The Arranger

by L. J. Sellers

  She tapped the wall around the door, hoping to trigger a response. Nothing. Desperate, she ran back to the wall where she’d crawled out of the tunnel, then turned and charged for the door again. As she hit the same spot on the floor, the pocket door zipped open. Lara dove through, tucking and rolling to minimize the impact. The door slammed shut behind her.

  She sat for a moment, taking in the new arena and catching her breath. Kirsten was nowhere to be seen, but the realization gave her little comfort. The arena contained another pit of water. This one was smaller and featured a massive wall across the middle that rose ten feet out of the blackness. Too high to go over, the competitors would have to go through it. Lara’s gut tightened at the thought of swimming through an underwater tunnel. Sadistic! She’d trained in the pool at the Y and even done some ocean swimming, but she was no Navy SEAL.

  Pushing to her feet, Lara appreciated her poly-blend bodysuit and water-sport Keens. She hustled to the edge of the fake-concrete pit and dove in. The chill of the water stunned her and she lost her focus for a moment. As she surfaced, a giant wave sent her tumbling back to the edge. The waterline, a foot below the surrounding floor, gave her nothing to cling to. Another wave slammed her into the pit wall. Hell! How was she supposed to cross this turbulence?

  Lara heard the door slide open and turned to see Kirsten run through. Damn. She’d lost her lead and suspected the viewers had penalized her for being out front.

  Lara pushed off the wall with both feet, swimming with an aggressive overhand crawl. No waves came at her and she made good time getting to the obstruction in the middle. She sucked in a deep breath and dove under water, looking for a tunnel to swim through. The dark water against the dark gray wall made it difficult to see and she had no idea how deep the pit was. Holding her breath, she swam back and forth along the middle of the obstruction, finding no opening. Her lungs started to burn and she felt lightheaded, so she swam hard toward the light above. She burst through the surface and gulped in air. It would take forever to search the entire wall, Lara realized. The discouraging thought affected her body and she felt the first sign of real fatigue.

  It couldn’t be that hard, she mentally countered, treading water and trying to revive her spirit. Kirsten splashed through the water behind her, so Lara dove again, heading to the left and deeper this time.

  To her surprise, Kirsten followed. Lara felt the big woman’s looming presence in the dark water like a shark coming after her. About ten feet away and another two feet down, Lara spotted the edge of a round shape in the wall. The pass-through tunnel!

  Knowing she didn’t have enough air to reach the opening and swim through it, however damn long it was, Lara surfaced again. She swam to the left, aiming to position herself parallel with the opening. Kirsten followed so close, her hands banged into Lara’s feet as they swam.

  Lara dove for the underwater tunnel. As she reached the opening, nearly five feet across, long fingers wrapped around her right ankle and pulled her back. Lara kicked free, but Kirsten grabbed her hair. As Kirsten dragged her down, lights suddenly came on underwater.

  Kirsten let go and Lara struggled to the surface, lungs burning with the need for oxygen. Her competitor surfaced too, a few feet closer to the center wall. Gulping air and treading water, Lara tried to assess her situation. Kirsten was bigger and a more powerful swimmer, and Lara no longer trusted her to compete fairly. She hoped the judges would disqualify her competitor, but they may not have seen the grab. Going into the underwater tunnel with Kirsten now seemed dangerous. She was screwed.

  Lara watched as Kirsten dove underwater. She decided to follow at a safe distance and hope to make up the time in the next component, if there was one. As she started to dive, Lara heard a loud sucking sound. She quickly resurfaced and saw the right half of the wall disappear under the water. Holy shit. The viewers had given her a break.

  Lara swam across the area where the thick barrier had been, wondering what would happen if the wall suddenly rose again. As she visualized it happening, she felt the water gush out from under her. The barrier surfaced, catching her prone as it shot into the air. She stayed down until the ride came to a stop. Now she was perched on top of the wall, ten feet in the air. She scrambled to her feet and sprinted a few yards across the top of the barrier before it could recede.

  On the other side, more dark water stretched out in another hundred-foot section of the pit, but it looked like a straight swim. Just as she was about to jump, Kirsten bobbed to the surface on her left. Lara changed her mind and dove, knowing she would need every extra second.

  She hit the water with a sting, but came up swimming. Her opponent was a few feet back, but gaining. Suddenly, rubber balls in all sizes bombarded her, riding the waves. Lara kept her head down, dodging what she could and letting the rest bounce off. She had no idea where Kirsten was or how far she was from the edge of the pit. Lara just kept stroking hard and wishing it to be over.

  She broke through the last wave of balls and saw the edge. If a ladder existed to help her out, she didn’t see it and didn’t waste time looking. Lara reached up for the edge, a foot above the waterline, and hooked a few fingers over. She lifted herself enough to swing her other arm to the ledge. Years of painful pull-ups and hours at the rock climbing gym paid off and she hauled herself out of the water.

  Lara glanced over to see Kirsten struggling, and failing, to climb out. She bolted for the door, and it opened with ease to let her through. On the other side, Minda and her camera crew were waiting to interview the winner.

  Chapter 10

  Six and a half months earlier: Thurs., Nov. 17

  Paul finished his VEx workout, which he’d added ten minutes to, then hurried to the bathroom to check his weight. Lilly followed, sensing his excitement. Paul stepped on the scale. Down another pound! The MetaboSlim diet pills he’d bought online were really working. He lifted his shirt and gazed at his bare stomach.

  “Look at that, Lilly. My muscles are starting to show.” A shiver of pleasure surged through this torso. “Wait ’til I get my new nose to go with my new body. You won’t even recognize me.” Now that he had the money, he’d made an appointment and asked for the time off. He planned to buy several money orders to pay for the procedure. His own bank would never see the cash.

  Another thought sent him scurrying for the shower. Tonight he would meet Camille for drinks. He’d gone ahead and bought a ticket to the Transitions fundraiser, so he’d have an excuse to dress up for Camille and somewhere to go after their date. He wanted Camille to think of him as a social man about town, someone she would want to be seen with. The banquet would also give him an opportunity to chat with Thaddeus Morton again. If he could arrange to get Camille on Morton’s replacement list, she’d be grateful and see him in a new way.

  As Paul dressed for work, a dark thought threatened to ruin his mood. Today he also had to start his campaign to get Janel Roberts fired. He’d planned his strategy, but put it off because it was distasteful to him. Now it was time. Rathmore expected results, and Paul needed the rest of the money.

  “You’re early today, Mr. Madsen.” The security guard nodded but didn’t call him aside.

  “I’ve got some things to catch up on.” He tried to smile, but didn’t pull it off. It bothered him that she noticed he was early. Paul didn’t want anything about his behavior to attract attention. He’d come at seventy-thirty so he could hack into Janel Roberts’ message center on his own time, but not in his own workspace. He headed for the elevator, his oatmeal heavy in his stomach.

  Paul slipped into the guest office on the second floor and used the NetCom to craft a text, which he’d thought about in detail and had memorized. The recipient was Janel Roberts’ boss—Jay Brewer, Director of Health and Human Services and a married man. The message was coded to read as though it had been sent from Janel’s message center. Paul used subtle language, but in essence the subtext said: I need more autonomy and I’m willing to have sex with you to get it. He scheduled
the message to send later that morning and slipped back out into the empty hall. The phony text was just the first step. He had a more direct and dangerous mission planned for that evening.

  Two meetings and a monthly maintenance purge of the payroll database kept Paul busy all day, and he managed to keep his personal plans out of his thoughts until quitting time. On the bus ride home, he fidgeted so much the older woman sitting next to him moved. What if Camille stood him up? She hadn’t mentioned their date when they’d brushed arms leaving the afternoon meeting. Paul let himself think about Camille because it was less nerve-wracking than dwelling on his plans for the middle of the night.

  At home, he ate a quick microwave meal, showered again, and dressed in a dark gray suit with a maroon tie. Men’s business fashion hadn’t changed in a hundred years and that was fine with him. It was one less thing to screw up.

  The hotel lounge was dark and quiet with soft seats and even softer music. Paul found a table near the entrance, so Camille would see him as she walked in. He ordered a gin and tonic, something his foster mother would drink, and tried to look casual.

  At 6:40, Paul accepted that Camille wasn’t coming. He should have known. He downed half his drink and stood to leave for the banquet upstairs. As he reached for his IDB card, Camille walked up. She wore a slim-fitting dress that matched his maroon tie and her blonde hair was piled on top of her head, making her seem even taller. Her beauty soothed his crushed heart.

  “Hi Paul. Sorry I’m late. There was a multiple shooting near Dupont Circle, and the police rerouted traffic. It was a nightmare.”

  Paul was so happy to see her, so mesmerized by her long exposed neck and cleavage, he barely registered her excuse. “I’m glad you’re here. Can I buy you a drink?”

  “Sure. I’ll have a glass of chardonnay.”

  She slipped into a chair and Paul signaled the cocktail server. After the young man took the order, Paul checked his iCom. The banquet started in seventeen minutes. He opened his mouth to speak and realized he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t exactly share what he’d been up to lately.

  “That meeting sure went long today,” he said, with an accompanying eye roll. “I couldn’t believe Stacia read every line of that memo to us.”

  Camille touched the back of his hand. “Let’s not talk about work.”

  Paul flushed, feeling foolish, but forced himself to rebound. “What do you have planned for the weekend?”

  “The theater with some friends. Maybe some shopping.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Paul lied.

  “What are you up to this weekend?”

  “Uh.” Paul kicked himself for not preparing better. “I plan to get in a workout or two and catch up on my reading.” He sounded boring even to himself.

  Her eyes sparked with interest though. “What kind of workout do you do?”

  Should he admit he used a VEx? “I jog sometimes.” He had last week, anyway, while chasing a dog.

  “I like to stop at the gym and use the elliptical machine.” Camille pulled in her already flat stomach. “The weather is too unpredictable for me to spend much time outside.”

  The cocktail server brought the glass of wine and processed Paul’s card with a small handheld device. When he left, Camille asked, “Are you planning to socialize with Thaddeus Morton this evening?”

  “I’ll try, but I’m sure he’ll have plenty of people wanting to see him after his talk.”

  “He’s a popular man.” Camille touched Paul’s hand again. “I’d love to work for him on the Gauntlet. It would be so much more interesting that HR.”

  “But it’s only seasonal work.”

  “The director’s job is full-time.” Camille sipped her wine, leaving a hint of maroon lipstick on the glass.

  “Do you watch the competition?” Paul asked, not sure what else to say.

  She seemed surprised. “Of course. It’s like the Olympics, only intense and entertaining.” She smiled. “And viewers get to participate. Although sometimes I think we all just cancel each other out.”

  “That’s why I rarely vote. I don’t trust the system.”

  “Will you introduce me to the commissioner?” Camille asked, standing to give him another look at her body.

  “Now?”

  “Why not? I’m sure he’s in the meeting room now, schmoozing with the attendees.”

  “Okay.” Paul was rattled but refused to let it show. He finished his drink, grinned stupidly, and said, “I’m ready.”

  They didn’t catch up with Morton until it was nearly time for the program to start. Paul had been practicing what to say since they left the lounge, but as they made their way through the rows of tables to where the commissioner stood, his heart started to pound and the words left him. This would not go well, Paul thought, as they stepped up and stood awkwardly while the commissioner chatted with a stylish silver-haired woman about the foster care system.

  After a moment, Morton looked over. “Yes?”

  Paul noticed he hadn’t offered a handshake so he nodded. “Paul Madsen. I’m a bronze supporter of Transitions. We met at a fundraiser last year.” Morton nodded back, but showed no recognition. Paul was not surprised. People never remembered him. “I assisted with the auction.” His pitch suddenly came back to him so Paul went right into it. “This is my friend and co-worker Camille Waterson. She admires your accomplishments as employment commissioner, particularly the way you’ve brought business and government together.”

  Morton turned to Camille and gave her a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you. What do you think of the prison reform legislation? I wrote the bill.”

  “It doesn’t go far enough.” Camille stepped closer to the commissioner, forcing the silver-haired woman to ease away. “But I’m more interested in the new level of grant money this year for the Gauntlet. Very impressive.”

  “AmGo has been a terrific partner. Twenty-five thousand people are now employed as a result of the last two grant competitions.”

  “I’d love to work on the Gauntlet if you ever have an opening.” Camille slipped a business card into Morton’s hand.

  “Where do you work now?”

  “Federal human resources, but I have a background in public relations and broadcasting.”

  “I’ll keep you in mind.” The commissioner brought his hands together. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a speech to give.” He abruptly walked away.

  Camille touched Paul’s shoulder. “Thank you. I think that went well. See you Monday.”

  And his date was over.

  Paul found a seat at a table near the back with a small group of women. Three seats were empty and he realized the banquet had not sold out. It was disappointing how few people cared about foster children, especially once they were older. When the kids reached eighteen and the small government checks stopped coming, many foster parents kicked out their charges with no resources and no support. It was brutal treatment for teenagers who already struggled with a lack of life skills. Paul had been lucky. His foster mother had let him stay through college and treated him like a real son. Now he paid Isabel paid back with monthly checks to supplement her social security, which was no longer adjusted for inflation. Paul realized he hadn’t talked to Isabel in a week or so. He would message her tomorrow.

  Paul’s alarm went off at 3:30 a.m. He sat up, confused by the lack of light. He remembered his mission and his pulse quickened. He still had little faith he would actually follow through, but he intended to try.

  He dressed all in black and grabbed a small screwdriver from the junk drawer in the kitchen. Not sure if he would bother to wear them, Paul tossed his wig and fake mustache into his backpack. He wondered what he was forgetting, what he’d hadn’t planned for. It seemed like such a simple task.

  Paul grabbed a coat and hat, told Lilly to behave herself, and took the stairs down to the garage. He’d taken his little Toyota out two days ago to scope out Janel Roberts’ home situation and again earlier that evening to attend the
banquet—just in case things went well with Camille. But those were the only two trips he’d made this month. He’d quit driving to work years ago when gas prices topped eight dollars a gallon and had adjusted to the inconvenience.

  His anxiety mounted all the way across town. Rain fell in gusty deluges against his windshield, and there was so little traffic he felt conspicuous to be on the road. As soon as he entered the Crestwood neighborhood, a calm sense of determination settled over him. He could do this. He parked on the street near Janel’s house, eyeing her five-year-old Tiguan in the driveway. The neighborhood was so dark and quiet, Paul didn’t bother pulling on his wig. The rain slacked off, giving him further confidence. He called on his long-dead brother for courage and bolted from the car. His plan was to move fast and get it over with, rather than worrying about being quiet or sneaky.

  He hurried down the sidewalk and squatted near the Tiguan’s back left tire. After removing the cap, Paul pressed the screwdriver against the stem and let out most of the air. He stepped quickly to the other back tire and sabotaged it as well. He didn’t want Janel to simply throw on a spare and be on her way to work. She needed to be late. She was already on the edge for missing too many workdays and coming in tardy too often. One more late day, plus the sexually-implicit text to her boss would likely put an end to her federal employment. Paul still had to push Rathmore to the top of the hiring process, but he had an idea for that too.

  A dog barked loudly next door, startling him. He jumped to his feet and sprinted for his car, even though he’d coached himself not to run because it looked suspicious. As he climbed in, someone yelled at the dog to be quiet. Paul started his car and drove away, thinking he should find a way to help Janel after she got fired.

  Chapter 11

  “Did you hear?” Camille said, sliding into Paul’s office. “Janel Roberts, the director of planning at HHS, resigned Friday.” His co-worker took a seat and Paul lost sight of her long legs.