by Marc Jedel
“It’s not enough that he has three first names? Does he need a nickname with two more first names? Seems as if he should pick a name and stick with it like everyone else. Did he get the job because he had more first names than anyone else?” I may have tried too hard to make her laugh again.
Meghan gave me a faint smile before answering, “He doesn’t act like it, but I suppose he must be smart. He got a degree in mechanical or civil engineering from Gonzaga. Now that he’s running the agency, he can go to meetings and sign off on work that his staff does.”
The name and school clicked into place for me. My ability to remember what I read and other useless bits of trivia came in handy again. William Robert Allen, or Billy Bob, was the editor in the old Gonzaga Bulletin photo of that fire in their offices. I told Meghan about Laney’s clippings.
“That’s weird. Why would she have those old papers?”
“I don’t know. She recently did a quick day trip to Spokane. Maybe she got them while she was there.” The light bulb went off in my head. “Do you think Billy Bob had something to do with Laney getting hurt?”
Meghan didn’t answer as she twisted her napkin into knots. She shrugged with a helpless gesture and looked down at her tea. After a few seconds of tension at the table, she picked up her cup and took a final sip of tea. With a solid clink, she set her cup back on the saucer and looked up at me with her jaw jutting out. “I’ve had it. Come on, let’s go.”
“What? Where?” I stammered. Now what have I done?
“They piss me off and I can’t trust them. No job is worth this crap. I want to go to the office and get my files. I’ll take them to the newspaper or the police.”
Relieved I hadn’t upset her, I said, “Ok. But I thought you couldn’t take your computer out of the office and they’d already gone through your files.”
“I don’t need my computer. I have a paper copy of the original data from the analyst who left. When I started getting harassed, I stored the important files in a co-worker’s drawer. She didn’t like what they were doing to me either.”
“How do we get in?”
Meghan waved to catch Sue’s attention so she’d bring us the check. “I’ve still got my badge and Ernie likes me.”
I felt a small stab of jealousy. “Who’s Ernie?”
“He’s the night security guard at the agency. I think he’s related to one of the bigwigs. He’s an old sweetie. I work late a lot and we often chat for a while when I leave. I even talked him into volunteering to work the front gate for this weekend’s Renaissance Faire. He complained he didn’t see many people working on the night shift. Working the front gate will solve that.”
“Once we get the files, I know a cop that you should meet.” This time Mace would be pleased to see me again.
Meghan excused herself to the restroom. While she was away, I shared my new experience with my kids.
GROUP TEXT TO AMANDA, ELI
MARTY: I just got the secret menu at a Chinese restaurant. It’s magical
ELI: Did you find it online like we did for In-N-Out Burger?
MARTY: No, the woman I’m having dinner with speaks Mandarin
AMANDA: You went out with a Chinese woman?
MARTY: No, she is Irish-American
AMANDA: You’re on a date right now?
MARTY: Yes, well I don’t know if it is a date
ELI: Smooth Dad
AMANDA: Get off your phone Dad and pay attention to your date. Geez!
Meghan returned before I could explain further. Just as well because it was now time to dive into the Water Agency.
27
Friday After Dinner
The NorCal Water Agency building stood north of downtown San Jose. They’d taken over a modern office building from a defunct startup which had grown large enough to build a beautiful building but didn’t keep growing fast enough to actually pay for it.
Meghan parked on a side street to prevent coworkers from seeing her car in the parking lot. We shouldn’t have worried. When we walked along the sidewalk leading to the building’s entrance, it was clear that everyone had left work for the weekend, with only a few pieces of trash blowing around the empty parking lot in front of the building. All the lights remained on even though no one was there.
As we neared the entrance, Meghan slowed and took my arm. “I have an idea. Follow my lead.”
I had no ideas so that worked for me.
The front doors slid open as we strolled into the lobby. An older, heavyset man with thinning hair and a large nose sat behind the counter just inside the lobby. We continued forward to the counter. I put on my nonchalant face, slowing to a stroll and swinging my arms in a jaunty fashion from front to back. Just another, perfectly normal, evening stroll to the Water Agency. Don’t mind us, we’re not here to steal anything.
Proud of my acting skills, I forced a smile on my face. Indicating a lack of appreciation for my efforts, Meghan shot me a piercing, sideways glance and pinched my arm. I tried to maintain a demeanor of casual calmness, aiming to remain unruffled despite the critical review.
On the other hand, Meghan’s cool manner came across as natural, not playacting. “Hi Ernie. How’s it going tonight? I’ll see you at the Renaissance Faire tomorrow night, right?”
“Hi’ya Meghan. Haven’t seen you all week. Absolutely, I’ll be there tomorrow. What brings ya back to work on this beautiful Friday evening?” Ernie had a slight drawl to go along with a smile that appeared sincere. More than merely relieved to have a break during his monotonous evening, he leaned forward, face softening into a warm welcome for his friend.
“I wanted to show my friend the museum.” Meghan smiled at Ernie and leaned in to my shoulder. “Can I take him upstairs for a short bit and then we’ll be out of your hair?”
Ernie theatrically ran a hand through what little hair remained on his head. “Not much there to worry about.” With a more skeptical expression on his weathered face, he sized me up. After a short assessment, he reached a hand over the counter. “Good to meet you. I’m Ernie.”
I shook his hand. “You too. I’m Marty.”
“Y’all been together for long?” asked Ernie.
I wished I could talk like that. Saying y’all made me feel friendlier, like I was friendly with an entire auditorium full of people. I couldn’t pull off a y’all without getting mocked. If I wanted to use it myself, I’d either need some acting lessons or new friends. Wait, did he ask me a question?
“Not really.” Meghan didn’t elaborate on our barely two-day-old relationship. Ernie didn’t ask for any details. After all, gentlemen, especially Southern gentlemen, don’t pry.
“Well …,” said Ernie, pondering the situation. “I’m not supposed to let strangers into the building during the evening time, but now that we’ve all met, I reckon it’s fine for y’all to go on upstairs to have a look-see.” After this display of impeccable logic, he added, “As long as y’all don’t stay too long.”
“Thanks a bunch, Ernie. Aren’t you just the sweetest. We’ll be back down in a jiffy.” Meghan’s voice picked up a little of Ernie’s drawl.
Perhaps sensing that I might attempt a drawl, Meghan yanked me away from the desk, along to the glass door leading out of the lobby. She swiped her badge and the door opened. We walked through to wait by a small bank of elevators.
“Y’all sounded cute,” I drawled to Meghan, making her wince. Taking the hint, I jettisoned the attempt. “What’s the museum? I thought we were going to your office?”
“That’s what we call the executive lobby on our floor. There are two Jackson Pollock paintings there.”
“The Water Agency has Jackson Pollock paintings? I knew my water bill was too high.”
“People say Billy Bob bought them with his own money and registered his office as a public museum. He displayed them here so he didn’t have to pay sales tax.” Meghan punched the up button again and one of the elevator doors slid open.
“A museum. Do I get a map?”
“Just a free audio guide,” said Meghan, her eyes sparkling.
“Wasn’t Pollack the artist who did the drip paintings where he sat on a chair on his huge canvases and splattered paint all over them?” I’d seen a special on him one day when I was sick.
“Yes. He was known as an abstract expressionist.” Meghan sounded like she led tours.
“He basically invented the toy market for spin art machines.”
Meghan half-heartedly acknowledged my attempt at humor. Turning serious, I asked, “Think anyone’s working tonight?”
“Doesn’t look like it.”
We rode the rest of the way to the fourth floor in quiet anticipation. When we got off the elevator, we didn’t hear any noises. The elevator bank was located near one end of the rectangular building. To the left down the main hallway, I saw several meeting rooms, an emergency exit staircase, and a bank of wide file cabinets. Another conference room lay directly in front of us across from the elevator lobby. To the right, the hallway ran the full length of the building.
Meghan turned to the right out of the elevator lobby. On the right sat a luxurious waiting room with several offices visible behind the fancy secretary’s desk that stood guard.
Meghan pointed to the waiting room. “The paintings are in there.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“Just a habit I guess. Voices really carry in this hallway and heels are crazy loud. For some reason, they didn’t put down any carpeting.” She headed toward the waiting room. “Here, let me show them to you in case Ernie asks you about them. Then, let’s get my file and get out of here. I don’t want to hang around.”
I followed her into the waiting area of a small executive suite. Behind the protective desk, a heavy-looking, wood door sat open, revealing a large office with a glass conference table surrounded by black leather chairs. Beyond that sat a mahogany desk with a top-notch, leather executive chair. Primo. It could have been one of those ultra-high-end, majestic chairs that billionaire villains in the movies sat in while they plotted world domination.
A conference room next door to the large office held an expensive-looking wood table, six chairs and a large display screen on the opposite wall. The door to a final, smaller room in the suite was closed.
Megan stopped inside the waiting room and waved to the large office. “Billy Bob’s office.” Turning around, she pointed at the wall to the right of the entrance doors to the waiting room. “Those are the Pollock paintings. They hung them so only the execs see them every day. Ironic for a so-called, public museum, don’t you think?”
I turned to scrutinize the paintings mounted in swanky frames. The smaller one held a tiny three by five-inch paper drawing made with crayon and black ink. It looked like a stick figure of a man, with red and yellow flames coming off his body, who was diving down into a wormhole chasing after a yellow star-shaped umbrella.
It didn’t resemble any Pollock paintings I’d ever seen so I moved to the larger painting, almost two feet by three feet. The title underneath read “Jackson Pollock, Untitled (1951)”.
“Did Pollock run out of ideas to name his works?”
“Come on.” Meghan turned to walk through an open door at the end of the suite.
I assumed the pose of a serious art patron, one hand on my hip and one to my chin as I tilted my head. “Hmmm. It looks like a snowman got dropped from a balcony and exploded—”
Meghan dismissed the paintings. “I’m not a big fan of these.”
I was on a roll. “Or it looks like the Jack in the Box guy got hit by a truck and his guts got splattered. Like that Christmas song about Grandma getting run over by a reindeer. Except this is Jack in the Box and Pollock stood nearby and captured the moment.”
Meghan stopped, staring at me with her mouth slightly agape. After a few beats, she closed her mouth and shook her head as if to clear her head. “Let’s go get my papers.”
I should stick to programming.
Meghan walked out through the executive suite into another room. Unwinding myself from my art patron’s pose, I stumbled after her as I tried to extract my foot from my mouth.
I stopped dead in my tracks when I walked through the open door after Meghan. This was the nicest break room I’d ever seen. Separated from the hallway by full-length, glass walls, the room held a fancy coffee bar surrounded by a marble top and padded stools. With the fancy machines behind the counter, my Starbucks buddy, Brody, would appreciate this setup. A few high tables, with more high stools near them, dotted the room. Several refrigerators, microwaves, vending machines and a long closet lined the wall back to the executive suite. The other end of the room, also glass-walled, had a wide opening leading to a game room containing a ping-pong table, foosball game, pinball machine and wall-mounted Velcro dart board.
“Wow. You have both a game room and a break room on your floor?” Breathless, I managed to get the words out. Whispering felt like the appropriate level of reverence this deserved.
She gave me an “are you serious?” look that I’d seen several times already. “And a barista who staffs the coffee bar in the mornings too. Crazy, huh?” Meghan kept walking. After all, she saw this every day.
I trailed her, taking it all in. As I passed the pinball machine, an unseen tractor beam seemed to pull me in. Again, I had to check for drool. “You have an antique, Star Trek: The Next Generation pinball machine. That’s my favorite one of all-time.” I ran my hands lovingly over the controls and looked at the backdrop picture with Captain Picard and the rest of the characters from that long-ago show. “Space, the final frontier.” My reverential tone returned. I hoped Meghan wouldn’t hear me.
Meghan had nothing wrong with her hearing. She stopped before leaving the game room and scoffed. “The game’s noise got so annoying that facilities turned the volume off.”
Sacrilege. My mouth gawked openly this time. I recognized my Trekkie zeal could get out of hand, especially for the uninformed. So, discretion won out and I decided not to say anything to Meghan. Anything else I said at this point would not improve my standing.
With a tinge of exasperation in her voice, Meghan said, “I’ll go get my papers and meet you here.”
The noise of her footsteps echoing like staccato gun blasts as she walked out into the hallway broke my trance. She wasn’t kidding about the echo chamber effect of this hallway. Glancing out the glass walls, it was clear that no one remained working on this floor tonight. Free time. I scurried back to the executive suite. I wanted to try out Billy Bob’s throne.
I eased into the luxurious chair. Posh. Wonder if my boss would buy one for my cubicle? Billy Bob’s desk, clear except for a computer and keyboard, also felt expensive under my hands. Then, remembering the stories Meghan had told me at dinner, I jerked my hands back. Billy Bob, or his people, were scum. I didn’t want to touch something contaminated.
But, was he a stupid enough scum to keep a file on Meghan in his desk? I pulled on the drawers, but they were all locked.
With nothing else to do except act imperial, I leaned back and spun to look out the window at the view of the foothills of the Santa Cruz Mountains. In a chair this comfortable, I could get lost for hours daydreaming. No wonder real thrones looked so uncomfortable. Kings and queens would never have lasted if they’d lolled around all day, sprawled out on their comfy cozy thrones. Evildoers galore would have done mischief to the good people of the land.
Like making drones fall and murdering old ladies in the hospital.
Reality intruded.
I sighed. Who was I kidding? This was as close as I’d get to occupying a CEO’s office. I shoved off to return the chair from fantasy land. When my spin brought me back to the desk, my chair bumped into Billy Bob’s keyboard tray and his screen flashed on.
No password. Of course, he locked his desk drawers and not his computer. The technically inept were taking over the world.
Leaning forward, I did a quick search on his computer for anything about Meghan. If
I could find proof that Billy Bob had known about the harassment, then she could use that. When nothing came up, I tried a search for Laney.
Nothing.
I had one more idea to try. Opening his browser, I checked the history, looking for anything unusual. Realistically, I didn’t expect to find evidence of another leader giving bribes while in college. But, I hadn’t anticipated learning that Rollag had bribed Sierra Smith either. Billy Bob was a political junkie, visiting multiple news and political blogs every day. Wondering if any extremists had celebrated drone strikes on part-time HR consultants, I looked back to Monday.
I froze, stunned to find a link to a Mercury News report about a drone accident in San Jose. Why had Billy Bob opened this story? Was he checking on the outcome of his drone crash?
28
Friday Evening
I quickly clicked on the link. Up popped a story about an accident involving a falling drone. A photo showed the side of an ice cream truck smashed almost in half, with a large, brightly painted ice cream cone tilting over, appearing almost to drip onto a neon yellow, retro style VW Bug.
The car was too unusual. It had to be Sunshine, Laney’s car. How many neon yellow, retro style VW Bugs could have crashed into an ice cream truck in San Jose on Monday?
I felt bad that Laney’s car was totaled. She talked about it all the time, to everyone. I’m sure she’d bragged about it when she met Meghan. She’d probably even told Billy Bob about it when they met. Heck, she loved that car almost like a third child. A few years ago, Laney had spent hours agonizing over the custom paint options. She claimed the bright color cheered her up.
Although Billy Bob was a scum for threatening Meghan, he couldn’t have caused the drone crash. He was a politician who ran a water agency. They had an awesome break room, but no drone control room, or secret lab with floating hammock.
