Carnies and Wildcats: Ulciscor

by Robert Spearman

  After taking this in, and breathing another strained, deep breath of leather, Wayne focused his attention forward to the doctor sitting behind the desk. Wayne approached and the doctor rose to meet him.

  “Mr. McKenzie?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Nice to meet you, please have a seat.” The doctor motioned for Wayne to sit in the chair in front of his desk. As Wayne sat Martha entered the door behind him and handed the doctor a folder.

  “Thanks, Martha,” said the doctor.

  Martha nodded, smiled and tiptoed back out of the room. Seiffert opened the folder and scanned the single page document.

  Wayne interrupted the doctor as he was reading the file. “Have I met you somewhere before?” he asked?

  “I think not,” he said. “Perhaps you have seen me about town.”

  “No. I know I have seen you before, but I swear I just can’t place where. I never forget a face.”

  “Well, I get that a lot. I just must have one of those faces,” the doctor laughed and returned his eyes to the file. “So, it says here, that you want to quit smoking.”

  Wayne nodded.

  “And, may I ask, what is your occupation?”

  “I am a truck driver,” replied Wayne. “You know the long-haul type, 18 wheelers, ‘breaker, breaker’ and all that nonsense.” Wayne smiled.

  “Is the phone number you have listed here a home phone or a mobile?”

  “It’s the land line at home. Do you need a mobile number?”

  “It would help if you gave me a mobile number. I assure you we won’t trouble you unless we need to cancel your appointment or to remind you of your next one.”

  “No problem,” said Wayne as he recited the number. The doctor recorded it in his notes.

  He closed the folder and placed it on his desk. “Well let’s begin. Please make yourself comfortable over there on the sofa.” He motioned toward the oversized leather sofa at the back of the room.

  Wayne walked to the couch. “Take off my shoes, Doc? I sure hope you don’t mind me calling you Doc.”

  “Whatever makes you comfortable, it’s essential that you be relaxed.”

  “So what now Doc? You take out a pocket watch and move it back and forth before my eyes?” Wayne asked as he removed his shoes and reclined on the couch.

  “Not quite, that is for the movies, television, and circus or carnival sideshows.”

  Seiffert noticed a small glint of recognition in Wayne’s eyes when he said “carnival sideshows.”

  Wayne began to speak, but the doctor lifted his right hand and spoke in a deep, quiet voice, “Hush now and just listen. Relax, relax, relax…” Within two minutes, Wayne was under and breathing with long, deep breaths.

  Thirty minutes later, Wayne heard sounds coming from a long distance away, like the recesses of a cave or a long tunnel. He tried to focus on the source of the words and they started to get closer and louder.

  Wayne heard someone clap their hands and his eyes sprung open. He blinked twice and looked around the office. Everything became clearer and Wayne remembered where he was. The doctor was sitting in the easy chair opposite from him, smiling.

  “Doc, how did it go?” McKenzie asked, rubbing his eyes.

  “Mr. McKenzie, you did well for a first-timer. Very receptive. As we were in our session, a feeling came over me that perhaps we had met before. Have we Mr. McKenzie?”

  “Oh Doc, I can assure you we’ve never met. If we had, I would remember it. Believe me, sir, I never forget a face. Now Doc, I’ve got a question. You know, I don’t put much stock in this whole hypnotism thing and I’m trying this as a last resort. Just shoot straight with me—do you really think this will cure me of this damn nasty habit?”

  “Mr. McKenzie, I can guarantee it. Let’s schedule one more session. After that you will never put a cigarette to your lips again,” Seiffert said, smiled and folded his hands.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Wayne stood and shook the doctor’s hand. “Thanks, Doc. When’s the next session?” he asked.

  “You are welcome. Please check with Martha to schedule the next appointment on your way out.”

  Wayne nodded. The well-mannered doctor impressed him. Seiffert’s words were always so polite and so proper. Wayne mused to himself that there was no twinge of accent in the doctor’s voice. He sounded like one of the nightly television news anchors.

  Wayne went to the outer office and strolled up to Martha’s desk. “What are the damages ma’am?” he asked, pulling out his wallet.

  “Well,” Martha replied, “today is fifty dollars. Will that be cash or credit card?”

  “Cash. He said I should book the next appointment.”

  She looked over at her computer. “Well today’s Wednesday, how about Friday, same time?”

  “Don’t think that’s gonna work. I’ve just got a contract to do some hauling. I leave today and won’t be back until sometime Saturday night.”

  “Sunday afternoon at two, does that work?”

  “Sure. The doc works on Sunday?”

  “The doctor works on Sunday, but I won’t be here. Sunday is the Lord’s day.”

  “Okay, well, put me down for two,” Wayne said and handed her fifty dollars.

  When Wayne arrived at the bottom floor, he walked out the double doors, crossed the street and went straight to his pickup truck in the old Southern Salvage parking lot. As he was putting his key in the door, he realized that he had not smoked a cigarette since leaving the doctor’s office. Maybe this hypnotism thing will work.

  As soon as Wayne McKenzie left the office Martha tapped on the door to the inner office and entered. “Hey, wanted to let you know, your nine o’clock is a no show,” she said.

  “Okay, no problem,” Seiffert said. “I think I will go up to the apartment, rest for a while and prepare for my eleven o’clock meeting. Please take the rest of the morning off.”

  Martha continued to stand at the doctor’s desk.

  “Something else, Martha?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “The ten o’clock, the fat guy, was he an essential?”

  “For now, no, not an essential, even though I have discovered online that his bank account is fat too,” Seiffert said. “He may become necessary later, but as for now, he is just another patient. Our last patient Mr. McKenzie is an absolute essential, but I suspect you already know this.”

  Martha nodded. “Thanks for the morning off. See you back here at one-thirty.”

  “Have fun,” he said.

  Seiffert left his office and walked to the outer door and locked it. He went upstairs and entered his suite on the seventh floor. He hung his coat on a hanger, placed it on the coat rack and smoothed the wrinkles by hand. He turned to the photo near the coat rack and once again went through the routine of planting a kiss on his fingertips and transferring the kiss to the photograph. “Soon, my dears, soon,” Seiffert said as his fingers touched both faces on the photo.

  Seiffert returned to his desk, checked his email and the markets. Satisfied, he removed his shoes, put his feet up and slept.

  * * *

  Across town, Jimmy Miller was at the front desk of his hotel extending his stay by three days. He was anxious to get to the meeting and get his questions answered. Every time he thought of Allen Ridley and the firing his blood pressure climbed and the veins near his temple and neck popped out like an abstract, blue, spider web. While Jimmy was waiting for the desk clerk to extend his stay, the hotel manager came out and told Jimmy there was a problem with his card.

  The veins in his temples and neck popped out again. He had been staying at the hotel using the company’s corporate credit card. He now realized Allen Ridley had wasted no time in canceling the card. Jimmy composed himself long enough to get one of his personal cards from his wallet and threw it on the desk. “Take that,” he said, “that should work.”

  The manager took the card, swiped it through the machine, smiled and handed the card back to Jimmy. “Sorry
for the inconvenience,” he said.

  Jimmy snatched the card from the manager’s hand and marched out to his rental car in the hotel parking lot. The episode with the card made him more determined to ruin Allen Ridley. Ruin and embarrass Allen Ridley had now become Jimmy’s mantra.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Lewis Seiffert awoke from his nap with a start. He had been dreaming, not dreams but nightmares. He turned to the clock, it was fifteen minutes before his appointment with Jimmy.

  Seiffert watched the surveillance monitors and scanned views of the downstairs lobby, elevators, and his outer office. No sign of Jimmy yet but he felt confident he would show.

  He slipped on his shoes and opened the desk’s right cabinet door to reveal a small refrigerator filled with bottles of soda water. Seiffert grabbed a bottle and unscrewed the top. He picked up a glass from the credenza. He considered putting the bottle to his lips to take a swallow, like it was a cold beer, like the old days.

  Sometimes he longed for those days. His life was much simpler and he could drink from bottles instead of being proper and drinking from glasses. The days when he didn’t have to be exacting in his actions, particular with his speech. He rubbed his hands together. He remembered a time when they were rough and hard. Seiffert pondered the recent years, when, without manual labor, these hands became tender and the calluses melted away.

  I would trade these soft hands for calluses and happier times with my wife and daughter.

  Seiffert lifted the bottle, shook his head and poured the water into the glass. Appearances were important and he could not break character, a persona he had developed for the past thirty-six years.

  Jimmy opened the door to the outer office at ten o’clock, not a minute late. Seiffert smiled, he loved punctual people. He walked out to the lobby and greeted Jimmy with a handshake. “I’m so glad you came this morning.”

  Seiffert’s appearance confused Jimmy. He resembled yesterday’s old man from the pub, but without the “Oatmeal Man” disguise Jimmy was uncertain. “Mr. Seiffert?” he asked, a puzzled look on his face.

  “It’s me, the same man you met downstairs yesterday,” he said.

  Jimmy continued to look at him with disbelief.

  “Come on inside,” said Seiffert, “and I will explain everything.”

  Jimmy followed him and Seiffert motioned for him to sit. Jimmy surveyed the room and took in the opulence—leather furniture, a bookcase that covered the center third of one wall, the brass lamps, and the oriental carpet. He turned and saw a reading area with two large, overstuffed chairs near the massive bookshelf.

  The entire office reminded him of a nineteenth-century gentleman’s club. The clubs you see in movies where stuffy, rich, old men gather, read, discuss politics and smoke cigars until late at night.

  Seiffert waited while Jimmy finished his visual examination of the room. Once Jimmy returned to face him, he began. “Mr. Miller, I must apologize for yesterday’s little deception. I did it to arouse your curiosity to make sure you would show up today.”

  “Well,” Jimmy laughed, “you sure did that, but why the Quaker Oats’ getup?”

  “I knew your dad, most people called him ‘Oatmeal Miller’ correct?” asked Seiffert.

  “Yes,” Jimmy said. “When did you know my dad?”

  You old coot, you used the disguise because you knew the oatmeal story.

  “Oh, I met him years ago while he was still in the sheriff’s department. He and I became close friends.”

  Jimmy looked closer at him. His face was not familiar and he still remembered no one named Seiffert in his father’s past.

  “So, let’s chat about Allen Ridley,” Seiffert said.

  “Do you know him?” Jimmy asked.

  “Yes. As they say, his reputation precedes him. I have had unpleasant dealings with him in the past and I could tell your meeting yesterday was unpleasant too. If you remember, we talked about punishment yesterday and you laughed. This is no laughing matter, Jimmy. I am dead serious. If you are still angry, I can help you, and in return you can help me.”

  “You help me and I help you. To do what?” asked Jimmy.

  “It’s simple. I want to ruin Allen Ridley, to make him regret he ever walked the face of the earth.”

  People have lost their jobs and are on the streets without work just months away from retirement, broken promises, and dreams. Harvey Ridley was an honest man, who left his legacy to a dishonest son. Curse you, Allen Ridley for your arrogance. Curse you and your law practice that helps you make your income by helping to ruin the lives of others. You were a bully in high school and you are a bully now. You need to answer for your sorry life and underhanded dealings. Okay, old man, I will help.

  Jimmy let out a huge sigh. “Mr. Seiffert, I’ve got my own reasons to say yes. But since I’ve just met you I have to ask, why do you want to do this?”

  “Ah, I believe my motives are the same as yours. I told you I knew your dad, but I also knew Harvey Ridley, and he would be turning over in his grave if he knew everything Allen has done. Harvey was a great guy.” Seiffert raised his arms and gestured like he was introducing the room. “In fact, everything I have here I owe to Harvey Ridley, this office, this building, all of it!”

  Jimmy’s eyebrows raised so high they appeared to form two question marks on his face.

  “Harvey Ridley once did me a good turn,” Seiffert said. “Now I sit and watch how his son is ruining Harvey’s company and his legacy as a great man. I can no longer tolerate his impudence. It’s time that Allen pays for the grief he has caused this community and the shame he has brought to his father’s name.”

  Jimmy stared at the floor for a few seconds and then answered. “Okay, count me in. What do you want from me?”

  “For now, all I want is information. Then you wait for further instructions. I am aware you are making your residence in China but may I ask you to delay your return until everything is finished?”

  “Any idea how long that will be?”

  “My best guess, three months.”

  “That sounds good,” Jimmy said, “but, I am unemployed. I’m not sure how much longer I can go without employment. At least if I’m in China, I can turn a buck or two exporting to other folks or maybe do consulting. Sitting over here in the states waiting doesn’t put money in my pocket.”

  Seiffert turned and opened the credenza behind his desk. He faced Jimmy and slid six bundles of cash toward him. “This is thirty thousand dollars. Will it suffice while you are waiting?”

  Jimmy’s eyes widened. “Well, now that gets my attention and it will hold me for three months,” Jimmy said, chuckling. “What information do you need?”

  Seiffert stood and went to the bookcase. Sitting on a table near the bookcase was a blue box, the size of a shoebox. Seiffert placed the box on the desk in front of Jimmy. “I assume you recognize this?” asked Seiffert.

  “Recognize it? I helped design the box, and I helped invent the product.” Jimmy picked up the box, turned it in his hands and smiled.

  Seiffert moved some papers and cleared a space in the center of the desk. “Now, let’s unpack the box and you tell me about this lock which you and Harvey invented.”

  Jimmy opened the box and removed the contents. “This is the CereLock 2000 smartphone lock. Jimmy began. “Simple but high-tech, it will replace the existing locks on most doors but it’s like a smartphone too, we called it a ‘smart lock.’ The electronics inside are highly sophisticated, it’s programmable for a variety of things. To make it simple, its primary feature is that it can be opened, closed or programmed by a smartphone.”

  “I understand this little gem is a moneymaker for the company?” asked Seiffert.

  “Moneymaker is an understatement, the better term is cash cow,” said Jimmy. “It’s now seventy percent of the company’s annual sales.”

  “And without it?”

  “Without it the company would go bankrupt,” replied Jimmy. Jimmy was holding the lock in his han
d and looking at it like a father admiring his newborn child.

  “Could the lock be changed in manufacturing to make it useless, worthless?” asked Seiffert.

  “Well I guess anything you change or leave out could cause it to fail,” Jimmy said, seeming to understand Seiffert’s idea. “You could omit some screws, change the printed circuit board—.”

  Seiffert interrupted. “I did not want something so radical. Maybe an internal part could be changed. Something not so obvious.”

  “The product is sound, any changes you make will be easy to spot.”

  “Okay. Can the security be weakened?”

  “Nope, the security is solid too.”

  These were not the answers Seiffert wanted. Seiffert opted for a different approach. “Jimmy, I want you to think real hard. Hold the lock in your hand and close your eyes and concentrate on everything, the inner workings, the engineering, the electronics. Relax and let your mind delve into every part and piece of this lock. Okay, Jimmy?” Seiffert said. His voice was soft and monotonous.

  Jimmy nodded.

  “Jimmy, is there anything that can cause this lock to fail or make it less secure? A mechanical or electrical change to make this lock unusable? Be sure before you answer. Once you have an answer, you may open your eyes and we can discuss this further.”

  A few seconds later Jimmy opened his eyes and looked at Seiffert. “There is one thing.”

  “And that is?”

  “Inside the lock, near the locking motor is a pin, about the diameter of a sewing needle and a quarter of the length. It’s magnetized and moves inside a small hole near the motor. The lock will work without this little pin but, if you remove it, the lock can be forced open by using a strong magnet.

  “The first locks we made, the prototypes, didn’t have this pin. We sent the prototypes to several locksmiths, and they all manipulated the locks open with magnets. We consulted engineering, and they added this pin.”