Carol left her office early, informing the receptionist that she wasn’t feeling well. That was not really too much of a stretch from the truth. Every confusing encounter at work was leaving her more and more sick at heart. She had spent the afternoon in a managers’ massacre meeting. The organization was getting ready to open a central crisis unit. The primary function of this department was to accept all incoming crisis and new patient calls, determine the appropriate pathway, and input the information into their new computer system. Each center was required to provide one volunteer to run the new unit. No one who was qualified was crazy enough to do that, and so now came the crucial moment when the center would “help” volunteer someone.
Carol sat and watched, mesmerized, as the entire management group quickly came to the same conclusion simultaneously. Vicky Manson was to be the sacrificial lamb. Carol couldn't believe what she was hearing. Vicky was one of their best counselors. She was caring and hard working. It was as if this was not the first meeting on this subject. Their conclusion was too rapid and too decisive. Carol was sure she had missed something.
She began to raise an objection, questioning the process of this decision.
Spears immediately cut her off by saying,
"Okay, sounds like we have a winner," and with that, the meeting was over. Carol wandered back to her office in a daze. They had just guaranteed Vicky's resignation. No one that good would quietly go sit in front of a phone and a computer screen every day. Carol had always prided herself on her intuitiveness, but lately, nothing was making any sense. It was as if a force beyond her control was at the wheel and despite all her efforts to reclaim it, the momentum continued to pull her and everyone else further off the road.
Carol pulled into the drug store parking lot and made her way inside. Handing her prescription to the pharmacist, she began to feel some semblance of calm returning. The man took Carol’s note from the doctor and told her it would be about ten minutes. Carol simply nodded.
Sitting in the small waiting area, she ran over the past few weeks’ events in her mind. Had she been out of line with the lazy co-worker who refused to complete the crisis call the other day? Was there some logic to Vicky's job transfer that Carol could not see? Carol was no longer able to be objective. It was a world gone mad. When the rights of lazy staff were strenuously defended and hard workers were sent into exile, then the laws of physics had ceased to exist, and this was becoming a group effort.
Carol didn’t think she was being paranoid, but her words were continually being twisted and motivation misconstrued. And the one constant in the equation was an on-going deterioration of her credibility. Who was benefiting from this the most? Carol was pondering this question, when she heard her name called.
“Ninety five dollars," the pharmacist stated. Carol just looked at the man in amazement. “Your insurance doesn’t pay for name brands and there is no current generic for Valipene. One is supposed to be released soon, though," the man offered. Carol reluctantly fished out her debit card and handed it to the pharmacist.
“Well, I hope it comes out soon," she said, feeling a little victimized, but desperate for the medication. Carol took the card and the small bag and left the store, heading home.
When she entered the house, her husband looked up from his computer screen and said, “Another great day, huh, Carol?” Carol had one of those faces that eliminated her from ever being a successful poker player. She just looked at him and sighed. “Carol," he said emphatically. “It’s not worth it. You go there day after day, and every time you come home, you look like death warmed over.”
“Josh, I’m not quitting." The debate over Carol’s job had become a daily tennis match. Where else would she go? Who would look out for her patients? How would the world continue to turn without her? The truth was that she hated to admit defeat, and this was turning into the biggest defeat of her life. She had always thought that there was no problem that did not have a solution. She just hadn’t yet figured out what that would be in this case.
“Just let me see how things go after a few decent nights’ sleep," Carol offered. Her husband of fifteen years knew better than to argue with her. She was often too obsessive and stubborn to abandon a mission until she was officially defeated. Josh just sighed loudly and returned to his computer screen.
Josh Freeman was dealing with his own dilemma. At the age of forty-five, he was still basically a ditch digger. It wasn’t that his new irrigation business was not doing well; it was just that digging in the dirt was his least favorite job. Josh had been in the dirt in some form or fashion all his life, and the substance was now his biggest nemesis. He quietly wished he had never tried to dive into self-employment, and now felt stuck in the proverbial mud.
Josh had one of those kind faces with compassionate green eyes that always seemed to be smiling. While wearing a baseball cap to hide his slightly thinning brown hair, he could pass for much younger than he was. His clean-shaven face completed the youthful appearance. Josh went back to his computer and alternative career plan.
The screen before him showed an array of charts and graphs that if evaluated accurately, had the potential to equate into mega bucks. Enough for both of them to retire from the pseudo American dream they were living. Carol’s current dilemma did not ease the pressures of this mission. Josh returned his thoughts to the stock market and tried to screen out every distraction, of which there were many.
“There is an answer in here somewhere," Josh said quietly to himself. And there was. He just hadn’t stumbled on to it yet.
Sam paced back and forth in Charles’s office and ran an annoyed hand through what little hair he had left.
“Sam, just get her into that management position,” Charles stated. “She’s no dummy. She can handle the marketing department."
“And just what am I supposed to do about the small matter of Jeff Edwards already doing that job?" Sam asked with more than a little sarcasm in his voice. Charles was not used to being questioned and just looked at Sam in amazement. Sam stopped pacing and took a deep breath. “These fires are coming faster than I can put them out," he said more calmly. Charles knew the request was unreasonable and loaded with his own hidden agenda. He decided to lend fate a helping hand.
“Sam, please sit down." Sam sat, hunched over with his chin supported by one hand and looked up at Charles with an “okay, what” expression. “Can we promote Jeff?” Charles offered. Sam let out a long flow of air and said,
“Sure, if you want to pay him more, I can promote him to anywhere.”
“Fine then. You decide where to put him and I’ll okay the money," Charles resolved. “Now, I’m late, so if there’s nothing else…?”
“Nope. Everything is peachy," Sam sighed and stood to leave. Charles watched his V.P. shuffle out of the office and made a note to himself to okay a raise for Sam as well.
Sam sat heavily down in his chair. What had started out as a fun challenge had become three-dimensional chess. Sam did not like having to manipulate so many people so many times a day. It was aging him. Well, at least he wasn’t going to have to fire a good man in the process. He had no idea what kind of marketing manager Sheila would be, but one thing was certain. She would look good doing it. Sam reached for the phone and spoke into the speaker.
“Margie, could you please ask Jeff Edwards to see me before the end of the day?"
“Sure thing. Also, while you were away from your office, a Mr. Rico called. Said you’d know what it was about."
“Thank you, Margie,” Sam said and disconnected the intercom call. He dialed and silently prayed to the blackmail god that he had no more fires to put out today. Rico answered on the first ring.
“Hey man," Rico said. “We found the girl." Sam thanked the prince of darkness, or whoever was responsible for such doings. “Her price is twenty five hundred. That okay?"
“Sure, fine," Sam said.
“So what’s our next move?" Rico asked.
“Now we contact Mr. Manning and see if he wants to... compromise."
“Okay,” Rico agreed.
“Keep me informed."
“You’ll be the first one I call," Rico said and hung up.
Rico sat silently and wondered how he was going to best present this little gem before dialing the number to the FDA. More than likely, if he told the receptionist who he was, the guy wouldn’t even take his call. Rico dialed and waited.
“Food and Drug Administration," the voice answered.
“Yeah, hi," Rico said, stalling for time. “Mr. Manning, please."
“May I tell him who’s calling?”
Rico thought for a moment and then decided to improvise.
“This is Detective Brunner, uh... he’ll know what this is about." Rico listened to the hold music and mentally worked on his presentation.
“I’m sorry, Detective, Mr. Manning is away from his desk. Can I have him call you?" Rico thought for a moment.
“Well, actually, I wanted to see him today. Do you know what might be a good time to catch him?"
“Mr. Manning can see you...” Rico heard pages turning. “…At three-thirty. Will that be okay?"
“Fine," Rico said, “thanks." That was only an hour from now. Rico would have to drive there. The Atlanta branch of the FDA office was not an easy bus commute and the building had its own off-street parking. Rico decided to use the extra time to clean up. He couldn’t very well waltz into the FDA building looking like a street thug.
David Manning was sitting in his cracker box office looking at the message his secretary had handed him on his way in. He had no idea who this detective guy was and, in light of past events, had very little trust in the validity of that name. He thought seriously about leaving early and avoiding the whole potentially bad scene, but he knew that if it was who he thought it was, he’d find him anyway. May as well just get this over with.
David Manning had been licking his wounds since his one and only indiscretion at the Blue Stallion. Although David was a semi-regular customer, the sum of his activities had always been to simply watch, and then go home and have sex with his wife. But that night was different. He really didn’t have that much to drink that night and still suspected that someone had slipped something into his beer. Three beers had never caused him to black out before. He wouldn’t know how it would affect him now. David Manning had not touched alcohol after that night. He still had to go back for his six month HIV test hopefully for a conclusive negative, and was losing sleep worrying over the outcome
Manning was Government Issue through and through. He had been with the Atlanta branch for twenty-five years and enjoyed the slow pace and the big benefit package. He had a nice house in the elite town of Dunwoody. His children, now off on their own had everything they wanted growing up and his wife had never had to work. But lately, the drug companies were getting more cutthroat and greedy. David’s recent promotion as head of Research and Review required him to grant final approval before a drug could be recommended to Washington. At the main office, there would be a final panel review, but David’s signature was the official stamp of approval. What used to be a logical process had become a circus of greedy and entitled corporation tactics.
The sound of the intercom buzzed through and made David jump slightly. David hit the button and said, “Yes?"
“Detective Brunner is here to see you, sir."
“Send him in," he answered reluctantly. When Rico entered his office, he was not at all surprised.
“Hi, Manning” Rico greeted cheerfully. Rico did not feel especially cheerful, but thought they should start out on a positive note.
“Have a seat," was all David could muster back.
Rico never conducted business on someone else’s turf. Too much of a chance for the person to record a conversation.
“Better yet," Rico said. “Let’s go for a walk. It’s a great day."
David followed Rico out the door and told his secretary that he’d be back soon.
After rounding the corner of the FDA building, Rico spent the next ten minutes outlining what shortcuts Dominex Pharmaceuticals wanted in the final test stages of their new drug and what they were prepared to do if they didn’t get it. David just walked silently listening and smoldering. He wasn’t going to dance this same dance again. “You know what?" David finally chimed in. Rico stopped walking. “I have had enough of you people. If you think you can just waltz in here every time the spirit moves you, you’re nuts.”
“Now wait, Manning."
“No waiting, and no negotiating,” David said in a louder voice. “This is it."
“It is?" Rico said, attempting to gain control. “What is it Manning?” David was tired of running and, besides, he doubted seriously he could keep cutting corners for Dominex Pharmaceuticals without getting busted eventually.
“I think it’s time my wife heard the whole truth," he said finally.
“You’re full of shit," Rico said. “You have no intention of telling her, and who do you think your wife will believe?"
It was a valid question. One that David had been over way too many times himself already.
“I guess we’ll find out who’s full of shit," David said. “Now, please excuse me. I have a legitimate business to run."
Rico watched the FDA man charge off in a huff and thought, Well that went well. Driving home, he evaluated the situation. It was the oldest and best blackmail defense. Tip the blackmailers hand and spill out its messy contents yourself; thus, problem solved. But sometimes not. It was always a gamble for the one being blackmailed. Which choice had the worst consequences? Rico pondered that question and was sure Manning was doing the same at this very moment. Was he bluffing? Rico thought he was, but the guy was really pissed. Anger sometimes is a great motivator and Rico admitted that this was a tough call. He would have to pass this on and see what they wanted to do. Sam would not be pleased. Of this much, Rico was very sure.
Sheila sat happily in the chair facing the V.P. of Operations for Dominex Pharmaceuticals, although her emotion was not conveyed outwardly. She did not allow such emotions to show when she was in her “game” mode. Sam was outlining the responsibilities of her new job function. Sheila was not listening. This first step had not taken nearly as long as she had expected it would. That “chance meeting” at the pharmaceutical convention in Palm Springs was no chance meeting. The coincidental chain of events that had led up to the eventful meeting and subsequent seduction of the CEO had been the result of a long and elaborate plan. Since that time, she continued to deliver her drug samples to doctors, pass out cookies and smile the smile of Miss Congeniality, no matter how battered her feet had become. But Sheila had only the crown in her vision and now, as far as she was concerned, she was that much closer to wearing it.
“So, your office is at the end of the hall," Sam concluded. “If you need anything, I’m sure your secretary, Janette will be able to help.”
Sam stood up and offered his hand. Sheila stood as well and accepted the conversation’s conclusion. She was eager to get situated.
“Let me know if you have any problems," Sam said.
“Thanks," said Sheila humbly and waved on her way out the door.
Sam sat staring at the vacated seat that had just had the privilege of Sheila's ass. Earlier that day, that same chair had supported a very angry former Director of Marketing. Jeff Edwards had been with the company for fifteen years. Sam could still hear his words bouncing off the office walls.
"You've got to be kidding," he had shouted. "Why are you doing this?” Sam had no easy available answer.
"Jeff," he had consoled. "You are one of the best. The Marketing Department has been doing a bang up job, but if we don't get this new drug on the market, there will be no marketing department to run.”
Jeff had always been a team player, and sat quietly digesting those words. "Alright," he conceded, “but I'm a business man, not a scientist. Why me?”
“Because," Sam interjected, “our Research and Development Department is about to become more of a business and we need someone to add that edge.” Good speech, Sam thought to himself. Actually, Sam had no idea what direction R&D was going in light of their current dilemma, but it was a good option to keep open.
"Okay," Jeff had finally sighed, openly not happy but resigned to the idea.
"Good," Sam had said, feeling more relieved than he dared show.
"Effective immediately. Oh, and did I happen to mention the raise?"
"Touché," was all Jeff had said to the added salary. "I need to go find some boxes," he said over his shoulder, and was out the door.
Sam was deep in thought when his phone startled him out of his reflections. “Sam Reynolds," he answered into the receiver.
“Sam, we have a slight problem." Sam recognized the voice and the familiar knot at the pit of his stomach.
“What’s the problem, Rico?"
“He says he’s not going for it."
“What the hell does that mean?" Sam said, getting more annoyed.
“He said he’s going to tell his wife everything," Rico explained. There was silence. “Sam," he continued. “I think he’s bluffing. It’s the standard bluff. What do you want to do?”
Sam thought a minute.
“Calling his bluff will cost us twenty five hundred dollars," Sam said, more to himself than for Rico’s benefit.
“And if he does tell his wife the whole story," Rico added, “that money won’t even buy you a hamburger."
Sam sighed loudly and began mutilating a paper clip. It wasn‘t the money that bothered Sam. Twenty five hundred dollars was an executive lunch. It was the amount of time this cat and mouse game was costing him.
“Rico,” Sam concluded. “I’ll get back to you." Sam looked at the pile of mutilated paper clips on his desk. He wondered to himself how many shots of hard liquor it would take to forget this whole day. "Not worth it," he answered himself. He would still have to deal with all this, and a hangover tomorrow. He had to take the risk. Twenty five hundred dollars was a drop in the bucket compared to the billions that Suprame represented. But mostly, Charles Roman would have cow if he heard that there was going to be a long delay.
Decisively, Sam picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number.
"Rico, go ahead with the plan."
"You got it," came the reply.
"And listen, we have to step on it, so let’s make this happen quickly."
"Got it," Rico answered, and the line went dead.
Rico pushed open the heavily tinted door of the Blue Stallion and went inside. He was momentarily mesmerized by the form up on the stage. "Excuse me," a man said, as he attempted to get around the obstacle created by Rico. Rico found an empty stool at the bar, and began looking for Ann Boniture. He had taken the pictures himself months before, and her exquisite form was burned in his memory.
The dancer finished her routine, and another took her place. Nice, Rico thought, but that’s not her. Oh, well. Rico chuckled to himself. He had had to wait for people under worse circumstances than this. Rico ordered a beer and enjoyed the choreography.
Several beers later, Rico spotted Ann on the stage. She quickly spotted him and gave him a wink.
Ann proceeded to engage the steel support beam provocatively. However, she was not thinking about the pole or what it represented. She was quietly adding twenty five hundred dollars to her savings account total. When the song ended, Ann quickly found Rico and was sitting beside him at the bar.
"Hey, you're good," Rico said, and lifted a finger towards the bar tender. "Buy you a drink?"
"Just a Sprite," Ann told the bartender and turned her attention to Rico. Rico recounted the exchange between himself and the angry FDA man.
"So, you will be calling his bluff," Rico concluded. He wrote an address down on a business card, and handed it to her. "Now give us twenty-four hours to persuade this guy to change his mind.”
"And when do I get paid?" Ann interjected.
“You only get paid if we need you, “Rico explained, “but I have a bad feeling that this guy isn't going to crumble. I'll call you with the go-ahead."
Ann reached for a blue napkin, and jotted down her number.
“Call me at home," she told Rico, as she handed him the napkin. "We have exhausted this as a meeting place."
"Hope I won't need this," Rico said, “but I think we will.”
Ann stood, picking up her glass.
“Here's to infidelity,” she toasted and walked away with her drink.