by Ted Dekker
“The company is changing, Ms. Lange. Progress eventually catches up to all of us. Unfortunately, today it’s caught up to you as well.”
They both held her in their stares, expecting a response. So she gave them one. “And?”
“And . . . we’ve decided that your lack of forward progression is an indication of a poor attitude. A tendency toward reclusiveness that demon-strates passivity to coworkers.”
Darcy knew what he was trying to say, but the slight wag of his head as he leveled each word was enough to drive a needle into her skull. She had to clench her jaw to keep from objecting.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” said Ethil, “that the company’s needs have changed. We no longer merely need proficient workers in positions such as yours. We need employees who are both proficient and exude an enthusiasm for the workplace.”
Robert took the ball.“Research tells Hyundai that the degree of enthusiasm in the workplace directly influences proficiency and turnover.”
“Enthusiasm,” Darcy repeated.
“Enthusiasm,” Ethil said.
“You’re saying you want me to punch the start button with more gusto, then,” Darcy said.“Maybe use my whole fist instead of one measly finger, for example.”
Robert’s bottom lip twitched.
“You want me to lean forward while I watch the robots. It’s not enough to make sure every weld looks right. I must make sure with a banana grin plastered on my face, is that it? Okay, sure, I get it. I’ll do that. Is that all?”
“Actually, no. This is exactly the kind of misplaced enthusiasm we’re talking about.”
“So now you’re saying I do have enthusiasm, but not about the right things? Things like the green buttons on high-efficiency automated assembly machines?”
“Please, Darcy. You’re not making this easy.”
“I wasn’t aware I was supposed to make this easy for you.”
“I think he meant easy for you,” Ethil said. “Your hostility proves your lack of enthusiasm. Wouldn’t you at least agree to that?”
Darcy sat back and crossed her legs. She wore jeans and a light sweater, as she often did. The plant was an icebox, comfortable for most maybe, but freezing for those without layers of fat to keep them warm. At the moment, however, she was sweating.
She crossed her arms, decided that her posture might come off as hostile, and set her hands on her lap. She couldn’t deny that they had her pegged. Everyone knew that Darcy would just as soon be left alone to her task, keeping a watchful eye on the robotic arms as they flipped and turned and welded the automobiles on the assembly line. She’d take music or an audio-book over another person in her glass booth any day.
“I’m comfortable with myself,” she said.
“Well, that’s not good enough anymore,” Ethil said. “You’re not the nineteen-year-old girl we hired to work on the line seven years ago. You sit above the floor for the whole floor to see. We need leaders to lead by example. I’m afraid we need a change.”
It wasn’t until Ethil smugly uttered the last word that Darcy believed they were actually setting her up to be fired. The realization froze her solid.
She’d never even been reprimanded. Never a day late. Only three operating errors at her station in five years. She had the best record on a high-efficiency automated assembly machine in the company.
And they were going to dismiss her?
A buzz burst from the base of her neck and swarmed her mind. For a brief moment she wondered if she was suffering a stroke or something. But then she wrote off the swelling hum in her head to a panic attack. It had been awhile, but she’d had a few since her release from the monastery when she was thirteen.
“I can lead by example,” she snapped. “Why sit? I’ll stand up in my glass booth, pounding buttons like a drummer in a marching band. Is that what you need? Anything for the company.”
“What did I tell you? Hopeless,” Ethil muttered, turning away.
“No, Darcy, I’m afraid that won’t do. We’re going to replace you at the controls. This isn’t a demotion perse. You’ll still get the same wage, but we think you’d fit in better on the line among the others.”
The buzz in her head grew angry. The very idea of being put back on the line was enough to send her packing immediately. She’d fought hard for the relative isolation provided by the control booth, for good reason.
“You might as well fire me,” Darcy snapped, staring directly into the man’s eyes.
Robert blinked. Sat back, eyes narrowed. He exchanged a glance with Ethil.
“No, no, that’s not what this is about,” Ethil said. “Don’t think for a moment that you’ll be able to run off to an attorney and file a claim for unlawful termination.”
“Actually . . .” Robert looked slightly confused. “She might have a point.”
Darcy felt her self-control slipping. “This is ridiculous!” she cried, leaning forward. “You have no right to demote me, and don’t think that’s not exactly what this is. I don’t care what you say!”
She pointed at the wall to her right without removing her eyes from them.“Nobody is better suited for the control booth than I am! Nobody! I like it, it likes me. We do a near perfect job together. You’re idiots to think anyone would do better just because they walk around grinning like a monkey!”
Robert’s jaw parted slightly. He looked like she’d slapped him in the face. Ethil stared, eyes round. Neither looked like they could quite believe she’d been so frank.
“I dare you.” Darcy stood, trembling. “Tell me here and now that you have someone who could do a better job.”
Neither spoke.
“You can’t! Because you don’t, isn’t that right?”
“That’s right,” Robert said.
“You bet your fat—”
Darcy stopped. He’d agreed? She continued with slightly less force.
“—wallet that’s right.”
“Yes, you are right about that,” Ethil said.
“You would be crazy to fire me.”
“We would,”Robert said. “And we didn’t say we were going to fire you.
In fact, we specifically said we weren’t going to fire you.”
“Or demote me. It’s the same thing.”
Ethil shook her head. “You’re not listening to us. We aren’t demoting you, we specifically—”
“I know you said that, but I’m telling you it’s the same to me. You can’t put me back on the line!” She walked to her right and spun back. “The line and I aren’t friends. Do you hear me? You can’t do that to me.”
Robert looked at Ethil. For a moment Darcy thought he was actually reconsidering. But it wasn’t Robert who changed the tone.
“She’s right,” Ethil said, walking behind Robert, eyes shifting to Darcy. “We can’t put her on the line. It would be tantamount to firing her. The lawyers would have a field day.”
A barely perceptible nod from Robert. “They would.”
She had no intention of hiring a lawyer, but if the threat helped her position, let them tremble in their boots.
“I can’t believe you actually threatened to do this to me,” she snapped. “If you had any sense at all, you’d be offering me a raise rather than tearing down your most productive operator. Excellence needs to be rewarded, not chastised.”
“She does have a point,” Robert said. “And we were considering that.”
“We were.”Ethil took her seat, folded one leg over the other, and looked into Darcy’s eyes.“How much?”
“Excuse me?”
“How much of a raise do you think you deserve?”
Darcy felt her blood rush through her face with renewed anger. They were mocking her. Maybe an attorney wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.
“You guys don’t know how to quit, do you?” she snapped. “I’m worth twice what you pay me!”
“Double?” Robert said. “That’s a lot of money for an automated assembly machine operator.”
“And that’s another thing. Titles don’t mean squat. Call me whatever you want, but don’t try to cover up an unlawful termination by throwing around titles. Let me do the job I do well and leave it at that.”
The room went quiet. Both of them looked at her as if she’d lost her mind.
“A new title,” Robert said.“Makes sense.”
“She’s earned it, after all.”
“Assembly machines supervisor. Joseph mentioned the idea once.”
Ethil frowned. “I think it could work.”
“And we passed her by at the five-year mark. She’s due.”
They fell silent.
Darcy wasn’t sure what was happening or why, but it occurred to her that they weren’t mocking her as she’d assumed. They had actually seen some sense in her comments.
“You’re serious?”
Ethil forced a grin. “Should we be?”
“Yes. Of course you should be.”
The grin softened. “There you are, then.”
“Congratulations,” Robert said. “We’ve just doubled your salary and given you a new title. Assembly machines supervisor.”
* * *
CHAPTER THREE
* * *
BILLY REDIGER knew a few things with particular clarity as he sat and focused on the papers spread across the defendant’s table.
He’d just committed an unpardonable sin by walking away from a defense that undoubtedly would have improved his client’s fate.
He’d done so because he’d also come into certain and disturbing information about his own fate, namely that he was about to lose both arms for failing to come through on his own, with or without this witness, whom Muness so conveniently dropped in his lap at the last moment.
And he’d come into such disturbing information by . . .
This was where everything became a bit trickier. Unnerving. Troubling on its own face, wholly apart from the prospect of amputation.
He’d gained it by hearing, as clear as day, the thoughts of Musa bin Salman, who seemed to have no doubts as to the accuracy of said information.
Furthermore, Billy had heard the judge’s thoughts. Such a bright mind being wasted.
The prosecutor had risen and was subjecting the witness to a brutal cross-examination that all but associated the man with maggots worming though week-old garbage. But Billy wasn’t listening.
He was busy avoiding his client’s glare. And plotting his next move, which would directly involve said client.
Tony’s hot breath filled his ear.“You get your useless butt back up there and ask what you were told to ask. I go down for this and you’ll spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair. You hear me?”
Billy looked in the man’s eyes and heard it all, again, this time with more detail than he needed. A flood of thoughts rushed him, some abstract, some very clear. Like the one involving chainsaws and machetes and his legs.
“I do.”He shifted his sight from the man and the thoughts were silenced.
The sounds of the courtroom faded completely, this time because Billy’s consciousness was thoroughly focused on the phenomenon afflicting him.
So it was real? He was actually hearing the thoughts of whomever he made eye contact with? An image of the monastery he’d grown up in flashed through his mind.Was it possible?
Marsuvees Black.
Sweat seeped from his pores. He shut the name out of his thoughts and opened his eyes.
“So what you’re telling us,” the prosecutor was saying, “is that you didn’t actually see any of this with your own eyes.”
“No, but—”
“That however compelled you were by what you think you heard, all you really know is hearsay. Isn’t that right? Sir?”
The prosecutor was leading the witness while arguing his case. There were several clear objections Billy could have voiced and had upheld by the judge, but a new thought was drowning out the usefulness of continuing with Musa bin Salman.
“No. That is not what I said.”
“Thank you, no further questions.”
Dean Coulter took a seat, picked up a pen, and began tapping his notepad, eyes dead ahead. He’d stemmed the tide for the moment, but Billy could blow it all open easily enough with a redirect.
The judge looked at Billy. I don’t know what trick you think you’re pulling, but honestly, I can’t wait to hear this one.
“Counselor?” she said
Billy remained seated. “No further questions.”
Anthony Sacks clambered to his feet. “I object!”
“Sit down!” the judge snapped.
The defendant glared from the judge to Billy, then slowly sat.
“One more outburst like that and I’ll have you removed. There’s a reason why we have order in a court, Mr. Sacks. Your counsel speaks for your defense. Unless you have an entire legal firm in your back pocket, don’t sabotage your own case.”
The man muttered a curse under his breath.
“The witness is excused.”
Musa stood, having been refused his chance to spill the lies he was either being forced or paid to tell. Billy wondered how long the man had to live. Muness would be fuming already.
“Any more witnesses?”
Billy leaned over to Sacks. “You go along with me here or you spend the rest of your natural life in prison. Capisce? ”
Without waiting for a response, he stood and stepped behind the podium, knowing that what he was about to do would change his life forever. But as he saw it, he had no good alternatives.
He pushed his sweating hands into his pockets. “Your Honor, I would like to call the defendant, Anthony Sacks, to the stand to testify on his own behalf.”
The barely audible gasp behind him betrayed his client’s surprise. Billy turned, drilled him with a stare, and winked.
All he got from the man was a mental flood of obscenities, so he cut it off by glancing at the jury. Their thoughts came to him quickly and with amazing clarity as he scanned their eyes.
He’s trying to sabotage his own client?
What if the towel-head was on to something?
Flat out guilty, doesn’t matter what anybody says at this point.
I’m going to ask Nancy for her hand in marriage and she’s going to agree. Just because her friends have put the fear of God in her doesn’t mean she’s stopped loving me.
Reddish-brown hair, green eyes, the cutest face . . . Gasp, he’s looking at me! Man, he’s sexy.
That last thought from Candice, juror number nine, a forty-nine-year-old banker who’d gone out of her way to tell him that she tended bar at the New Yorker on weekends for extra money.
“I’ll allow the witness,” Judge Brighton said.“Mr. Sacks, you have been called. Please take the stand.”
Sacks did, trying his best to put on a good face, but it was red and hid none of his agitation. He stated his name and was sworn in.
“Proceed.”
Billy lifted his eyes to the jury and fired off his first question to Sacks. “Anthony Sacks, I want you to state clearly for the court your true beliefs in this case. Are you guilty of murder as charged, or are you innocent?”
A quick look at the man settled the matter for Billy. I cut the rat’s throat, and you know that, you fool.
“Innocent. Totally, completely innocent.”
But Billy was more interested in the jury’s reaction.
Guilty.
Guilty.
This guy was born guilty.
Only three had any doubts at all, that Billy could tell. So, as of now he had only one objective. He left the podium and casually approached the witness stand, hands still in his pockets.
“Innocent,” he said, careful to prevent his eyes from making contact with anyone for the moment. “Mr. Sacks, do you consider yourself an upstanding citizen?”
“Yes.”
But the man was fuming inside, spewing filth.
“A family man?”
“Of course.”
“Of course,” Billy repeated. “Do you find this charge of murder offensive?”
“Deeply.”
“How many daughters do you have?”
“Three.”
“And sons?”
Anthony hesitated. “None.”
“None? Did you ever want a son?”
“Yes. My . . . we lost one at childbirth.”
“I’m sorry.”
Billy ran through the questions staring at the man’s forehead rather than his eyes.
“What do you know, the monster’s got a soft spot in his heart for the son he always wanted.”
The prosecutor stood. “Objection, Your Honor. This grandstanding is a transparent attempt to illicit sympathy. It has no bearing on the facts of the case.”
“I’m establishing character as allowed,” Billy said, withdrawing his hands from his pockets.
The judge dipped her head.“Don’t belabor character that has no relation to the charges. Insults constitute contempt, Counselor. I suggest you weigh your words. Continue.”
“Thank you.” To the accused, looking at the wall over the man’s shoulder: “I’m going to run down a series of questions, and I want you to answer them as quickly and as frankly as you can, okay?”
“Okay.”
“What is your age?”
“Forty-nine.”
“What is your height?”
“Six foot.”
“How much do you weigh?”
“Two hundred ten.”
“Good. Are you on a diet?”
“Depends who you ask.”
“I’m asking you.”
“Then no. I always eat healthy.”
“You never indulge?”
“Not lately, no.”
Billy glanced at him. Evidently Sacks considered Double Stuf Oreo cookies healthy, because they were filling his mind at the moment.
“Waist size?”
“Forty-two.”
“Shoe size?”
“Fourteen.”
Another plea from the prosecution. “Please, Your Honor.”
“Hurry it up, Counselor,” the judge warned.
“Do you ever cheat on your wife, Anthony?”
“No.”
Billy didn’t bother looking.
“Cheat on your taxes?”
