lips. “No. Not right now. Let’s deliberately wait a while. We first need to have Phillip steal a copy of the game, so we can figure out exactly what developmental stage it’s currently in. … Not to mention, we need to know if Paul is going to survive or not.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Mike frowned at the thought. “Then we’re facing one extremely serious situation.”