Carnies and Wildcats: Ulciscor

by Robert Spearman

  “So, what you are saying is that without this pin, the lock will appear to be working but it’s it’s not secure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Does anyone else know about the pin?” asked Seiffert.

  “No one except me, Harvey and the engineer.”

  “Can you show me, in the lock, where the pin is located?”

  “Sure,” replied Jimmy. Jimmy took a pen from Seiffert’s desk and pointed at the lock. “Here’s the locking motor, you just remove this screw that holds it in place and then remove the motor, the pin is on the right side.”

  Seiffert reached into his desk and produced a screwdriver set. “Please take it apart and show me. I need to understand this without question.”

  Jimmy looked through the set and selected two screwdrivers. He looked at Seiffert. “Mr. Seiffert, this all seems a little odd, but it appears you are more bent on destroying the company than you are Allen Ridley.”

  “Jimmy, it may appear that way but please trust me. The company’s profits will dip, but it will come back stronger than before, without Allen Ridley.”

  His words satisfied Jimmy. He took the lock and disassembled it with the smaller of the two screwdrivers. While he was doing this, Seiffert recorded Jimmy’s actions with his smartphone. Jimmy finished and pointed out the pin to Seiffert. “That’s it, right there.”

  “Now, Jimmy, one last thing. I understand, from my eavesdropping yesterday, that Allen has moved production to Vietnam. I guess you’re not happy about this. How will the Chinese factory respond to this news?”

  “Not well, they will be upset too. The people at the factory in China are more than just business contacts, they’re my friends.”

  “Good, I hoped this was the case. Is their allegiance with you or is it with Ridley’s company?”

  “Since Harvey died they have no loyalty to Ridley’s. The factory owner has met Allen Ridley just once, and he trusts him about as much as we do.”

  “Would they consider opening production for a new order of locks based on your word alone? Would they do this without an order originating from Ridley’s?”

  “I’m almost positive they would,” said Jimmy. His eyebrows made the question marks again.

  “Okay, here is your first assignment. Call the factory tonight and tell them Allen has moved the business to Vietnam. I imagine they will have concerns. Calm them down by telling them you want to place not one, but two, orders of the product. Tell them once they have confirmed your verbal order we will wire one hundred percent of the funds and pay in advance. When the orders are complete, they need to hold the orders in their warehouse and await your final instructions.”

  Jimmy nodded his understanding.

  “Well, this concludes our business for the morning Mr. Miller,” Seiffert said. He handed Jimmy a pen and a blank, note-sized paper. “Please jot down your email address and cell phone number for me. Where are you staying?”

  “The Courtyard by the mall,” replied Jimmy as he wrote his information. Jimmy felt the paper. It was expensive and felt more like linen than paper.

  “I have a furnished apartment here in the building if you decide the Courtyard lacks the space or comforts you need. You can live there rent-free.”

  “Okay, thanks, let me think about it.”

  “Good. Well thanks again, Jimmy.” Seiffert stood and extended his hand.

  “Thank you, Mr. Seiffert.” Jimmy picked up the money from Seiffert’s desk. Jimmy juggled the money in his hands as he tried to find a place to put it.

  Seiffert reached under the desk and gave him a leather attache case. “Just bring it back the next time you are here.”

  “Thank you. I’m not sure what your plans are Mr. Seiffert but I hope they come together. I was thinking just last night that I would sell my soul to punish Allen Ridley.”

  Seiffert grinned as he reached up and shook Jimmy’s hand again. “Perhaps you already have Mr. Miller,” he said under his breath.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Seiffert followed Jimmy on the camera monitors as Jimmy rode the elevator down and walked out the double front doors. He checked the morning markets. It was eleven-thirty and Seiffert was feeling hungry, but his adrenaline was pumping. Things were coming together.

  He connected his smartphone to his computer and uploaded the video of Jimmy disassembling the lock. Once uploaded, he emailed a copy of the video to Dwain along with the message, “Call me when you receive this.”

  Seiffert’s practice was to never make outgoing long-distance calls, email first and wait for the inbound call. A few seconds passed and the phone on his desk rang.

  “Dwain?”

  “Yes, Unc it’s me, what’s up?”

  “Have you watched the video I sent?”

  “I’m watching it now, but I’m not sure what this is.”

  “That’s the lock,” Seiffert said. “You have a sample with you, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Open it and follow along with the video. Near the end, you will see a small pin being removed. Show this to the factory in Vietnam. Tell them it was in the original design but our engineer has discovered it’s no longer needed. Advise them to stop putting them in the locks. Also, they need to plug the pin’s hole. We don’t want someone to come back and refit the pins into the lock after they discover the part is missing. Understand?”

  “Gotcha.” Dwain was getting ready to ask more questions about the pin’s function but changed his mind. In dealing with his uncle, the fewer questions, the better. “I will be at the factory tomorrow morning. I picked up the business cards after lunch today and I am now the official ‘Southeast Asian Operations Manager’ for Ridley Specialties and Supply.”

  Seiffert laughed. Dwain, like Martha before, was happy. Such a long time since he heard laughter from his uncle. The old man deserves it. Seiffert stopped laughing and went back into business mode. “What did you do about an email address, Dwain?”

  “Unc, don’t worry about it. Marie hooked me up with one.”

  “Good. Get some rest Dwain. Call me once you finish your meeting with the factory. I’m hoping these minor changes will not affect their projected shipping date but check for sure.”

  “Sure thing Unc. See ya.”

  Lewis Seiffert hung up the phone, shuffled through a stack on the left side of his desk and pulled out a small, brown, leather-bound notebook. He opened the book to a page marked with a red bookmark, looked at the “to-do” list and checked off two more items.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Lewis Seiffert followed his daily routine and ate lunch at Ashley’s Pub. He sat and tried to remember the last time he ventured outdoors.

  Maybe it was the day I went to buy the river property or to inspect the property west of town. This is insignificant. I cannot be distracted by such trivia.

  Everything he needed was inside the four walls of The Ashley. If he needed something more, he sent out for it.

  Martha, besides being his assistant, took care of the grocery shopping. Marie came over twice a week and made dinner for him, Patrick, and herself. Martha came by on most Sundays and cooked and they all ate lunch together. Seiffert could cook, but his food choices were always unhealthy and met with disapproval from both Marie and Martha.

  Martha told him when they first moved to Valdosta, that she would help him with the doctor’s office and the cooking. But she “drew the line” at cleaning house for him. He agreed with her but told her she needed to find someone he could trust to take care of the cleaning. Martha scoured the newspaper and the Internet and found a lady to come in and clean Seiffert’s apartment once a week.

  The housekeeper also did the laundry and sent his suits and shirts to the dry cleaner. Seiffert insisted that the maid come every week at a specific time and while the housekeeper worked he remained in the apartment. Lewis Seiffert trusted no one, not even a housekeeper vetted by Martha.

  Lewis finished his meal, a Reuben sandwich with fries and a pickle. He motioned for the wa
itress, checked the bill, added a tip, signed it and handed it back to the waitress. Her eyes bulged in disbelief. She had worked at the pub for almost a year and had served the old man at least twenty times, but the generosity of his tips always amazed her.

  He peered outside and noticed the high, thin clouds in the blue sky telling everyone the first cold front of autumn had passed and winter was on its way. The people passing by the table’s window dressed in sweaters or light jackets.

  Lewis Seiffert loved this time of the year. A time that reminded him of his past, of his beginnings. A time before cruelness and hate caused his world to become as dark and gloomy as a winter’s day in a cemetery. He closed his eyes and drifted to the past. He could feel the cold air, smell the sawdust and cotton candy, and see the bright and colorful lights shining from places high and low.

  And the music, he had loved the music, a cacophony mixed from different venues. It was a discordant noise to others but to him it was pure music. And rising above this music, the sound of laughter which added to the harmony. The laughter of children and adults was more melodious to his ears than the music of Bach or Beethoven.

  Somewhere far in the distance, someone knocked, louder and louder. His daydream turned from the sound of the carousel and the Ferris wheel to that of someone screaming and then other voices shouting, “Come with us there is a problem! Come with us there is a problem! A problem up ahead! A problem up ahead!”

  Seiffert opened his eyes with a shudder. He rubbed his eyes and looked around to see if anyone had noticed the tremor which ended his daydream, but the other patrons remained involved in their own animated conversations. Most of the conversations centered on the upcoming football game between Valdosta and Lowndes—the city school and the county school. The only person who noticed Seiffert was his nephew Patrick from behind the bar. Patrick saw and knew. No one had to tell him because his uncle’s nightmare was his whole family’s nightmare and grief.

  Seiffert and his nephew’s eyes locked, they nodded at each other. Seiffert stood and walked back to the bar. “Busy today Patrick?” he asked.

  “Not so much, Mr. Seiffert. It will pick up tonight and maybe through the weekend. Lots of folks coming in for the big game next week.”

  Seiffert nodded and gave Patrick his little one-finger salute. He walked out of the bar and over to the elevator, his elevator. The elevator doors closed. He inserted a small key into a switch above the number pad, turned the key right and pressed the TWO button three times in quick succession. The elevator moved down instead of up. It stopped. He twisted the key clockwise again and the door opened.

  As the elevator doors opened, long, fluorescent lights housed in even longer stainless fixtures came to life. Row after row illuminated in succession revealing a single, large room.

  The floor was white tile squares, waxed to a mirror sheen finish. In the center of the room was a stainless steel table, like the one used for autopsies and behind this table, was a stainless steel sink. Positioned on a shelf to the right of the sink were medical tools. Scalpels and saws, forceps, hemostats, something resembling a set of stainless steel pruning shears, and a suture kit filled this shelf. Above the shelf, a cabinet containing iodine, alcohol and bottles and vials of other medicine.

  A large, metal desk sat in front of the left wall. It was bare except for a computer monitor and a telephone.

  On the room’s right, a large wire cage. It was similar to the metal cages in laboratories which house lab animals, but this cage was large enough to hold a person standing erect. A sturdy padlock secured the door of the cage. In the door was cut a small opening about three inches high and twelve inches wide. This served as a food pass. In the corner was a toilet with no seat, like those used in prison cells. And in the cage’s center, against the wall, was a sink.

  Seiffert examined everything, piece by piece, inch by inch.

  He had visited here two times in the past. The first was to show the unfinished space to the construction superintendent. He told him what he wanted—block plaster walls painted white, high-output fluorescent lights and tile floors. He marked out the locations of everything—furniture, cabinetry, the various electrical outlets, the plumbing, the computer network connections and the camera lines.

  The contractor came from Seiffert’s hometown in Tampa, Florida. Lewis Seiffert knew the owner and gave him the contract for the entire renovation of the hotel, with one stipulation. The contractor was to bring his own workers from Tampa—no local laborers or subcontractors could be used. Seiffert waited, until after the construction was complete, to furnish the basement.

  His staff in Tampa received the room’s furnishings at the Tampa warehouse. They delivered them to The Ashley in unmarked boxes during the same time the first tenants moved into the upper floors. Dwain was there during the move-ins by the tenants and he alone controlled the service elevator. Some loads went upstairs to the tenant floors while others went downstairs to the basement.

  Only Seiffert, Dwain, Patrick and the contractors knew about the secret room. He had not told Marie or Martha and there were days he wished that Dwain or Patrick did not know. He felt it was a burden he should carry alone and not include others. On some days, even he became sickened by the plans he had for this room. On other days, he mused about this room with a vengeful glee.

  Seiffert opened the computer monitor. It was networked to the computer in both of his offices and to his apartment. Two mouse clicks later and he could view the various parts of the building through the closed circuit television cameras throughout the building.

  He stared at the camera monitors for almost five minutes, switching between different camera views. He noticed Martha coming back from lunch.

  Seiffert scanned the basement room again, his face stern and determined. He was ready to put this place into action, but his instructions to himself were the same as he gave the others, “Wait, just wait.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Lewis Seiffert returned from the basement to the sixth-floor office. Martha was beaming as he walked in the door. “So Martha, did you enjoy your lunch? Did you meet him for lunch?”

  “Now Doc, what do you mean by him?” Martha asked, laughing.

  “Shorty, did you have lunch with Shorty?”

  A blush rose in her cheeks which shone through her dark complexion. “Yes. I met him but how did you know that he was in town?”

  “Well Martha, I make it my business to know just about everything.”

  “Now that’s frightening, plain scary, but I ain’t no fool. I’m onto your tricks and you ain’t the devil you make out to be. Now out with it. How did you know he was here?”

  “No magic Martha. I called him last week and told him to come up this week and pitch our idea to the American Legion and Chamber of Commerce. I’m surprised he didn’t say something to you.”

  “Well, he didn’t tell me he was here on business. Especially your business, I assumed he had come to visit me.” Martha spat the words at Seiffert.

  “Now Martha, don’t get angry. I guess Shorty felt he could mix his business with the pleasure of your company. Shorty would never pass up the chance to see you.” Seiffert tried to calm her down, but it wasn’t working.

  Martha waved off Seiffert in a huff. Seiffert left her fuming at her desk and went to the inner office, checked his email and investments. Finished, he turned his attention to the camera view of the outer office and waited for Myrtle Ridley’s arrival.

  Myrtle Ridley entered the waiting area a few minutes early. She was an attractive older woman with a timid smile—short and stocky but not too overweight. Myrtle wore a plain black dress, with a small black purse and shoes to match. If you searched the Internet for the term “grieving widow” Seiffert was sure her picture would appear in the search results.

  Through the camera, Seiffert knew she was having trouble sleeping.

  Martha was nervous. Her hands trembled as she gave Myrtle Ridley the clipboard with the patient information form. Seiffert kept vi
ewing as Martha explained the paperwork. Martha’s hands were shaking and Seiffert was afraid that her nervousness would show.

  As Myrtle was filling out the form, Martha looked up at the smoke detector. Martha’s eyes pleaded for Seiffert to come out and help. “She is just another patient. Forget who she is and act normal,” Seiffert whispered this under his breath.

  Seiffert lifted his phone and buzzed Martha. “Please, send her in.”

  “The doctor will see you now, Mrs. Ridley,” said Martha while taking the clipboard from Myrtle Ridley. Martha opened the door to the Seiffert’s office and motioned for Mrs. Ridley to enter. Seiffert stood and Martha handed the completed form to the doctor.

  “Thanks, Martha,” he said and Martha left. He turned to Mrs. Ridley and said, “Nice to meet you. I am Dr. Seiffert, please take a seat.” He motioned to the chair in front of his desk. As Mrs. Ridley was sitting, Seiffert sat and looked at her file, pretending to read.

  “Thank you, Doctor. I’m Myrtle Ridley, but I guess you know that by looking at my file,” she said, her voice tired and soft.

  “I read here that you have insomnia.”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  “And, may I ask, is this a long time problem or has it just occurred?”

  “I have had trouble sleeping almost my entire adult life. It became worse after my daughter died and then after many years and prescription medicines I found it easier to sleep. My husband died a few weeks ago and the sleeping problems seem to have started all over again.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss. You said that you had a daughter that died? How long ago was that?” he asked though he knew all about Dottie and her death.

  “Oh, it was almost forty years ago. She was a small child, a drowning accident at the lake. It devastated our whole family. Harvey, my husband, kept a sane head on his shoulders and he pulled us through it.”

  “I understand. Have you ever visited a hypnotist? What do you expect?”