Termination Man

by Edward Trimnell

  “Feelings get you hurt,” she finally replied. “Sometimes, feelings can even get you killed.” She turned back to me, something about her expression oddly taunting. “Lucy Browning proved that. Didn’t she?”

  Claire must have seen the shock written on my face.

  “When did you become such a moralist, Craig? You didn’t worry about the rest of them—at least not as far as I could tell. You weren’t worried about Kevin Lang, that guy we terminated up in Cleveland. Alan Ferguson was supposedly your friend, and you didn't display much guilt about helping our clients end his employment.

  “But then one of our targets kills herself, and you decide that we both have to question everything we do, and what kind of people we are. Well, I’m not buying it. Do you know why Lucy Browning died? Because she was weak. Do you know why we both make six figures a year? Because we’re strong. We understand the law of the jungle, the survival of the fittest. Call it a cliché if you like, but it’s true. I understood that the night Jamie decided to use me as a punching bag.”

  “I need to get away from you,” I said.

  That was what I told her. But my thoughts were proceeding along a different line. Was Claire right? Could Lucy’s death be ascribed to simple individual weakness? Or had I been fooling myself all these years, telling myself that I was serving the neutral, objective cause of economic efficiency?

  “You think you’re any better than me?” Claire called after me, as I brushed past her toward the door. “Well think again! Where were your feelings and precious sense of decency when you signed that contract with TP Automotive? This is about people losing their jobs, Craig. It always has been. You can’t hide from that fact. And now you want me to cry over it? Well, I can’t!”

  When I was finally seated behind the wheel of my car, I noticed that my hands were trembling. It was a mixture of anger, grief, and other emotions that I could not even identify.

  After some time—I don’t know exactly how long—I was able to start the car and drive back to my hotel.

  Chapter 61

  The next morning, as promised, I met with the TP Automotive team and gave them a detailed debriefing.

  In a rare show of authentic human emotion, Beth Fisk reached across the table and laid her hand on mine. “That’s horrible, Craig! Absolutely tragic!” Beth discreetly removed her hand and looked down at the meeting table. “I—I can’t believe it! I’ve been working in HR for more than fifteen years, and I’ve never known a discharged employee to commit suicide. I mean, you hear about things like that sometimes—but you never imagine it could happen to one of your own.”

  Beth Fisk had conducted the early-morning termination meeting with Lucy Browning less than forty-eight hours ago. Now that she was dead, Lucy was suddenly “one of her own”—one of UP&S’s own. I knew that this sentiment would be short-lived.

  Bernie Chapman shook his head and muttered something under his breath. I didn’t expect the lawyer to wax sentimental, even at a time like this.

  The four of us—Beth, Bernie, Kurt, and myself—were gathered in the boardroom. It was the same room where I had interrupted Kurt and Beth less than an hour after Lucy had been fired.

  I had just finished telling the three of them the details of the previous afternoon: How I had received the suicide note around ten a.m. and driven off to Lucy’s apartment. I told them how I had found her, and how I had waited with her body until the Columbus police and paramedics arrived.

  Lucy had obviously been killed instantly, so her body would have been transported directly to the morgue. There would have been little point in taking her to the hospital. Would it work like that? I didn’t know. This was the sort of question that had never been relevant to me before.

  And who would be at Lucy’s funeral? I supposed that the estranged sister—the one who lived in California—would at least fly in to bid her good-hearted but maladjusted sister farewell.

  “What about flowers from the company?” Beth asked. “Would that be an appropriate gesture?”

  Bernie shook his head at Beth’s suggestion. “That would be a bad idea. This is a suicide we’re talking about, after all. And at least one email sent prior to Lucy’s death indicates that her suicide is connected to her separation from UP&S. We don’t know what actions Lucy’s surviving relatives may take. We might be looking at a lawsuit—although I frankly don't see much of a basis for one. And even short of that, we might be looking at a smear job in the press. If we send flowers, that could be loosely interpreted as an admission of guilt. That is something we must avoid. So as much as we might like to send flowers, doing so would not be in the best interests of the company.”

  Bernie went on: “This means that we might need to anticipate some nosy members of the local press showing up around here as well. They might approach a random employee in the parking lot and inquire about Lucy’s situation here. It appears that Lucy’s only real friend at UP&S was Alan Ferguson, but we don't know for certain if she confided in anyone else.”

  She confided in me, I thought. Lucy confided in me.

  “I also think that it would be a good idea to extend your contract, Craig,” Bernie said. “I know that your originally defined duties are complete; but this, quite frankly, changes things.”

  Kurt nodded. “I agree.” He turned to me. “I would like you and Claire to remain on site for at least a few more weeks. If you leave now, someone may draw a conclusion about your connection to Lucy's termination. We need you to stay until things have settled down. Needless to say, we will retain you at the rates stated in your original contract, on a prorated basis.”

  I had no choice but to comply. It would not have been reasonable for me to depart now, however much I wanted to be free of this place. That would be equivalent to leaving my client in the lurch. And that would jeopardize my reputation in the industry. I had personal feelings at stake here––strong personal feelings––but I still had business obligations. What Kurt and Bernie were asking for was by no means an unreasonable request.

  “I'll stay,” I said. “I've got the time.”

  “Very well,” Bernie said. “We'll draw up an addendum to the contract and get it to you within forty-eight hours.”

  “How is Claire doing?” Beth asked tentatively. “She must be especially upset about this, given that—you know.”

  “Claire is taking this as well as can be expected,” I said.

  “Well, tell her that she’s welcome to talk to me if I can help in any way,” Beth said.

  “I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”

  “Oh,” Beth said. “I had the email from Lucy forwarded to the Columbus police, just like you said. Bernie, I understand that you had a discussion with the detective who responded to the 911 call.”

  “That’s right,” Bernie said. “I filled the detective in on the background—told him that Ms. Browning was recently discharged, and apparently unstable. You technically should have called 911 as soon as you received the suicide note by email; but they aren’t going to hold that against you. You’re not the first person to panic at the receipt of a suicide note or telephone call. No one is ever really prepared for something like that. I’m not a criminal lawyer, mind you—but I don't foresee you having any issues, from a legal perspective. Let me know if anyone from the Columbus police department contacts you again. We have resources at our disposal that can help you.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thank you.”

  “Well, well,” Bernie drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “This has been some rather unpleasant business, hasn’t it? I believe we’re done here. Craig, thank you for bringing us up to speed.”

  That signaled the end of the meeting. Both Bernie and Beth gathered their papers and stood. I rose from my seat as well, but Kurt Myers motioned for me to stay. “Craig?” he said in a conciliatory tone. “Would you mind hanging around for a few minutes longer? I’d like a word with you.”

  The last thing I wanted to do at this moment was prolong my interaction with any of th
em—least of all Kurt Myers. But I was still a paid consultant. I wasn’t in a position to refuse.

  Kurt waited until Bernie and Beth had left the room and the door had clicked shut behind them. He sighed and fixed me with that gaze of his. I knew where this was going. He was about to play the paternal card with me again. Did Kurt really look upon me as a son? This thought caused me a momentary shudder, as it made me feel vaguely connected to Shawn Myers, Kurt’s biological son.

  “You have to understand that none of us intended for this to happen,” Kurt said. “And if we had known—well, we would have pulled the plug on the whole operation.”

  I recalled my own last-minute gesture to salvage Lucy’s job, after Claire had already entrapped her. “I guess the point is that I should have known,” I said. “I should have been the one to pull the plug.”

  The skin on Kurt Myers’s forehead became knotted and wrinkled, as if I had just made a totally wild speculation.

  “Don’t do that to yourself, Craig. What was it she told you, anyway? That she took some pills when she was a teenager, in a half-hearted suicide attempt that might have been nothing more than a post-adolescent bid for attention? Should every person with an incident like that in their background be immune from firing? Is that what you believe?”

  I gave that question some thought. Kurt had a point.

  “I guess not,” I said.

  “No. There was no way you could have anticipated this. People get fired everyday, Craig. The vast majority of them do not take it as a cue to place guns in their mouths and blow their brains out.”

  When he noticed my shock, he said, “Sorry—I know that isn’t a very sensitive way of putting it, but it is the truth. How can you explain that woman’s actions? Lucy didn’t even like her job at UP&S. That’s the whole reason that we hired you in the first place, if you really get down to it. She was unhappy here. She could have framed this as an opportunity to go out into the world and look for something that would better suit her. Instead she, well—”

  The funny thing was that a part of me actually agreed with every word that Kurt was saying. Kurt Myers was a son-of-a-bitch; his determination to defend his vindictive and possibly psychotic son was an indicator of his own lack of character. But he was right about Lucy, in a manner of speaking: She had been miserable at UP&S. She would have done herself and everyone else a favor if she had taken the initiative to find other work months before, when it first became clear that she wasn’t going to mesh well with the TP Automotive management team.

  And yet—that wasn’t the entire story. That cold pronouncement might have been perfectly valid if it had been uttered about Kurt, or someone like me. We were both hard-driving, hard-shelled individualists who would vote with our feet if treated unfairly. But Lucy had been a weak, damaged person. Fundamentally good—but fatally flawed. Having worked at UP&S for so many years, she had allowed herself to think of UP&S as her family. And then TP Automotive had destroyed her comfort zone, her family, by installing Shawn Myers as a senior manager. Shawn Myers—who tried to force himself on girls half his age. Shawn Myers, who might very well be guilty of rape and murder. But Shawn was protected by family connections of a different sort.

  “Craig,” he said. “Is there anything else that you and I need to discuss? This would be a good chance to clear the air—if anything is bothering you.”

  What are you getting at, you wily old bastard, I thought. Is this about Lucy? Or is this about Shawn?

  “It’s just that I’m still upset about Lucy,” I said. “This is the first time that something like that has ever happened to someone I know.”

  “I understand,” Kurt said. “Most unfortunate. Tragic, as Beth called it. And the most tragic thing of all is that Lucy Browning never even had to lose her job, let alone her life. She could still be very much alive and working here at UP&S. All she had to do was adapt, and play ball with the company’s new managers. Some people can adapt to circumstances, Craig, and some people can’t. I’d dare say that there’s a lesson here, wouldn’t you?”

  Chapter 62

  The young woman on the stage at the front of the room threw her head back in an approximation of orgasmic ecstasy. She paused a few seconds, then threw her head forward, her long blond hair whipping wildly through the air. She executed an exaggerated pirouette in front of the catcalling and whistling audience. Finally she grabbed the pole behind her and began to spin her body around it.

  As a dance routine, it left much to be desired. But the young woman’s audience was forgiving in that regard. She was clad in nothing but a pair of high-heeled shoes, after all—if you didn't count the liberal application of gold skin glitter as clothing.

  Upon completing her little spin around the pole, she stepped to the foremost area of the stage and began to shake her hips to the rhythm of the rock ballad that blared from the overhead speakers. This shook the rest of her body as well; her long blond her flew back and forth like a flaxen tassel.

  “Isn’t this great?” a very intoxicated Shawn Myers asked Nick King. He practically had to yell in order to be heard above the sudden roar of the spectators as the dancer did the splits onstage.

  “Absolutely,” Nick replied, raising his beer. The beer was only his second of the night. Nick had lost count of Shawn’s drinks. He imagined that Shawn had lost count, too.

  The Peach Factory was one of the more popular strip clubs in Columbus, and one of a national chain with locations throughout North America. The Peach Factory billed itself as the strip bar of choice for college coeds who preferred this line of part-time work to serving coffees in Starbucks or sandwiches at Subway. Every Peach Factory was adorned with local college memorabilia to accentuate this image. Nick knew this because he had been to Peach Factory bars in Florida, Tennessee, and Kentucky. With Ohio State being such a prominent institution in Columbus, there was only one real choice for this particular location to exploit: Ohio State Buckeyes pennants dominated every wall.

  “Freakin’ hot,” Shawn declared, watching the now spread-eagled stripper engage in a series of movements that approximated a self-administered gynecological exam.

  “They claim to be college girls,” Nick said. “Most of them are actually just strung out junkies, or girls on their way to becoming junkies.”

  Nick knew that this was not necessarily true; but he was in the mood to challenge the hype of any large corporation. He was also in the mood to contradict Shawn Myers—whose idea it had been to come here tonight. Nick was still smarting from what Shawn’s father and the other TP Automotive management pricks had done to him. They had taken his legitimate job on the loading dock; and his business in black-market industrial supplies was gone now as well. There was also the fact that he hadn’t yet secured another means of employment, nor did he have any immediate prospects.

  But Nick’s personal problems were a thousand miles away from his companion’s thoughts.

  “I know college girls,” Shawn said. “As a matter of fact, I’ve had quite a few college girls in my time.”

  “Is that a fact?” Nick asked neutrally. He figured that Shawn Myers was mostly full of hot air. A blowhard who was living in his father’s shadow. But that didn’t change the fact that he was rich and well-connected. And rich and well-connected people could be used. Once you discovered their vulnerabilities—once you got your hooks into them—the rich and the well-connected could be manipulated far more easily than the average schmuck who worked an hourly job in a factory.

  This was because the rich and the well-connected had too much to lose, and they cared about aspects of their lives that were beyond the concern of the lower middle-class and the working poor. The upper crust cared about their reputations, their appearances. These were usually the most effective screws to turn when you wanted to make one of them squeal.

  And sooner or later, Nick knew that he would find a way to make Shawn Myers squeal. For some reason, Shawn had taken a liking to him, decided that the two of them were buddies. While Nick was still w
orking at UP&S, the younger Myers had made a habit of stopping by the loading dock, for the purpose of exchanging what he evidently thought were tough-guy credentials. Shawn would mostly brag about the babes he had supposedly banged. Nick and Michael would nod while Shawn was there—they knew he was a big shot in the company—and then laugh as soon as he had walked away. Apparently Shawn had been taken in by the routine: He had contacted Nick shortly after the firing, and asked if he would like to hit the local strip circuit. Perplexed, but sensing an opportunity in the making, Nick had accepted.

  Nick didn’t much care for Shawn on his own merits—there was something about Shawn that was craven and beneath respect. “Creepy,” as a chick might say. And Nick had known plenty of creepy characters over the years. Shawn definitely fit into that category.

  Still, it wasn’t everyday that you went out for drinks and babe-watching with the son of the man who fired you. Nick had already determined that the son was more vulnerable than the father. If he was careful and observant, he would find a use for Shawn Myers yet.

  “As a matter of fact,” Shawn said. “I’ve even had a little fun with that tall blonde at the factory. I know you’ve noticed her. Her name’s Claire.”

  Of course Nick had noticed her. In the weeks prior to his unceremonious ouster from UP&S, the entire male population of the plant had been talking about her, even though she worked in the front office. Manufacturing facilities attracted a fair number of women who were moderately hot. “Blue collar princesses” Nick often called them. But supermodel types were rare in such environments; and this Claire was definitely supermodel material.

  “You’re kidding me,” Nick said. “You really banged that tall broad—Claire Michaels? No shit?”

  Shawn nodded. “She was all over me,” he said. “Didn’t take much. One of the best I’ve ever had. And I’ve had my share.”