The Consultant

by Little,Bentley

  The old lady’s instructions were exceedingly easy and the resulting sandwich extremely unappetizing, but she made them repeat the steps in unison over and over again before allowing them to try and make sample sandwiches of their own. Grimacing, Craig placed a slice of white bread on a plate, put a thin slice of head cheese on the bread, spread a knifeful of liverwurst on the head cheese, then placed another slice of white bread on top before slicing the sandwich in half.

  There was no way Craig was going to eat that sandwich, but luckily it was to be accompanied by a snack-sized bag of potato chips. Since he was going to be one of the people preparing the lunches, he could probably snag himself an extra bag or two. Not much of a meal, but definitely better than that god-awful sandwich.

  Their work was inspected by Edna, who informed them that she might not be here at lunchtime and they could be on their own— which was why she was drilling the instructions into their heads.

  “Don’t think I won’t hear about it if you make them wrong,” she warned. “And if you do, the Lord will damn you to hell.” This time, she didn’t laugh, but grunted and hobbled away, leaving them to walk, bewildered, back to the dining room.

  Everyone else was already outside, gathered in the open area between the lodge and the fire pit. Robards was laying out the day’s schedule.

  “Today,” he announced, “we’re going on a wilderness expedition. It’s a character-building exercise that requires trust and cooperation. Together we will explore the local terrain while engaging in goal-oriented tasks that, believe it or not, will improve your interpersonal skills back at your office and will help you immeasurably in your everyday life.”

  Craig had sidled next to Phil. “Yeah, right,” his friend muttered.

  “You will be divided into the same groups as yesterday. Each group will be out for approximately four hours. I will take Group Two in the morning, and Group One in the afternoon. Those remaining behind will participate in a scavenger hunt. Afterward, each of you will be required to write a story incorporating the items you’ve scavenged.”

  A chorus of groans and complaints greeted the news.

  “I’m not going to do it,” Jack Razon announced.

  “That is a decision you will have to make for yourself,” Robards said, and from his tone of voice Craig understood that there would probably be repercussions for those who did not participate, particularly once the news had been reported back to Patoff.

  “I’m going to write a story about fucking his wife’s ass with the objects I find,” Phil whispered, and Craig could not help laughing. “Wait ’til he reads the pinecone scene.”

  “The scavenger hunt will be overseen by Mr. Matthews, who has agreed to help out today. He won’t be going on the hike or participating in the scavenger hunt himself, but I’ve trained him to conduct the session, and since this retreat is his baby in the first place, he knows what he wants from you.”

  The CEO nodded, although he did not look as though he was enjoying this.

  What do you think of the decision to hire consultants?

  Craig was feeling cautiously optimistic.

  Robards clapped his hands. “It’s getting late and we’d better get going. Group One, follow Mr. Matthews back to the lodge to obtain your list of scavenger items. Group Two, get yourselves some canteens or water bottles and meet me back here in five. Move out!”

  It was closer to fifteen minutes than five by the time everyone had procured enough water for the hike and Robards had checked to make sure they were all wearing appropriate footwear. He had strapped on a backpack, and they followed him up a dirt path that led up a gently sloping hill between tall pine trees and spreading manzanita bushes. The ground gradually flattened out, the trees grew thicker and more varied, and the trail disappeared under an encroaching blanket of dead leaves.

  An hour later, they stopped under a sycamore to rest for a few moments and drink from their canteens and water bottles before continuing on. Moments later, Robards stopped again. “Here’s where we leave the trail,” he announced. “Follow me.”

  He led them around an outcropping of lichen-covered rock and through a closely growing copse of bushes. “Watch out for stickers,” he said. “Those branches have thorns.”

  “Where are we going?” Elaine asked.

  “We’re looking for spoor and scat. I’m going to teach you how to locate an animal in the wild.”

  “What exactly is spoor?” Phil asked.

  “Tracks,” Robards answered simply.

  “I can guess what scat is.”

  “Droppings,” Robards responded.

  “I was going to say shit, but same difference.”

  “Keep your eyes open,” Robards said. “And trained on the ground. Do any of you see anything?”

  Parvesh Patel, who had wandered a bit off to the right, pointed. “That looks like dog poop,” he said.

  Robards walked over, motioning for everyone else to follow him. “It is, indeed.”

  “Do you think it’s a wolf?” asked Jenny Yee, nervously looking around.

  Robards touched his finger to the excrement and sniffed it. Craig looked immediately away, willing himself not to gag. Purposefully staring into the trees and focusing only on that, he heard someone making aborted retching sounds. Next to him, Phil chain spit, as though trying to get a terrible taste out of his mouth.

  “Not wolf,” Robards announced. “Dog.”

  Still not brave enough to look back, Craig heard Elaine utter a phlegmy groan of disgust. She was the one who’d almost vomited.

  “Anybody see tracks?” Robards asked.

  “There?” Parvesh said uncertainly.

  “No. There,” Robards said, and Craig finally turned around to see him pointing off to the left. Was he pointing with the same finger he’d…?

  Craig spit, the accumulating saliva in his mouth suddenly making him feel like throwing up.

  Where had he wiped off that finger? On his pants?

  He forced himself to derail that train of thought and concentrated on the dog tracks. Although he couldn’t really see them, he believed they were there, and he and the others followed Robards deeper into the woods for at least another half mile, zigzagging this way and that, steered by bent branches and disturbed leaves, until the guide stopped them with a raised hand. “There it is,” Robards whispered, pointing ahead.

  They were on a flat stretch of ground, and the dog, a Labrador obviously very far from home, was sniffing in the underbrush. The animal turned to look at them, panting happily, its tail wagging.

  Robards withdrew a handgun from an easily accessible pouch on the side of his backpack. “Who wants to take it down?” he asked.

  Craig looked around in horror at his fellow employees. They all seemed equally shocked by the suggestion, save for Parvesh who stepped forward, hand extended. “I’ll do it.”

  “Asshole,” Phil said angrily.

  “No, that’s good.” Robards smiled at Parvesh, handing him the gun, butt first. “I’m proud of you.”

  “What do I do?”

  “This is a valuable lesson.” He looked around. “For all of you.” He put a hand on Parvesh’s shoulder. “Move forward slowly. Keep the weapon in your right hand behind your back, and keep your left hand outstretched to show you’re friendly. It’ll approach you, lower its head to be petted, and when it does, place the gun next to its head, pull the trigger and blow its brains out.”

  “No!” Elaine protested.

  “Shut the hell up.” Robards fixed her with a glare so menacing she backed up, lapsing into silence. “That’s going in my report,” he told her.

  What report? Craig wondered.

  “That’s not a wild animal,” Phil said, coming to her defense. “That’s obviously someone’s pet. It even has a collar.”

  “Out here, it’s prey,” Robards responded, and his tone was as hard-edged as a scalpel. Craig suddenly wondered if BFG conducted any background checks on its contract employees. It did not require much
of a leap to imagine Robards serving time in prison for a violent crime.

  Everyone was silent.

  “Move toward it,” Robards instructed Parvesh. “Slowly… slowly…”

  The division head approached the Labrador, left hand extended. Happily, tail still wagging, the dog hurried forward, padding across the open ground.

  “Take it out,” Robards coached.

  Parvesh patted the Labrador’s head.

  “Do it.”

  The blast was so loud and sudden that it hurt Craig’s ears, piercing into his brain. The dog’s head exploded in a rain of blood, and the animal fell to the ground as an echo of the shot diminished in the distance. Elaine and Jenny screamed. He wasn’t sure he hadn’t shouted out himself.

  “Excellent!” Robards pronounced with a grin, walking over to Parvesh and clapping him on the back. “You did great!” He reached down and took the gun out of Parvesh’s hand.

  The division head was staring down at the bloody body and trembling.

  Robards reached behind himself and pulled a rough cloth sack out of his backpack. “We’ll put it in here,” he said, “and bring it back with us as a trophy. Who wants to help me?”

  No one volunteered. In fact, Craig was not the only one to take an involuntary step backward.

  Robards shrugged. “Guess I’ll do it myself.” He placed the sack on the ground, opening up the neck. Rolling up his sleeves, he reached down, picking up the Labrador’s body. There was no head left to speak of, and several chunks of wet red flesh dropped to the ground. Blood was flowing now instead of spraying, but it was still leaking out of the dead animal’s ragged neck as Robards dropped the dog into the sack and tied the opening in a knot. The guide’s hands and forearms were coated with blood, and he bent over, grabbed two handfuls of dirt and began rubbing the dirt over his skin. The dirt turned brownish black and muddy, and Robards opened his canteen and poured the water over his hands and arms, which emerged from the ordeal surprisingly clean.

  He picked up the heavy sack, slinging it over his shoulder. “Let’s go!” he said. “Move out!”

  Robards whistled a happy tune, but the rest of them were silent as they followed him back through the woods and down the long trail to the camp, where Matthews was in the lodge, collecting papers from those who had remained. Before him was a box filled with what looked like branches, rocks and debris. Once inside, the entire group, with the exception of Parvesh, hurried over. They were all speaking at once, but it was Elaine’s outraged voice that carried above the others. “He made Parvesh kill a dog!”

  “I know,” Matthews said quietly, looking down, and that shut everyone up.

  He had known.

  He didn’t seem happy about it, though, and like the incident with the bus driver, the reaction left the CEO diminished in Craig’s eyes, leaving him to wonder once again who was really in charge of CompWare.

  Regus Patoff, he thought, and the idea sent a chill down his spine.

  Elaine had said after the weekend meeting with Scott that she was sending out résumés, and for the first time he seriously considered whether he should do the same.

  It was nearly lunchtime, and while the others remained behind to discuss what had happened, Craig accompanied Jenny and Alex to the kitchen, where Robard’s wife was waiting for them. “Make da sandwiches,” she said in an appallingly offensive yet indefinable accent and cackled to herself.

  The sandwiches were as bad as Craig knew they’d be, and, as planned, he ate chips instead. Around him, employees were complaining about the food and leaving most of their lunch on the plate. The dog hunt was the primary topic of conversation, but Robards was not there to hear it, having grabbed a sandwich from the kitchen and taken off to…what? Bury the dog’s body? Stuff it?

  He didn’t know and didn’t want to know.

  Even as he, Phil, Elaine and the other division heads around them discussed and relived their horrible experience in the woods, Craig kept one eye on Austin Matthews. The CEO spoke to no one and actually ate his entire lunch, wearing an unhappy expression all the while. It was probably too much to hope that he would fire the consultants, cancel their contract or do whatever it was he needed to do to get rid of them, but the man’s dour demeanor, and his question and response during last evening’s game, gave Craig hope.

  The scavenger hunt was poorly planned and amateurish. They were expected to find everything on the list each of them were handed, but the items were all generic objects easily rounded up in an environment such as this: five pinecones, a piece of granite, two twigs, a wildflower. It reminded him of Dylan’s treasure hunt, only not as fun, and thinking about his son made him realize what a complete waste of time this weekend had turned out to be and how much he would have rather been at home.

  Nearly everyone finished quickly, and when they were done, a distracted Matthews handed each of them a pencil and lined notebook paper on which they were to write a story that mentioned the objects they’d gathered. Craig’s was a horror story about a science camp that turns into a prison run by a torturing psychopath.

  He had long since turned in his story and was outside next to the stage, talking with Phil, Elaine and Alex Mendoza. They were discussing getting a group of senior staff together to complain to Matthews and the Board not only about the retreat but about BFG in general, when Group One returned to the camp, Robards carry

  ing a heavy burlap sack over his shoulder.

  Another dog?

  The expressions on the faces of those behind the guide told him that it was, and Craig turned away, sickened, but not before seeing a dark stain on the bottom of the sack.

  Blood.

  There were no houses nearby, no sign of civilization out this way save for the camp. So how did the dogs get out here? He was suddenly certain that the animals had been kidnapped by Robards and brought up to the mountains specifically to be hunted. Somewhere in a Southern California neighborhood, children were looking for their missing pets.

  Once again, Robards was whistling happily, and he nodded in greeting as he passed by.

  “We’ve gotta do something,” Alex said.

  Phil smiled thinly. “Mayday, mayday. Company going down.”

  Robards took his sack somewhere and reemerged ten minutes later washed and wearing new clothes. He gathered everyone from both groups into a standing circle around the fire pit and said they were going to work on their communication skills. He whispered something to Scott Cho, and told him to whisper it in the ear of the person to his right, who would then whisper it into the ear of the person to his right, until the message had gone all the way around the circle, at which time it would be spoken aloud to see how close it was to the original.

  Really? Craig thought. This grammar school party game was their communication exercise?

  He stood there, shaking his head at the uselessness of the activity, until Alex said something in Phil’s ear and Phil, grinning, leaned over. “I have a big dick,” Phil whispered.

  “Asshole,” Craig whispered back and turned to his right. He had no idea what the real message was, but he knew it was nothing close to this. Phil was just fucking with him.

  He turned to Elaine. “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog,” he whispered, and she passed the message on.

  It finally came full circle, and Jack Razon, the last link in the ring, was urged by Robards to speak the message aloud. “The quick brown fox jumped over the lady dog,” he said, and Robards grinned. “See what happens when we don’t listen? What I originally said was, ‘I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream.’ Twenty-two retells later, it’s changed into ‘The quick brown fox jumped over the lady dog.’”

  Phil was still chuckling to himself.

  “We’re going to do it again, this time from the opposite direction, and I want all of you to listen carefully and repeat what you hear exactly. Let’s see if we can get this right.”

  The new message came around, and Elaine whispered in his ear, “Now is the time fo
r all good men to come to the aid of their country.”

  Craig passed along to Phil, “Your mama gives one hell of a B.J.”

  As if he’d said nothing out of the ordinary, Phil nodded and turned his head to the left. Moments later, Scott Cho said loudly, at Robards’ prompting, “Your mama gives one hell of a B.J.”

  There were snickers among the employees, as well as expressions of shocked outrage. Phil was staring calmly straight ahead when Craig turned to look at him.

  Robards was furious. “How did that happen?” he demanded. “Who changed it to that?” He looked around the circle and when no one responded, he said, “Fine. We’re going to keep doing this until you get it right. You are going to learn how important communication is in business and in life, and you will stay here as long as it takes you to figure that out. Do I make myself clear?”

  Elaine nudged him with her elbow. “I know it’s you two,” she said under her breath. “Knock it off or we’ll be here for hours.”

  Craig kicked Phil’s shoe in turn, and though there was no outward reaction from his friend, this time the exercise proceeded smoothly and the message repeated at the end was identical to the one spoken at the beginning.

  “Good,” Robards said. “Now we’ll do it again.”

  It was late afternoon by the time they finished, and they were given two hours of free time before dinner. Elaine went back to the cabin, but Craig and Phil headed over to the lodge, where Phil sorted through the records until he found one that he wanted to play: an album called Caravanserai by Santana. Craig had been hoping to talk to Matthews about the consultants, but the CEO was on dinner duty and was working in the kitchen. Phil sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the record player, listening to the music, and Craig looked around for someone he could talk to about the dog hunt, thinking he could recruit some brave souls to his side. No one wanted to discuss it, however, and he ended up sitting glumly on the couch flipping through a decade-old Time magazine.