by G. K. Parks
“I knew you could handle it,” he said in an almost reverent tone.
“What would have happened if I cut that guy’s throat? Or thrown the knife at Jeffrey? Stabbed someone in the femoral artery?” My volume remained low, but I was still rather irate.
“That’s not you. That’s not how you work, and that’s not the way I trained you,” he said, as if this were explanation enough, but he spoke the truth. I didn’t like lethal force unless it was absolutely necessary. Taking a life was not something I wanted to do if it could be avoided.
“Next time, I’ll just stab you with the knife and let the attackers deal with your howls of pain while I escape out the back,” I retorted.
“At least you’ve already come up with a plan for next time.” He grinned, but the serious demeanor quickly returned. “Does that mean there’s going to be a next time? Are you taking this job?” I looked him directly in the eyes. “James needs you on this. Honestly, I don’t know if he’ll make it without you. I’m moonlighting as much as I can, but you know how it goes.”
I gritted my teeth, doing my best to stop any response from coming out of my mouth because I didn’t want to say yes, but I wasn’t sure I could say no to Mark. I owed him a lot. Despite all the shit he just put me through, he was always on the level when it counted.
“What is he to you?” I asked.
Mark got a far off look in his eye, as if he were seeing somewhere else entirely. “Let’s just say I owe him my ass. When I needed an escape route, he provided one, even when our own guys couldn’t.” He swallowed uneasily. That was not the answer I was looking for, but now wasn’t the right time to press the matter. If James Martin had Mark’s back, it would have to be enough for me.
Over Mark’s shoulder, I caught sight of Martin approaching the entrance. “We’ll see about the job,” I said, locking eyes with Martin.
Four
Martin slowly approached us. I would like to believe he was afraid I’d attack him. Realistically, he was probably trying to make sure he didn’t trip on the glass pebbles scattered about. In his left hand, he held a drink, and in his right, he carried my purse. In all the commotion, I completely forgot about it. Clearly, I’m not the girly girl type.
“I thought you could use this,” he said, stepping out the front door. I reached for my purse, but he put the drink in my hand. I looked at him confused. “The drink, not the bag. Although, I guess you’d probably like to have this back too.” I took my purse and then the offered drink, downed it in one gulp, and handed him the empty glass. “Nice,” he said appreciatively. He looked at Mark. “Are we all settled here?”
I interrupted. “First, I would like an apology. Second, I hope this never happens again because frankly, given your problems, you can’t afford to be the boy who cried wolf.” It was his turn to interrupt.
“Fair enough. I’m sorry for the charade, Alex. But honestly, how could I have seen your actual field reaction if you had known what was going to happen? Think of it as a pop quiz. I believe you got an A.” He attempted a charming smile, but I remained impassive. He looked to Mark for help, but Mark kept his mouth shut. “Fine. What can I do to fix this? You want a raise? We haven’t even discussed your salary yet, so that might be a bit premature. You don’t even know how much you’re making, anyway.”
“I never agreed to take the job, Mr. Martin.”
“Please, it’s James.” The damn smile appeared again.
“Mr. Martin,” I emphasized, “I would appreciate some honesty. I need to know exactly what it is you expect, and what it is you need. Mark is going to help you explain it.” I looked at Mark; obviously, he was wrong to think he was in the clear. “Then afterward, we can discuss if I’d be willing to help you with said problems.” I paused, looking sternly at both men, but before I could continue, my stomach growled audibly.
“How about we get some actual dinner and then discuss things?” Martin’s grin was gone, replaced by something real. He was no longer the smooth-talking businessman or the perpetual showman but an actual person dealing with a crisis.
“Okay. We’ll try this again, but this is it. Everything better be on the level from here on out. I’m not doing this anymore.” I gestured to the destroyed building.
“You got it,” he promised, waving for the driver to bring the car around.
* * *
On our way to Martin’s compound, we stopped at a drive-thru for cheeseburgers, fries, and colas. Despite Martin’s affluence, he seemed very down to earth devouring his fast food directly from the brown paper bag. I was in no position to criticize; I licked the sauce off the wrapper when I finished eating. Shooting fake gunmen definitely increased my appetite. Hopefully, this wouldn’t be an everyday occurrence, or I’d have to go on a strict diet in a few weeks.
The three of us settled into Martin’s home office to discuss the threats leveled against him. I was trying to hash out the finer points on how my new job was supposed to investigate and remedy the situation, but little progress had yet to be made.
Martin had received half a dozen threatening letters that Mark had taken to the OIO to run for prints and DNA to see if the sender could be identified through forensic means. This turned out to be fruitless. Along with these death threats, Martin also received some menacing phone calls. A kidnapping attempt had occurred a few weeks back when he was on his way home from the office, and soon after, there had been some low-level sabotage at his manufacturing plant.
“Who have you pissed off lately?” I asked, skimming the file Mark had comprised.
“Besides you?” Martin asked innocently, and I gave him a look.
“Yes. Besides me.” My tone conveyed annoyance, but he ignored it.
“No one really stands out. People are always pissed about something though. I develop a new eco-friendly product, and my less eco-friendly competitors take issue. If I win a government or private contract over a competitor, I make an enemy. But this is just the nature of business. It shouldn’t be a matter of life or death.”
“Money rules everything,” Mark piped up. “You know this, Marty. You’ve been on the other side of this before. Hell, look at all those Wall Street types who took a header out the window when the market crashed. Sometimes people can’t see the forest for the trees, or sometimes they feel there isn’t anything else they can do. Greed, it’s all-consuming.”
Martin nodded, but his mind was elsewhere.
“Anyone on a personal level you’ve screwed?” I inquired. “Not just literally, figuratively too, in case you needed some clarification.”
“Well, I don’t think there were any displeased parties,” he scratched his head, “definitely not in the literal sense, anyway.”
“Look, if you aren’t going to cooperate, it’s going to make it difficult to figure out who’s got it in for you.” I was getting agitated with his less than helpful responses.
Mark tried to break the tension. “I’m going to get a drink, anyone else?”
“Ooh, I’ve got a bottle of champagne I’ve been saving for just the right occasion. I think we should toast to Alex’s new job.” Martin went to retrieve three champagne flutes and the bottle, and I looked at Mark.
“Really, you think that’s helpful?” I asked sarcastically. This night had been one irritation after another, and I was tired of it all. I didn’t think adding more alcohol to the mix would improve our productivity. It was like pulling teeth to try to get a straight answer out of Martin, let alone the fact we had yet to even discuss exactly what it was he wanted me to do.
Earlier, it was decided it’d be best to first figure out where the threats were focused and then determine the best way to improve his security, instead of defining my job role and then discussing his problem. However, there had been minimal helpful discussions about anything so far.
Mark shrugged. “Look, I’ve been talking to Marty about this situation since it began five weeks ago. It started with a letter, which isn’t at all uncommon, and then it began to escalate.
The kidnapping attempt two weeks ago was a high point, and when that failed, there was the sabotage at his plant. It seems business related, but as we both know, not everyone can separate business from personal.”
“So, we have to check everything out,” I concluded.
“Okay, Jabber’s made up a file of all the relevant information I think you’ll need,” Martin said, pouring champagne into a flute and handing it to me.
I placed the glass on the table and reached for the file instead. While I read, Martin finished pouring and settled onto the couch. Thankfully, he remained quiet as I perused the notes. “Okay.” It had been about ten minutes, but I was caught up. Mark and Martin were on their second glass of champagne at this point. “What exactly do you want me to do?”
“Well, you could start by tasting the champagne.” Martin eyed my untouched glass.
“Bubbles freak me out.” Sarcasm was just as good a response as any. “What is it you want from your security consultant?” I tried again.
“Do you think I need a security consultant?” he asked seriously, and I stared at him as if he had just grown a third arm. “I mean, do I need you to consult, or do I need something more?”
I rubbed my eyes. Could he really be this irksome and unstable? “As a consultant, I can recommend improvements to your current security measures, what works, what doesn’t. I thought that was something your Board of Supervisors required.”
“Yes and no. They want my personal security updated,” he corrected.
“As a security consultant, I can make recommendations to your home security system and personal activities. What else would you need?”
He grinned. If something cheeky came out of his mouth, I would throw my champagne in his face, but he surprised me. “I think an undercover spy or… a mole… or I don’t know… something along those lines would be helpful, especially at work.” He had watched one too many bad spy movies.
“That might be a good idea,” Mark said.
“It won’t work,” I told them. “At least it won’t work if it’s me. People at Martin Tech know I interviewed for a security job. Just think about the twenty-something people at the restaurant tonight. With water cooler gossip, it’s not a practical idea. You can hire someone else for that purpose, but it has to be kept quiet. No one can know anything about it, and the hiring would need to be under the guise of new office assistant or something similarly innocuous.”
“Good point,” Mark agreed. “Maybe it’s something to consider though. You could always add another person to the mix, Marty.”
Martin shook his head. “No. It took long enough to find Alex. We’ll stick with her for now.” He turned to me. “You can start tomorrow. Come in, get acquainted with people, and see how things work. I’ll get you set up as a new consultant, office and everything. I’ll leave out the security part and make sure you have access to everything from passwords to the employee lounge, and you can start recommending what needs to be fixed or better ways to make the office safer.”
“Okay.” We were finally getting somewhere.
Martin held up his hand before I could say anything else. “All the,” he paused, searching for the right word, “attacks have been office related. My guess is this is where you’ll need to start. After you get comfortable there, we’ll expand, and you can start checking out my security here. Maybe see how to improve things. Think you can handle it?”
“Yes, sir. I believe I can.” Apparently, my formal OIO training had a bad habit of kicking in at the oddest times.
“Good. Very good.” He picked up his champagne flute. “Congratulations on your new job, Miss Parker,” he toasted, and I relented and clinked my glass against his.
“Remember, we still need to discuss my salary. Didn’t you mention something about a raise?” I quipped, and he got a slightly devilish glint in his eye.
Mark stood up. “I think this is my cue to leave.” He gave me a quick hug. “Keep in mind, greed is bad. We discussed it earlier.”
“Yeah, and setting up your old friend in a fake crisis situation is worse.”
“Marty, it’s been fun. Is Marcal still on duty? Figured I could use a lift back to my car.”
“No, I let him go home after he dropped us off. Just take the Jag. I’ll send someone to pick it up tomorrow.” Martin pointed to a set of car keys sitting on the kitchen counter.
Mark thanked him and grabbed the keys. “Always a pleasure,” he said to no one in particular and walked out the door.
“You got a second spare car you’re going to lend me for the night?” I asked, and he grinned.
“Why? You don’t want to stay? I’ll cook breakfast in the morning, and I make a killer omelet.”
I ignored him. That was one thing I was learning quickly, not to take his teasing, retorts, or double entendres seriously.
He seemed saddened by the lack of verbal sparring, but he continued back on topic. “Okay, I’ll pay you this. Half to start and the other half when the job is over.” He wrote down a number and slid the paper across the coffee table. “And when you figure out and stop whoever is behind this misery I’ve been subjected to, I’ll give you a five thousand dollar bonus.”
“Really? Your life is only worth five grand?”
“Remember, greed is not good, despite what movies might want us to think.”
“Says the millionaire in the room.” I picked up the paper. Holy shit, those were quite a few zeroes. Hopefully, my eyes didn’t reflect my amazement. He assessed me carefully, perhaps suspecting I would faint or rip my clothes off at his generous offer. I somehow managed to resist doing either. “How long do you think this will take?” Was payment supposed to be for a year or a week’s worth of work?
“I don’t know. Mark thinks you’re good at this sort of thing, so I wouldn’t imagine too long. At least, I hope not. I’d like to get back to my life without looking over my shoulder. Although, I wouldn’t mind having you around for quite some time.” He was being somewhat lecherous, but I chose to overlook it.
“To the new job.” We clinked our glasses together again.
Five
I was dressed and drinking a cup of coffee at my kitchen counter. I looked at the clock on the microwave. The only seven o’clock that should exist ought to be followed by a p.m. It had been a while since I had a job and an even longer while since I had one that required being up in the morning. This would take some getting used to. Good thing someone at some point had decided to run boiling water over processed beans to create a liquid of the gods. I took another sip.
“Let’s kick some ass,” I said to my empty kitchen, trying to psych myself up for the day. I poured the rest of my coffee into a travel mug, grabbed my belongings, and headed out the door. The drive to the MT building didn’t take quite as long as I thought it would, and I ended up arriving a little early.
“Good morning,” Jeffrey greeted.
I wanted to downplay the events of last night as much as possible. “Hello,” I mumbled, looking around. No one else was nearby. The other security guards were nowhere to be seen. “Do you think we can just not mention yesterday?” I asked, and he agreed.
“Let’s get you set up with your permanent security pass.” He pointed to a chair behind which was a generic blue screen, reminiscent of the DMV. I sat down. “Smile,” he urged, clicking the shutter on the camera, and my picture instantly appeared on a computer monitor. “Look good?”
I glanced at it. “Sure.” It didn’t matter since it was only for a security pass.
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” He gestured for another one of the security guards to watch the front door while he went to a small office at the back of the lobby. He entered a number on the keypad and walked into the room. A few minutes later, he returned with my freshly minted ID. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” I was about to ask if he had any instructions on where I was supposed to go when a familiar voice sounded from behind.
“Ms. Parker, right this way.” The voice belonge
d to the assistant, Mrs. Griffin, whom I had met yesterday. We went to the elevator banks, and she pressed the button. “Mr. Martin is waiting for you in his office.”
We rode up in silence, and she walked me to his door and knocked, which seemed a little ridiculous since his office was a large and spacious room with a glass wall. He had already seen us coming down the hallway.
“Enter,” Martin replied. She opened the door and held it for me. “Thank you, Mrs. Griffin. That will be all.” She turned and disappeared down the hallway.
“Nice office. But it doesn’t really go with the greed isn’t good theory, though,” I remarked, surveying the room.
He smirked. “No, but you have to admit, it does buy some nice things.” He hit a button on his desk, as if to demonstrate, and the clear glass windows turned opaque.
“Recommendation number one, a glass office is asking for a bullet to the brain.”
He seemed to take it under consideration for a moment. “Good thing I had them upgrade to bullet-resistant glass.” There was a wet bar in the back corner, a nice view of the city from his floor to ceiling windows, a large mahogany desk complete with computer and other work essentials, a few plush leather couches and mahogany end tables scattered about, and a private lavatory. “Do you like the title they put on your badge?” He pointed to the pass clipped to my suit jacket. I hadn’t even bothered to look, so I unclipped it and read my name followed by the words private consultant. “I thought it would probably be a better idea. This way, no one has to know what you’re consulting on. Maybe you can blend in better. Make it up as you go along. That sort of thing.”
“Good idea. You might also want to suggest to anyone you had at the restaurant last night to keep their mouths shut.” I thought about Jeffrey.
“Not to worry, it’s already done.” He glanced at his watch. “I’ll show you to your office, so you can settle in and get the hang of things around here. If you need anything, just ask Mrs. Griffin.” He hit the button, and the opaque glass returned to clear. He held the door for me, and I followed him down the hall and into the next office over. “Here we go.” He opened the door. This office was less than half the size of his with a basic desk, table, and small couch set in the corner.
