Bodily Harm: A Novel

by Dugoni, Robert

  Jenkins stood. “Major Davidson?”

  Major Davidson had shown up in the jungle with Jenkins’s Special Forces outfit. Everyone knew Davidson was CIA, though he never admitted it, and in between killing time and mosquitoes, Davidson and Jenkins had talked about things like what Jenkins intended to do when he left the jungle. Jenkins hadn’t given it much thought, seeing no point, since he didn’t believe he would leave, not alive anyway. Davidson had seemed particularly interested in the fact that Jenkins spoke fluent Spanish, but then he disappeared.

  “I thought he was dead.”

  The stockier man handed Jenkins a business card, just a name and a phone number. “When you’re ready to stop doing the poor veteran act and feeling sorry for yourself, call that number.”

  Jenkins threw the card in the waste can and grabbed a beer from the refrigerator, but later he retrieved it and taped it to the mirror in his bathroom. For a solid week he considered it each day and night. He figured they wanted him for Cuba. With his dark complexion, wiry hair, and a little work on the dialect, he could pass as a native.

  “MR. JENKINS?”

  Curley Wade’s assistant was an attractive brunette. She took him by shuttle to the front of the building, which, with its cement overhang and absolutely no redeeming architectural qualities, had also not changed.

  Like it or not, Jenkins was back.

  KENDALL TOYS’ CORPORATE HEADQUARTERS

  RENTON, WASHINGTON

  DURING THE WEEKS since leaving the hospital, Sloane had forced himself to keep busy. He moved from one task to the next, trying his best to keep his mind occupied, and had been seeing a physical therapist to strengthen his leg and shoulder. The woman damn near killed him in the first visits, but he had worked hard to rebuild his strength and stamina. He’d need both when the time came.

  Back inside the car, he turned his focus from reality to perception; what people perceived to be true was often more important than the truth. Malcolm Fitzgerald and Kendall Toys would not know that the McFarlands had refused Sloane’s request, and like Sloane, they could not guarantee what a court would do with the Gallegos settlement. If Sloane was going to bluff and try to get Kendall to react, there was no time like the present.

  As anticipated, Malcolm Fitzgerald’s assistant was curt and protective on the phone. “What is this about?” she had asked.

  “Tell Mr. Fitzgerald it’s about Metamorphis,” Sloane said and, after leaving his cell phone number, hung up.

  The woman had called him back within minutes to advise that Fitzgerald would meet with him immediately.

  Sloane had expected a high-rise facade of glass and steel, but Kendall’s corporate headquarters resembled an industrial complex. As with the factory in Mossylog, the first thing Sloane encountered was a gated entrance with a guard shack. Because the guard did not find Sloane’s name on an approved list of visitors he had to make a telephone call to confirm the appointment. Hanging up the phone, he asked to see Sloane’s driver’s license, wrote down the license plate of the car, provided Sloane a parking pass for the windshield, and directed him where to park. As Sloane drove through he saw a white placard attached to the fence in his rearview mirror urging departing employees to

  KEEP KENDALL SECRETS SECRET

  AND KENDALL’S TOYS

  WILL REMAIN KENDALL’S

  Inside a marbled lobby, near the bank of elevators, another guard sat behind a console and again requested Sloane’s driver’s license. Though he was tempted to say something like “I’m here to kidnap Sergeant Smash,” Sloane had the impression it would provoke the same result as yelling “I have a gun in my bag” when passing through airport security.

  The guard typed Sloane’s name into a computer and handed him a visitor’s badge, which Sloane peeled and stuck to his shirt pocket as the guard made a call. Hanging up, the guard advised that someone would be down to escort him into the building.

  The wait would do Sloane good. He could feel the adrenaline pulsing through his body from the anticipated encounter with Malcolm Fitzgerald and he told himself that he could not lose his temper. Any chance of success depended upon Fitzgerald buying into Sloane’s bluff. He walked about the lobby, a museum depicting the history of the company and its more famous toys. Inside a thick Plexiglas case stood an original eleven-inch-tall Captain Courageous action figure. The accompanying placard explained that Kendall first introduced Captain Courageous in 1934, well before Sloane’s time, but since he recognized the name, it was likely one of the “It” toys Dee Stroud had talked about. Other versions of the doll, taller, more muscular, some dressed in camouflage, others in Hawaiian shirts and shorts, documented Captain Courageous’s evolution through the years. In the glass case beside the toy, a similar display documented the evolution of Sergeant Smash from his introduction in 1966 during the height of the Vietnam War, to the present day.

  Moving along, Sloane read placards mounted on the wall next to blown-up photographs of Constantine and Aristotle Kendall. The placards told the story of how the two brothers had immigrated to the United States with less than fifty cents, but with a love of toys. A grainy black-and-white photograph showed them at work in their toy booth in downtown Seattle, and others documented the subsequent moves to new buildings as well as the ascension of the son, Sebastian Kendall Senior, and grandson, Sebastian Junior. Junior had reigned the longest as chairman of the board and CEO. The date of the end of his reign had not even been engraved on his placard, but next to his picture hung the smiling portrait of his successor, Malcolm Fitzgerald. Fitzgerald had boyish features and sandy blond hair, but his sideburns, two blocks of gray, indicated he was in his midforties.

  Though Sloane had seen pictures of the man while researching the company, something about the portrait, hung in the lobby of a heavily guarded building, made Sloane’s hands clench in fists. In a dark blue jacket, white shirt, and light blue tie, Fitzgerald looked like a cocky and arrogant executive, someone who believed himself to be omnipotent, bulletproof.

  That was about to change.

  Sloane took a deep breath and again told himself that he had to play this out, that he couldn’t allow his anger to cloud his judgment. If he did, Tina would have died in vain. He wasn’t about to let that happen.

  “Mr. Sloane?”

  The young woman who escorted him to the elevator bank either had very little personality or had been instructed not to say much. Either way her reluctance to speak made for a silent elevator ride. Stepping from the car, the woman used an electronic card to access closed and locked doors as she led Sloane through several hallways. On their journey Sloane noticed two large vaults with television cameras mounted overhead. Glancing into open offices, he noted the same dark tinted glass as in the lobby, and shredders atop garbage cans. The precautions made him recall Dee Stroud’s admonition about the prevalent threat of ideas being stolen. Kendall obviously took that threat very seriously.

  The woman led Sloane into a conference room where Malcolm Fitzgerald stood near the windows. Sloane felt his entire body tense. The knuckles of his hand atop his cane turned white. When Fitzgerald extended his hand it was all Sloane could do not to drop his cane and grab the man around the throat. But that day of reckoning would come soon enough.

  They migrated to chairs at a long table: the polished top of which reflected overhead recessed lights. Windows afforded a view of the south end of Lake Washington, shaped like a horseshoe with Mercer Island in the center and spotted by tiny sails and the wakes of speedboats.

  The pleasantries did not last long.

  “You indicated you wished to discuss a Kendall toy in production,” Fitzgerald said, not naming the toy.

  “Is it in production?” Sloane asked.

  Fitzgerald slid a piece of paper across the table along with a pen. “If that is the case, I will need you to execute an agreement that anything discussed today is confidential.”

  Sloane left the document and the pen on the table and maintained eye contact with Fitzgerald
. “Given that I already know about Metamorphis, that it is in production, and that it has been the subject of at least two focus groups, I don’t think it’s very confidential.”

  Fitzgerald too kept a poker face. “Nevertheless, we won’t have this meeting without a signed agreement.”

  Fitzgerald was posing as the alpha dog, pissing on trees; Sloane wasn’t about to cede him the campground. “Then I guess we’ll both read about it in the newspapers.”

  “And you should know that we will treat the dissemination of any proprietary information very seriously.”

  “You might, but I don’t think a court will,” Sloane said. “So let’s stop with the threats and try to make this a productive meeting. I’m willing to agree that nothing you say in this room today is an admission of liability in any case I may file against Kendall.”

  Though Fitzgerald expressed no outward concern at the mention of a lawsuit, Sloane knew that the mere possibility of litigation, especially on the eve of what all signs indicated would be the biggest toy launch in Kendall history, was making him uncomfortable. Fitzgerald folded his hands on the table but looked like a man fighting the urge to scratch an itch.

  “Do I have your word?” Fitzgerald asked.

  “I just gave it.”

  Fitzgerald sat back. “Then I’m here to listen.”

  Beneath the table Sloane’s hand continued to squeeze the cane handle. Fitzgerald was as arrogant as his picture depicted. “I know Kendall recently used focus groups to test a toy called Metamorphis.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  “Pay attention. It will become apparent. I also know that Kyle Horgan, the designer of that toy, advised your company that he was concerned about the integrity of the plastic being manufactured in China, that it did not meet ASTM standards, that it was cheap, and that it had the potential to crack. He was concerned that if that occurred, it could release powerful magnets inside the plastic.”

  Fitzgerald did not react.

  “Two families from Kendall focus groups, the Gallegos and McFarlands, had young boys in their homes. Both suffered high fevers, nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, and dehydration. Both died after slipping into comas. The medical examiner found six magnets inside Mateo Gallegos that perforated his intestines and allowed toxic bacteria to poison his body and ultimately caused his death.”

  Fitzgerald continued to play poker. “And you can prove these magnets came from some Kendall toy.”

  “I’ll do one better, Mr. Fitzgerald. I’ll prove they came from a specific Kendall toy, Metamorphis.”

  Fitzgerald unfolded his hands. “Your evidence, if it were accurate, would be circumstantial, at best.”

  “I’m not sure a jury would see it that way. I’ve been known to convince juries of many things.”

  “Would the McFarlands be the parents of the young boy on whose behalf you recently prosecuted a medical malpractice action against the boy’s pediatrician?”

  It was a good blow. Sloane struggled to deflect it. “They would.”

  “So we can conclude you weren’t convinced by this circumstantial evidence.”

  “I obtained the evidence after the trial.”

  “And what evidence would that be?”

  “A letter written by the toy’s designer advising Kendall of the problems with the plastic.”

  Fitzgerald’s eyebrows arched. “Do you have a copy of this letter?”

  “Not with me.”

  “But you’d be willing to provide it?”

  Sloane shrugged. “It would certainly be subject to a document request in litigation.”

  “Anything else?” Fitzgerald asked.

  “I don’t think I need more, but if you’d like me to depose you and your officers and directors I can arrange for that.”

  “I’ve been deposed, Mr. Sloane,” Fitzgerald said with a shrug intended to convey that he was not concerned. “I’ll tell you now what I would tell you under oath and save us both the time. I have no idea what you are talking about. Metamorphis was designed in-house here at Kendall. There was no independent toy designer, and I’m unfamiliar with any memorandum or letter such as the one you’re describing.”

  Now it was Sloane’s turn to shrug. “A court can sort that out as well, I guess,” he said, inferring from Fitzgerald’s explanation what he had suspected: Fitzgerald had likely stolen Horgan’s design, which was why it became imperative that the man retrieve Horgan’s file and prevent anyone from using it to prove Horgan had designed the toy.

  “I’m sure it can. And we will prove that the toy in question has been product tested and meets all applicable government and industry regulations. Kendall has been in the toy business for more than a hundred years—”

  “—I took the tour downstairs after I crossed the moat,” Sloane said.

  Fitzgerald gave Sloane a patronizing smile. “Then you know that Kendall has not stayed in business for more than a hundred years by putting dangerous products into the marketplace or ignoring legitimate concerns regarding one of our toys. Kendall complies with all federal regulations, and the toy of which you speak has received approval from the Product Safety Agency.”

  “But not from the man who designed it.”

  “The man who designed it works in Kendall’s product development department.”

  “Then he stole the design.”

  “Can you prove that?” Fitzgerald asked.

  “As I said, ask around. I’ve been known to prove a lot of things. Can you afford the bad publicity when I do?”

  “Kendall’s reputation is impeccable. The safety of children has always been Kendall’s primary concern, which is why Kendall has never had a toy recalled, and why no toy has ever left the Kendall warehouse, and none ever will, that has not been tested and found to be completely safe for children.”

  “Yet you settled the Gallegos matter for fifty thousand dollars.”

  In their game of chicken, Fitzgerald blinked first. “That is a confidential settlement,” he said, before catching himself and taking a moment to recover. The muscles of his jaw undulated and his nostrils flared.

  “Nevertheless . . .” Sloane returned the patronizing smile.

  Regaining his composure, Fitzgerald said, “The situation to which you refer was tragic. Despite the lack of evidence of liability, we made the decision that it was prudent to avoid the publicity that, as you have said, so often accompanies litigation. The settlement was against our attorney’s advice, I might add.”

  Sloane wasn’t buying that Kendall settled out of concern for bad publicity. He couldn’t imagine Dayron Moore putting fear in anyone, let alone Kendall’s attorney, Barclay Reid. It was clear that Reid had intimidated Moore so badly he wouldn’t even file a complaint.

  Fitzgerald sat back. “What is it you want, Mr. Sloane?”

  “I want a prototype independently tested before Metamorphis is placed in the market. I would agree to keep any results of those tests confidential pursuant to ER 408 and would agree not to divulge the information to the media.” He referenced the evidence code section that made any discussions of information obtained while engaged in settlement talks inadmissible in court. Without a plaintiff, that wouldn’t be an issue. Sloane could not even file a complaint, let alone get to a trial, and without a complaint he couldn’t initiate discovery to try to get one of the robots in production. But Fitzgerald did not know that. Perception. Sloane was bluffing and hoping Fitzgerald wouldn’t call him on it.

  Fitzgerald shook his head. “You’re asking us to do your work for you.”

  “Not if I can’t use the information, and not if the results of those tests, as you proclaimed earlier, will show that the product is completely safe.”

  “I’ve been sued enough to know that whatever the test results, you’ll find some expert to spin it so that it warrants litigation against Kendall. As you said, Mr. Sloane, your reputation precedes you. As a compromise, I’d be willing to provide the results of the test by the PSA.”

  “And
I’d be happy to receive those results, but not as a substitute for having one of the robots currently in production independently tested. The other option is I file the complaint and obtain one through discovery.”

  Fitzgerald sat forward. “Mr. Sloane, do you think I would commit this company’s resources to design, market, and advertise a product if I had a concern it would be deemed unsafe and subject to a recall, not to mention the damage that would do to Kendall’s reputation? Would that make sense from a business standpoint?”

  Again Sloane pushed down the anger boiling inside. Both men knew they were already beyond that point; Fitzgerald had demonstrated, very clearly, that he would do anything for the prospects of Kendall making hundreds of millions, if not billions, of dollars, including sending a killer to retrieve Horgan’s file. Besides, Sloane also knew from the newspaper articles that, given Kendall’s precarious financial situation, if Metamorphis failed, the company would likely no longer need to protect its reputation. But Sloane bit back those potential comments because it was not the bluff he was playing. Instead, he said, “Would it make sense from a business standpoint to protect the design and development of a toy only to have that information become public just months before its release? I don’t know a lot about the toy business, but I can’t imagine that would be a good thing.”

  That pushed a button, as Sloane had intended it would. “Let me caution you, Mr. Sloane, that the release of any information pertaining to the design or development of Metamorphis is proprietary. To the extent you possess any such information it would have to have been illegally obtained.”

  “I agree,” Sloane said, baiting him further, “by Kendall.”

  Fitzgerald’s jaw clenched. “Consider this a demand that any such information be returned immediately, or the company will take legal action. You’re not the only one with a winning record, Mr. Sloane. We’ve won on this issue in the past, and we will win again. Look that up.”

  Sloane pushed back his chair. He’d bluffed. The next play belonged to Kendall, and only time would reveal whether Fitzgerald would actually call him on it.