Clockworkers

by Ramsey Isler

  “My problem?”

  “That thing on your wrist,” Sam said as she opened the storage compartment in her armrest.

  Akida looked at his watch again. “This? It’s just an Omega.”

  “I know,” Sam said. “A problem.” She fished out a plain black box and handed it to Akida. Akida opened it, and found a sparkling new Better watch inside.

  “Problem solved,” Sam said.

  Akida laughed. “But I like my Omega.”

  “You’ll like this one more,” Sam said.

  “Effective sales pitch,” Akida said as he slipped the Better watch onto his wrist. “Where exactly in downtown are we going?”

  “I figured we’d start in Greektown and work our way around.”

  “We’re going to wander around Detroit at night?” Akida asked. “Didn’t you imply that would be a little dangerous?”

  “It’s not so bad downtown,” Sam said. “Besides, I’ve got a friend for safety.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Akida said, “but I’ve never been much of a fighter.”

  “I wasn’t talking about you,” Sam said as she opened the glove compartment and revealed her Glock handgun. “I was talking about him.”

  “Oh,” was all Akida could say.

  * * *

  Detroit’s downtown area is an oddity. It is an oasis of commercialism and modernism in the middle of a desert of urban decay. Skyscrapers built during a bygone era rise up into the heavens and serve as testament to the glory days of this city, which are all too often forgotten. Newly-constructed plazas and stadiums add a modern touch, and provide venues for raucous fun and the promise of a budding future metropolis. Sparkling new casinos and their accompanying hotels broadcast bright light and a chance at cheap fun, and riches for a lucky few. But venture just a few blocks east or west of the downtown core, and the rusting, rotting remnants of Detroit come into full view.

  Akida took it all in with a heavy dose of cynicism.

  “The city administrators apparently attempted to recreate the city as a gambling haven,” Akida said as he and Sam walked along Lafayette Avenue. “That seems unwise.”

  “Maybe it was,” Sam said. “Maybe the money could have been better used for other purposes. As it stands, the hotels and casinos add a decent amount of economy. You want to see another of the casinos?” Sam asked.

  “No, thank you. I think I’ve gotten my fill of cigarette smoke today. I thought Americans hate smoking now.”

  “We’re still in transition,” Sam said. “Let’s get your nose filled with something more appetizing. Hungry?”

  “I could eat,” Akida said. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Wait about five minutes and you’ll know.”

  Sam and Akida continued walking westward and encountered Campus Martius, a beautifully landscaped park that was officially opened in 2004 during one of Detroit’s many stalled renaissance periods. The park was still green and full of vitality, despite budget cuts. Akida nodded approvingly as they passed through. They kept going until Akida stopped and sniffed the air curiously, like a wild predator encountering the scent of mouthwatering prey. “What is that...amazing aroma?”

  Sam laughed. “They’re Coney dogs. Detroit has the best chili hot dogs in the country. We’ve got two coney places right next to each other.”

  She led him further and the smell of chili, onions, and hot dogs became more powerful. Finally, they stopped in front of two restaurants squeezed right next to each other on a triangular strip of land near the center of downtown. On their left stood Lafayette Coney Island—painted in drab gray but with the name of the establishment emblazoned on the front in bright red letters with white outlines. On their right was American Coney Island, decked out in full red, white, and blue regalia and a multitude of white five-pointed stars surrounding the signage.

  “Odd that they would be right next to each other,” Akida said. “Which one is better?”

  “That, my friend, is one of Detroit’s oldest debates. But my vote goes to Lafayette. Their chili is amazing.”

  “Then by all means,” Akida said, “lead on.”

  They walked in and were greeted by a stocky man wearing a white apron and a backwards Detroit Tigers baseball cap. The restaurant’s decor was classic American diner all around. The walls were covered in beige tile, and short circular red stools lined the counters that served as tables. At the front of the diner was a grill big enough to cook a whole cow, with row upon row of hot dogs sizzling on top.

  Sam ordered two chili dogs with onions, which were prepared in short order and in a matter of seconds their food was in front of them. Akida made an expression that was halfway between a grimace and a smile. “I’ve always been amused by this...dish,” he said. “In most western countries, the chefs try to avoid any possible link to dog meat, but America takes great pride in their hot dogs. I find it especially funny because it’s essentially a German dish.”

  “It’s the American way,” Sam said. “Steal the best ideas from other cultures, remix them, and make them your own.”

  Akida nodded and took a bite of his chili dog. He fumbled a bit as the brownish-red chili dripped down his hand. But he kept eating. And in a little less than two minutes he had finished the whole thing.

  “Did you like it?” Sam said.

  “Delicious,” Akida said, licking his lips. “Utterly unhealthy, but delicious.”

  “One won’t kill you,” Sam said.

  “I suppose not. But my onion breath may kill anyone unfortunate enough to talk to me. I’m surprised you haven’t died from the toxic fumes yet.”

  “I’ve built up a resistance,” Sam said as she handed him a piece of chewing gum. “This will take care of that.”

  “Ah. Are you always this prepared?”

  Sam smirked. “Always.” She finished her hot dog considerably slower than Akida had devoured his, but they were still in and out of Lafayette Coney in less than fifteen minutes.

  “Where to now?” Akida asked.

  “I thought we might leave the country for a bit,” Sam said.

  Akida gave her a confused look, then his face lit up with understanding. “We’re going to pop over to Canada then.”

  “Yup,” Sam said. “Unless you think you’ll have trouble with your passport and all that.”

  “There will be no fuss at all,” Akida said as he tapped his jacket pocket. “I have valid visas for the United States, Canada, and Britain. Some Tanzanian government officials pulled some strings for me.”

  “Must be nice to have friends in high places,” Sam said.

  “It is indeed.”

  The pair returned to Sam’s car then drove out to the Ambassador Bridge. Detroit has two connections directly to Windsor, its Canadian sister city across the Detroit River. There’s the Detroit-Windsor tunnel, which is often the faster route, but since it is underground it’s far from the most scenic option. The bridge offers a much better view of this unique link between nations, and Akida spent the whole trip silently observing the activity along the border.

  Windsor is a quiet metropolitan area, and it is as different from Detroit as one could expect. The only similarities between the sister cities are casinos and a love of hockey. Windsor has never had a reputation as a major tourist destination, but it does have some great things to offer if you know where to look. Sam spent many days and nights here during her high school summer breaks, so she knew all the cool places to hang out. Once they were on the Canadian side of the border, she drove east, taking a route along Riverside Drive. A quick turn brought them into a relatively new parking structure, and a few minutes later they were walking back outside and the crisp wind from the Detroit River nipped at their ears. There’s a little park right off the river, and it offers spectacular views of the Detroit skyline. The Renaissance Center, the Comerica building, and all of the city’s other notable skyscrapers were lined up neatly in front of them. Moonlight and lamplight from the office buildings gave color to the undu
lating river.

  “I’d never thought I’d say this after all I’d heard about this city,” Akida said, “but Detroit is beautiful.”

  “Some parts,” Sam said. “Mostly just this part, actually. It’s kind of ironic how the best place to view the city is from a different country.”

  “Yes,” Akida said. “But sometimes we don’t appreciate what we have until we look at it from an objective distance.”

  “True,” Sam said. Akida didn’t say anything more, and Sam couldn’t think of anything witty to add, so they just watched the evening pass on for a while. Ships of various sizes and purposes slid across the inky river. Distant pairs of headlamps and brake lights marked the downtown traffic that waned as the hour grew late, and the skyscrapers gradually lost their glow as weary workers went home and turned out the lights.

  “We should go,” Sam said after a while. “I have a lot to do in the morning.”

  “Certainly,” Akida said. “You must be very busy. Thank you again for taking the time to show me around.”

  “No problem,” Sam said.

  They got back in Sam’s car and made the trip back to Birmingham. Akida was fairly chatty in the car, and he spent some time informing Sam on all the countries he’d been traveling to in his efforts to expand his business. He had interesting anecdotal factoids to share about every place he’d been, and he had an impressive knowledge of international folklore.

  “You know a lot of things about a lot of things,” Sam said when Akida took a break from his stories to stare out his window.

  “I’ve studied in many places to learn first-hand how the world outside of Africa works,” he said. “Even before I started my company, I spent time at Oxford and Yale. But my university days didn’t provide me the wisdom I have today. To paraphrase one of your American writers, ’I have never let my schooling interfere with my education’. So I worked hard to spend time with politicians, musicians, vagabonds, and even criminals. Some would say I’ve lived a full life already.”

  “So what keeps you so motivated?” Sam asked. “Looking to be an African billionaire?”

  “Hardly,” Akida said. “That’s exactly what I’m trying not to do.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Africa has many problems,” Akida continued. “Poverty, disease, isolationism, famine. But almost all of these issues can be traced back to one simple thing.”

  “Which is?”

  “Greed,” Akida said. “Africa has long represented unspoiled riches to the rest of the world. The exploitation has gone on for centuries. Empires were built on the backs of Africans, and far too often other Africans sold out their brethren. That is going to change, with me. My mines will one day produce billions of dollars for my country, and it will all stay in my country. I have little desire for personal wealth, but my people can certainly use a financial boost.”

  “Sounds noble,” Sam said. She made a turn, and Akida’s hotel came into view. Sam pulled into the driveway of the Townsend and waited for Akida to get out. He wasn’t so eager to leave, though.

  “I rather enjoyed our evening,” he said with a broad grin. “Perhaps we can venture out again tomorrow night?”

  “I don’t know about that,” Sam said.

  “Do you have something better to do?”

  Sam thought for a moment. “No, actually.”

  Akida smiled. “Then feel free to pick me up again at eight.”

  * * *

  Sam did pick up Akida the next night, and every night after that for the rest of the week. On each evening outing she took him somewhere different. One night it was a hockey game for the Detroit Red Wings, the next night involved a concert at the historic Fox Theater, and finally they went out to Royal Oak to enjoy a little bit of metro Detroit’s hipster lifestyle.

  Tonight was their final night together, and after they had seen all that Royal Oak had to offer Sam made the short trip back to Akida’s hotel. Their evening goodbyes had become a ritual during the week, but now it was different. For the first time since they met, they would not be seeing each other the next day.

  “I’ve greatly enjoyed my time with you this week,” Akida said as Sam once again pulled into the Townsend Hotel driveway.

  “Ditto,” Sam said. “I think we’ve made a lot of progress towards a good partnership.”

  “Certainly. But I...I think there may be potential for a different type of relationship between us too.”

  “Er...maybe,” Sam said.

  Akida laughed and said, “When was the last time the brilliant and hardworking Samantha Chablon dated someone?”

  “I don’t exactly recall,” Sam said. “It’s been more than a few years though.”

  “That’s a long time to be single.”

  “Not for me.”

  “Would you mind if I helped you break the streak?”

  This time it was Sam’s turn to laugh. “Look, you seem like a really nice guy and all, but I don’t know if we should mix business and...not business.”

  “I can assure you that I am quite capable of keeping the two separate. Are you?”

  “You make that sound like a challenge,” Sam said.

  “Perhaps it is.”

  Sam contemplated her answer carefully before she spoke. Akida waited patiently, and his smile did not waver. “Give me time to think about it,” Sam finally said. “I never rush into anything.”

  Akida showed no signs of disappointment, and his voice was merry and steady. “Completely understandable, and completely expected. I will keep in touch with you after I return home, and we’ll pick things back up when I get back.”

  Sam glared at him. “I didn’t say yes.”

  “True,” Akida said as he opened the passenger door, “but you didn’t say no either.” He closed the door, cheerfully waved to her, and went into his hotel.

  Sam sighed, shook her head, and said, “This is why the only men in my life are elves.”

  * * *

  The weekly executive meeting at Better Timepieces is usually merely a formality. Sam, Jess, and Yusef stay in constant communication throughout the week, so the meeting is just an opportunity to give the employees reason to believe that the management team actually decides things in serious meetings. In reality, ever since Hamilton disappeared the weekly meetings were little more than an extended coffee break.

  “So the deal with Kalagho Mining is all signed,” Sam said as she slipped off her shoes and put her feet on her desk. “The deal gives us some pretty sweet access to the world’s finest rubies. Now we need to figure out how to take full advantage of that.”

  “Did you tell Yusef about my idea?” Jess said.

  “Nope,” Sam said. “But he’s here now so you can tell him yourself.”

  Jess did a little bounce in her chair and turned to Yusef. “Okay, so these rubies from Kalagho are an amazing, deep red. Red is the color of good fortune in many Asian countries. We can market these models with rubies to the Asian market. Our first release can even correspond with Chinese New Year.”

  “That’s brilliant,” Yusef said. “But are you sure you can tie in the theme well enough to move units? We haven’t had much luck in the Asian markets so far.”

  “I can do it,” Jess said. “I just need Sam to build me a beautiful red watch, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Sam nodded and smiled. “That’s all I need to hear.”

  “I guess it’s settled then,” Yusef said. “When is Chinese New Year anyway?”

  “About three months from now,” Jess said.

  “But—” Yusef said. Then he closed his mouth, and his shoulders sagged. “I guess by now I should know better than to question what Sam can get done in a short amount of time.”

  “Yes,” Sam said. “You should know better.”

  * * *

  Chinese New Year (which is actually called Spring Festival in China) is one of those rare holidays celebrated in many different parts of the world. The holiday is a big deal in a number of Asian countrie
s including Indonesia, Singapore, Thailand, Vietnam, and Taiwan. It’s one of the few days of the year when these nations celebrate in unison, but the party isn’t limited to their borders. Vast numbers of Asian families who left their homelands and settled in western nations still celebrate the holiday. In cities like Los Angeles, Sydney, New York, San Francisco, and Vancouver, Chinese New Year is a big event.

  There was plenty of reason to party hard in China that year. Despite a few hiccups, China continued its growth into a powerful economic and political force. The sleeping dragon had awakened, and the country’s elite were hungry for luxury products to announce their arrival and flaunt their wealth. Better Timepieces was poised to take full advantage of the situation. Jessica looked to the past to help define Better’s future.

  In the late 1930s and early 1940s, a top American advertising agency called N.W. Ayer & Son linked marriage engagements with diamond rings using an advertisement campaign that bombarded young women and men with the idea that no courtship could be considered serious if it wasn’t secured with a “forever” diamond. It’s hard to believe now, but diamond engagement and wedding rings were not traditional in most parts of the world until that campaign took off. Just three years after the Ayer advertisements started, sales of diamonds in the United States had risen 55 percent. N.W. Ayer had achieved great success by linking a product to a cherished traditional event. Jess, being a student of old and new ways of advertising, applied those same techniques to create a campaign like the world had never seen.

  Jess had devised a brilliant marketing scheme that focused on the traditional customs of Chinese New Year. One of the biggest traditions of the holiday is the presentation of red envelopes filled with money, and Jessica saw this as a perfect opportunity to cash in. This year, instead of the customary red envelope, thousands of lucky people would receive a red box. It was not just any red box, but a limited edition wooden box painted in brilliant red with inlaid gold leaf. Inside each carefully crafted package was a brand new Better Timepieces watch with a lacquered red ceramic band and a circular watch face surrounded by huge Kalagho rubies. The face itself was painted red, white, and gold. The watch contained the latest adjustments to the Chablon Method, and its face transformed more smoothly than any of Better’s previous models. This watch marked the first product of the partnership between Better Timepieces and Kalagho Mining Corp. It was called the 88.