by E. R. Torre
Nox examined the small man as if she were considering an ant on a kitchen floor. Instead of trampling him, Nox leaned in close to Izzy and said:
“Tell your boss he fucked up.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Thomas Rose sat behind his desk reading snippets from several documents spread out before him. The morning light barely made it to his cramped room and, because he couldn’t afford to waste electricity, the pastor used the muted light of a single candle for his readings. He pushed several papers aside until he had the Desertlands map front and center. His fingers traced lines from notation to notation. Pen marks indicated the routes his sister’s survey group followed, and he tried to make some sense of where they were before…
He shuddered.
His finger ran across a bright red X.
“…marks the spot,” Rose muttered. It was where the survey van supposedly encountered the abandoned nuclear plant. It was where his sister supposedly died. Rose rubbed his eyes. He spent far too many hours on this. He closed the map just as his phone rang.
“Hello?”
Besides one of the nameless streets of the Big City stood a well-worn metal telephone booth covered in faded graffiti.
It was one of the last of its kind and, more importantly, somehow still worked. Nox’s chopper was parked next to the booth and Nox was within, talking on the phone. She stared at her left hand, her free hand, through dark sunglasses. Like her right hand, it was hidden behind thick black gloves.
“I'm taking your case,” Nox said.
She offered no other words and, with a clumsy effort, hung the phone up. The anger within her built to the point where it was ready to explode.
Not here. Save it for the ones who deserve it.
Nox exited the booth and closed its door. She looked up, at the heart of the Big City. It lay before her like a cancerous tumor, ugly and massive and hopeless. Despite the filth and the greed and the betrayals, it was her home, and there was nowhere else she’d ever want to live. It pained her to leave, but she had to. She’d be back. Soon.
Nox approached her chopper. To the west lay a vast flat plain. Almost directly over the chopper was a large road sign which read: “DESERTLANDS: NEXT 1200 Miles”. Below that sign was another: “No Restaurants, Few Gas Stations. Please Make Sure You Have PLANNED YOUR TRIP and KNOW YOUR DESTINATION and Are WELL SUPPLIED Before Exiting the City.”
As if to emphasize that final point, a leering skull and crossbones and the word DANGER! was offered as a final warning to those considering exiting the relative safety of the Big City.
Nox mounted her cycle. She switched on a radio transmitter that sat at the side of the chopper’s fuel tank and adjusted the frequency to 33412. A steady beep was heard over the chopper’s speaker. On the transmitter’s LED monitor appeared a single steady dot. It remained in place.
“X marks the spot,” Nox muttered. She leaned into the chopper and, after a few tries, managed to start her up. She drove under the sign that marked the border between home and a sandy hell.
The exhaustion evident in Thomas Rose’s eyes was gone. He smiled when he replaced the phone in its cradle.
“Thank you,” he said. He put his hands together and whispered a brief prayer. You have not forsaken me. When he was done, he let out a triumphant laugh and pulled a cigar from his vest pocket. He lit it up and took a deep drag.
“Julie?” he said.
The door to the bathroom opened. Julie, cleaned up and elegantly dressed, stepped into the room and closed the door. She noted the disheveled bed as she walked to Rose’s side. Her eyes turned from the bed to Rose. She found it hard not to grimace at the memory of what she had just done with the pastor.
“Was it Nox?” she asked.
Thomas Rose nodded excitedly.
“Yes! She's taking the job! We won't need to fumble in the dark anymore! She will do the work for us!”
Rose got to his feet and lustily hugged Julie. In the face of such triumph, his desire was back in force. He kissed Julie hard on her mouth while his right hand reached down and felt the curves of her ass. He grabbed her skirt and roughly hiked it up. Julie allowed him, even thought there was no passion in her response.
“We’re all set, we’re all set,” Rose mumbled incoherently.
Rose was a man of the cloth, and somewhere deep in the back of his mind he remembered his original vows. He promised to avoid all earthly temptation and lead a humble life. How quaint those foolish ideals seemed now!
Through his experiences with Julie, Rose realized passion was a human experience and there was no need to fight it. He was with the woman of his –of any man’s– dreams and there was no shame in that.
So focused on the soft curves of her body was the pastor that he did not notice the woman’s continued cool response. He did not notice the shadow of a frown that lurked just below her porcelain skin. Most regrettably for him, he did not notice the shiny knife that slipped out of Julie's sleeve and into her right hand.
Her moves with the knife were quick, efficient, and well-practiced. The blissful joy on Rose's face was abruptly replaced with an expression of unimaginable pain. Julie drove the knife deep into the strayed Pastor. It slid out easily, and she thrust it forward once again. Rose’s body went limp in her arms, but Julie wasn’t done yet. She slid the knife in a third and then a fourth time.
By that point she knew Rose was dead, his heart sliced to pieces. She stepped to his side and allowed the pastor’s body to fall to the floor.
“I won't have to fumble in the dark anymore,” Julie said.
She spat on Rose. Her only regret was that Nox didn’t agree to work for him when she first arrived. She again noted the disheveled bed.
It would have saved Julie some extreme unpleasantness.
The call came in an hour later. An hour after that, Robert Octi Senior’s limousine glided into its parking space at Octi Plaza. When the elderly CEO exited his vehicle, his son was there, waiting for him. He held the elevator door open for his father.
“What’s this about?” the elderly Octi muttered. “Why is the board calling the meeting?”
His son allowed the elevator doors to close before speaking.
“They know about Donovan and the robot.”
“They authorized and funded his venture. They’re not going to turn around and pin this shit on me—”
“They also found out about Nox.”
Octi’s mouth closed tight. The anger within him grew to a boiling point. It took all his will power to not reach out and slap the stupid out of his son’s face.
Relax. As satisfying as that would be, it won’t solve a damn thing right now.
“How much do they know?”
“Just about all of it. Our cleanup effort didn’t pay off. They’ve…they’ve got Izzy in the boardroom.”
“That’s just great,” the elderly Octi muttered. “What about the recording Nox made of her conversation with Donovan?”
“They don’t know about that.”
“Thank the gods for small favors.”
It would be another painfully long day.
The room temperature was downright chilly, par for the course while attending a hastily arranged emergency session. The members of the Octi Corp. board, those that still sided with Robert Octi Senior, were clearly nervous and it was up to Octi himself to convince them that all wasn’t as bleak as it seemed. Standing before the board’s table was Izzy Greenfield. He carried his hat in his hand. It was crumpled to the point of being unrecognizable.
“After the gunfire died down, I waited,” Izzy told the board members. “I figured the cops and ambulance would arrive and I’d just have to make sure Donovan’s Independent was in one of the body bags. But this gal Nox…she came out of nowhere after the shootings. She grabbed me by the neck.”
Izzy showed the members of the board the bruise marks on his neck.
“Go on,” Octi growled. He was thoroughly unimpressed with the man’s injuries.
“
She told me to tell you something.”
“What?”
“Uh…she said…she said…”
“Spit it out.”
Izzy nodded.
“Sorry sir. She said that you fucked up.”
The room grew silent.
“That’s all?”
“Yes sir.”
The members of the board fidgeted in their seats. One of them leaned forward. He was Robert’s age, but carried himself far more coolly than Octi’s son ever had. Despite the grim news, he smiled.
“This Independent has a way with words,” the man said and let out a soft chuckle.
Octi bit his lip. It was Carl Lambert who had just spoken.
Of course.
Of the eleven members of the board, Lambert was the lead malcontent in the minority group of five. He was a self-stylized intellectual know-it-all whose charisma and forceful arguments swayed enough of the other members to make himself a genuine threat to Octi’s power. At first he hid his desire to take over the old man’s position, but in the last few months his calls for change grew louder and louder.
Though it pained Octi to admit it, Nox’s analysis of his position within his own company was spot on. At this point, all Lambert needed was one more consistent vote against Octi and he and his son were done.
“This cluster fuck is all Donovan’s fault,” Robert said, far too defensively.
“We know he didn’t have Nox sign the proper consent forms,” Lambert said. “But I understand this Independent came to see you personally. Why didn’t you just pay her off?”
“We tried to reason with her, but she’s a most unreasonable woman.”
“Then why not have her arrested for trespassing? It’s not like she’s got anything on us,” Lambert said, and paused just long enough to let the thought sink into the other board member’s minds before adding: “Right?”
Octi managed a thin smile. Lambert was clever enough to know something wasn’t quite right.
“You’ve seen our rivals’ performance in the stock market these past few days,” Octi replied. “We bring in the police to arrest an Independent on our premises and we’re opening up a can of worms that might prove difficult to sort. Besides, it’s my experience people like that are better dealt with head on. Forcefully.”
“We saw the photographs of the Independent’s apartment building,” Lambert said and grinned. “You can’t deal with anyone much more forcefully than that.”
Octi’s face turned to stone. Lambert looked away from him and eyed Izzy.
“Where is this Independent now?”
“I don’t know. She got on her bike and drove off.”
“You didn’t follow?”
“No sir. I was told to stay there and retrieve the SR unit.”
“And there wasn’t other Octi staff around to—”
“We heard she fled town,” Octi said.
“Oh? How certain are you of this Intel?”
“Seventy five percent,” Octi replied. In his mind the number was closer to twenty or thirty percent. Never trust the coked out bums on the edge of town, however good their news is.
“You’re certain she didn’t go to the police?”
Robert angrily slapped his right hand against the table.
“You’re making it a habit of questioning my father’s every statement, Lambert,” Robert said. He shot the man a poisonous glare. “The bottom line is that Nox is gone. As far as we know, we might never see her again. And even if we do, why don’t you enlighten us all on what you would have done better.”
“Well, junior, this cowboy act has made spectators of the rest of us,” Lambert purred. “At least for now.”
Octi’s gaze drifted from Lambert to his son. The boy was ready to lash out. Octi reached forward and laid his hand on his son’s shoulder. As he did, his son’s cell phone, tucked in his jacket pocket, vibrated on. Robert leaned back in his chair and pulled the phone out. He read the message on its digital display and rose to his feet.
“Excuse me,” Robert said before exiting the room.
“You should teach that boy some manners,” Lambert said. “My sole interest lies with the success of this company. If my statements are somewhat harsh, it’s only because the situation dictates it.”
“Of course,” Octi shot back. “Especially since you, Mister Lambert, were one of the earliest, and fiercest, proponents of Donovan’s security robot project.”
The smile on Lambert’s face faded. Gotcha, you bastard.
“But I’m not in the business of pointing fingers,” Octi continued, even though that was exactly what he had just done. “The fact is we all bear responsibility for the lost funds tied to a robot that isn’t worth a shit.”
“Exactly how much have we lost?” Lambert asked.
“We’re estimating no more than sixty million,” Octi muttered, well aware that the total was probably twenty million higher.
Upon hearing this figure, the board members faced each other and several conversations began at once. A cacophony of noise filled the room. Octi frowned. He didn’t have time for this.
“Enough!” he roared.
The board members went silent. After a while, Izzy said:
“If it makes you feel better, the robot nearly got her. And you all saw the damage. The thing’s a beast, sir.”
“If we wanted a multi-million dollar wrecking ball, we would have had one made of gold,” Octi replied. “Was there anything else you need to add to this discussion?”
“Uh…No sir.”
“Then get the fuck out of here.”
Octi swiveled his chair and stared out the window. Izzy Greenfield bowed and exited the room. After a few seconds of collecting his thoughts, Octi turned the chair around until he once again faced the dour crowd.
“The losses on the SR unit are both unacceptable and unavoidable,” Octi admitted. “But the bottom line is that we can weather this storm, provided we keep a cool head.”
Octi thought hard about what he had to say. Part of his continued success was his ability to anticipate trouble and keep several aces up his sleeve. It was a shame he’d have to use one of his best ones here and now.
“We have six separate profit statements we’ve held back for tax reasons. We were planning to release them in late summer, when, financially, things are usually soft. Because of these…difficulties...I have decided to release the profit statements now. They will easily trump any loses from Donovan’s SR unit.”
“What about late summer? What happens then?”
“We’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
The board members nodded. A few of them were noticeably happier. Good, Octi thought. Just keep the peasants happy.
“Now then, just so we’re clear,” Octi continued. His eyes settled on Lambert. “If I see an above average decline of Octi stock or panic selling within the next couple of weeks, I’ll know one of you leaked our current problems to the press. Trust me, there will be repercussions.”
“And Nox?” Lambert asked.
“She’s our only loose end in this Donovan affair. I’m open to suggestions concerning what to do with her.”
The board room was quiet for several long seconds. For a moment Octi considered adjourning the meeting, but one of the men raised his hand. He was a tall, medium built man with a way too pale white face. Octi tried to remember his name. Stedley?
“Go ahead,” Octi said.
“Assuming Nox left town…” Stedley –or was it Steadman?– said.
“Yes?”
“We’ll have to also assume she’ll eventually come back. Maybe we should hire some more eyes on the streets, just in case.”
“Agreed,” Octi said while nodding gravely. No shit, Sherlock.
Another board member shifted in his seat.
“Yes?” Octi asked the man.
In response, the man stood up. Brinkman, Octi thought. He was one of Octi’s most loyal board members and a true-blue ass kisser.
“We value
your leadership,” Brinkman began, proving the description fit. “You turned our investments into gold and, despite these difficult times, we have faith in you. I just wanted to say, we’re with you all the way.”
His chest puffed out and his face grew sober. He clapped once, then again. The other members of the board, minus Lambert, joined in. Soon, the chorus of applause was such that even Lambert reluctantly participated.
Octi smiled. Fucking lemmings, he thought. Sometimes it was good to have a brown-noser like Brinkman on the board.
After a few seconds, Octi raised his hands and the applause died down.
“We’ll make it through these tough times,” Octi swore. “We’ll see our bonuses yet.”
The members of the board roared in approval. As they did, Robert re-entered the board room. He walked to his father’s side and whispered in his ear. Octi nodded once and again addressed his fellow board members.
“We'll discuss this again later,” Octi said. “Gentlemen, if there’s nothing else, I suggest we adjourn this meeting. I have some personal business to attend to.”
The members of the board rose and exited the room. Lambert lingered by the door after the others were gone.
“Personal business?” Lambert wondered aloud. “What could be more important than the future of our company?”
“My company, Mister Lambert,” Octi replied. “And she takes a backseat to nothing and nobody.”
Lambert nodded.
“On this point we most definitely agree,” he said and exited the room.
“Fucking bastard,” Robert spat.
“He’s nothing,” Octi muttered. “Don’t let him get under your skin.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
“Never mind. When did they find it?”
Robert’s anger was quickly replaced with excitement.
“Just moments ago,” Robert replied. “I can't believe we got this lucky!”
“Back in college my stoner friends called it Karma.”
“I never knew you to be religious.”
