Secret Society

by Stuart R. West

  Cody didn’t make it.

  Leon jumped out of the car, his body shuddering. The train rocked along at high speed, whipping his hair and clothes behind him. He fell to his knees, regaining his breath.

  When he got back in the car, he swore he heard Cody screaming over the howl of the train’s horn.

  Chapter Six

  “SX-6209 for Mr. Wyngarden.”

  This time the receptionist didn’t even bother putting him on hold. “I’m sorry, sir, Mr. Wyngarden is in a meeting. May I take a message?”

  “When will Mr. Wyngarden be out of his meeting?”

  “Hard to say, sir.” Her blatant sarcasm sounded sharp, a slice of bitter cheese.

  “Look, this is the third time I’ve tried to call him. And he’s not answering my calls.”

  “I’ll be glad to take a message, sir.”

  “I’ve got a real situation here! Tell Wyndgarden to call me or I’ll…I’ll…” Leon leaned over the bathroom sink, one hand steadying him, and closed his eyes. The headaches always started dull before spiking to intense levels of pain.

  “You’ll what? What do you intend on doing, Mr. Garber?”

  Leon opened his eyes. His mirrored image reflected a pale, ghostly visage. “I…I didn’t give you my name.”

  “Mr. Garber, I know who you are.” He envisioned her smiling primly. “I have your dossier in front of me.”

  The fact a receptionist knew his secrets made him feel very exposed.

  “Mr. Garber? Are you still there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “I believe you intended on making a threat?”

  “No…no threat. Just have Wyngarden call me. Please. It’s an emergency.” Leon hung up before the receptionist could respond. Not that her words and hollow promises meant anything.

  He sat down on the toilet seat. When he woke that morning, he looked five years older than he did the day before. A few gray hairs salted his temples and bags propped up his eyes. The previous day’s non-stop tension had taken its toll. Barely in his middle age, he shouldn’t look like this.

  Leon had been wracking his brain as to why the crazy kid had showed up down at the river last night. He couldn’t have possibly known Leon would be there. Maybe Cody had discarded Leon’s special delivery, the last round in their game of musical heads. How Cody made it so far without both taillights seemed mindboggling. Either the kid had the dumbest luck ever (heavy emphasis on the “dumb”), or Leon had severely underestimated him.

  His companion from last night, Robert, bothered Leon as well. He pored over the morning’s local headlines, looking for any indication Robert reported what he saw to the police. He felt somewhat certain the police wouldn’t seriously consider what a drunken homeless man had to tell them. What did he see anyway? Nothing that would hold up. Yet Robert knew “Owen Gribble’s” name, the make of his car, and possibly, his license plate number. He hoped Robert drank himself into oblivion, everything just a bleary dream to him this morning.

  He picked up his phone and put in a call he’d been putting off.

  “Telephone,” announced the reedy voice. In the past, “Skeeter’s” method of answering the phone amused Leon. Computer geniuses have their eccentricities, and Leon just accepted it as fact. This morning, though, Leon didn’t feel very amused.

  “Skeeter. It’s SX-6209 in Kansas City,” said Leon. “I’ve got a problem.”

  A long silence sounded worse than more bad news. Two troubling electronic clicks followed. “Look…dude. Sorry, I can’t talk to you.”

  “What?”

  “Orders came down from on high. I’m supposed to sever all ties with you.”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  “I, ah, look, I appreciate all the fruit baskets you’ve sent me every Christmas and everything…but orders are orders.”

  “Wait! Tell me what the hell’s going on, Skeeter!”

  “Can’t, dude. Sorry.” The line disconnected. Leon dropped the phone and felt like everyone had dropped him. Skeeter had always been accommodating in the past. Even though Leon’d never met him, he actually liked Skeeter. A valuable ally, Skeeter sometimes gave Leon important information when he couldn’t find necessary computer data on his own, thus earning annual fruit baskets. Keep beneficial commodities happy, another important life lesson learned from Leon’s years in corporate America. Now, Skeeter cut his ties just as Wyngarden had.

  Twenty minutes later, Leon received a text message, this time on his regular phone. The text read, Call this number from a payphone in the next ten minutes and supplied a nine-digit phone number.

  Leon recognized the area code as a Los Angeles prefix. He suspected—hoped—it also might be Skeeter. In the past, his fruit baskets were shipped to a Los Angeles post office box.

  Leon grabbed his coat and drove to the nearest Kwik-Shop, practically the last place in Kansas with a pay phone.

  “Telephone.” Suspicions confirmed.

  “Skeeter…what’s going on?”

  “Dude. Leon, look, I don’t really know what’s going on, but it looks like you’ve been black marked.” Car horns bleated in the background, accompanied by a screaming man. The sounds of Los Angeles.

  “What’s ‘black marked’?”

  “Not really sure. It’s only happened two times since I started working at LMI. It means LMI is basically cutting you off. No more help from me, or anyone. No more leads. No more protection. Nothing. I was sent a notice from Wyngarden to cease and desist all communications with you.” Skeeter raised his voice several octaves to perform an uncanny imitation of Wyngarden.

  “Jesus. I don’t know what’s going on…”

  “Dude, it’s like this—at least from what I can gather—there’s one of two things happening here. Now, let me just preface this by saying I’m not sure I know what you guys do exactly. I just know it’s hinky. Now, I can put two and two together and make a wild guess—”

  “Skeeter—”

  “Dude! Don’t tell me anything! I really don’t want to know. I want to be able to sleep at night.” Skeeter paused to deliver a half-hearted greeting to an apparent passerby. “Okay, one of two things…and again, I don’t know what you guys do—”

  “Fine.”

  “Cool. Okay, two things gets you black marked. One, your project was the wrong person.”

  “Meaning…what?”

  “Meaning you took on a project that was—I dunno—important or something to the bigwigs.”

  “Okay.” All of Leon’s projects had been sanctioned by Wyngarden, so he discarded this rationale. “What’s the second reason?”

  “Two, you know something about LMI you shouldn’t. Something that scares them. They see you as a threat to the company.”

  Again, Leon’s heart skipped a rope in his chest. Obviously LMI thought he had potentially harmful information about them. They’re wrong. He didn’t know what any of them looked like. He’d only seen a photo of Wyngarden in a brochure, probably phony along with Wyngarden’s name. And he had no idea where they were located. He knew next to nothing about LMI. No, he knew absolutely nothing about them. “If they think I know something potentially damaging to their company…I don’t! I honestly don’t know anything. Could you pass that onto them?”

  “Um, sorry, no can do, amigo.” He cleared his throat for a miserably long time. “Look, I’m taking a big chance even talking to you. I wouldn’t have done it either if you hadn’t been cool enough to send me fruit baskets for the last four years. But, dude, really, I can’t let them know I talked to you.”

  “I...understand.”

  “And you know how hard it is to find a payphone around here?”

  “I can imagine.” No one in Los Angeles even remembered payphones. “Is there anything else you can tell me, Skeeter? Anything at all?”

  “Yeah, maybe. There’s something really weird going on.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “There’s this kid…Cody Spangler.”

  “We�
�ve met.”

  “Well, for some reason, Wyngarden sent him to Kansas to take over your turf. It’s never happened before.”

  “This isn’t really helping, Skeeter. I know all of this.”

  “Yeah, well…Spangler’s red marked.”

  “What’s a ‘red mark’?”

  “Dude, it’s one step away from being black marked. It’s like probation…but it means he’s…” Skeeter coughed while he finished his sentence, “disposable.”

  “But…wasn’t he just signed on?”

  “That’s what’s so weird, dude!” Skeeter muttered a few incomprehensible words off the phone. When he came back, he brought his tone down. “Like I said, it’s never happened before.”

  “Huh. How do I get a message to Wyngarden? I want to clear my name.”

  “I don’t think you can, dude. I’ve never even met him. If he don’t want to talk to you, you don’t talk to him.”

  “Damn it, I have to talk to him. His receptionist won’t patch me through. He won’t return my calls. I like my relationship with LMI! I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it.”

  “Don’t know what to tell ya’, boss. My hands are tied. As I said, I’m risking a lot just calling you.”

  “Do me a favor, Skeeter? If you hear anything else regarding me or this Cody kid, let me know?”

  “Okay, Leon, you’ve been cool with me over the years. But, two conditions…” Skeeter always did love counting off options.

  “Name ‘em.”

  “One, you let me find a way to contact you. They have ears and eyes everywhere. I mean it, man…everywhere.”

  “Okay.” A sudden thought troubled Leon. He wondered if his home—even his car—might be bugged. “What’s the second condition?”

  “Dude, for the love of God! I’m no vegetarian. How about once this all gets straightened out you send me some of those Omaha steaks instead of a fruit basket. Jesus. It’s as bad as a fruitcake.”

  In spite of himself, Leon chuckled. “Done. Thanks, Skeeter.”

  Leon sat in his car, staring at the Kwik-Shop’s brick wall. Perfect. Up against a brick wall indeed. So LMI believed he has information. Too bad they wouldn’t tell him what he was supposed to know, save everyone a lot of grief. Furthermore, it almost seemed like LMI was trying to pit him and the kid against one another, eliminating two birds with one stone.

  Why?

  * * *

  Hard to believe Cody could screw up his moronic job at the paint factory, but he managed it numerous times; too busy mulling over the previous night’s events.

  Now more than ever, he wanted to bring the old man down. It took balls for Gribble to put the head in his van and break out his taillights, but he took on the wrong opponent. No one jacks around with the King of Players.

  Oddly enough, though—outside of sex and his kills, natch—last night provided the most fun he’d had in some time. The adrenaline rush of chasing the old man, the impending thrill of what he’d do to him once he caught him...too much. And the old man proved crafty, almost didn’t get away from him.

  Cody grinned and flicked his cigarette to the ground. He had an advantage, though. Something the old man didn’t know about yet.

  Last night, Cody’d freaked at first when he saw the car coming his way. With his digital camera’s night vision function and magnifying lens, he checked the car out. He couldn’t believe his luck; although, really, he should be used to it by now. Gribble with a bum. Definitely weird. For the life of him, Cody couldn’t figure out why they were together. Maybe the old guy was into offing bums. Or something worse. Didn’t matter to him, too bad for Gribble.

  Cody snapped several photos before going after him. A nice memory to be shared with the po-po.

  Yeah, today Gribble was going to get a big surprise at work.

  * * *

  “Morning, Rachel.” Leon maintained an even tone, business-like, and kept on walking past her desk. He craved sanction in his emotionally safe cubicle fortress.

  “Hi. Um, Owen?”

  “Yes?”

  “I hope you don’t mind, but…someone called this morning. Said he was your friend and wanted to surprise you, so I gave him your email address.”

  “What was his name?” Leon had no friends. He loosened his tie as it felt more and more like a noose.

  “He didn’t say. I’m sorry, Owen. I hope I didn’t make a mistake.”

  “No problem. Probably an old college buddy or something. Did he say what he wanted?”

  Rachel hitched her shoulders up. “No, he just said he wanted to surprise you.”

  “Thanks.” Now more than ever, Leon despised surprises.

  “Owen? He sounded kind of…I don’t know…young, maybe?” Leon rushed toward his cubicle, rising dread nurturing his headache. It had to be Cody.

  As soon as Leon powered on his computer, Capshaw appeared at his cubicle. “You’re late again, Gribble. The second time this week.”

  “Sorry. My cousin had some complications this morning.”

  “Seems like this is becoming a habit for you.” Capshaw leaned against the cubicle wall. The partition wobbled, forcing him off it. “Don’t let it happen again.”

  “It won’t.”

  “See to it.”

  “I said it wouldn’t, Mr. Capshaw.” Leon dismissed the office tyrant with a wave and turned toward his computer. “I have work to do.”

  “Well, consider yourself warned.” Capshaw left with a satisfied smile, apparently pleased with the way he handled himself. Let him enjoy his moment, thought Leon. If Leon allowed some bullying bureaucrat to bait him, more eyes would be on him. It’s important to keep a low profile at all costs. Especially now.

  Leon pecked out his password (“Special Projects”) and brought up his email. A wave of anxiety threatened to drown him when he read the message at the top of the inbox. The title, all caps, left no doubt who the author was: YO! YOU GONNA LEAVE NOW? Leon edged the screen closer to him and opened the email with a shaking forefinger. A photograph displayed him and Robert, the homeless man from last night, sitting in the front seat of Leon’s car. Even though Leon had to squint to make out the details, he remained clearly identifiable. The text underneath the photo read, Better leave old man! Or this photo’s goin viral!

  Leon wiped the photo from his hard drive, took a quick glance around to see if anyone had been looking over his shoulder. Sweat broke out on his brow. The damn kid’s luck was limitless, always at the right place and the right time. The photo in itself wasn’t damaging, that much he knew, or at least tried telling himself. However, if the police managed to latch onto it, combined with whatever Robert might tell them, things would definitely heat up.

  Leon had to try and reason with Cody—unlikely as that seemed—or stop him in another manner. Whatever it took.

  Lost in thought, Leon didn’t hear the conversation until Rachel’s voice defiantly rose above her initial whispers. Peering over the cubicle walls—along with several other coworkers—Leon saw a three-piece suited man hovering over Rachel, hands in pockets. Even though his stance appeared relaxed, his hulking manner suggested intimidation.

  Approaching them, Leon asked, “Rachel, is everything okay?”

  The large man smacked his gum, chasing it around his mouth with his tongue. “Just having a talk with Rachel. None of your concern.”

  “It’s okay, Owen.” Rachel concentrated on her keyboard, refusing to look at either man.

  “Ohhh, so this is Owen.” He jabbed his hand out toward Leon. “Rachel’s told me a lot about you.” Leon shook his hand. “I’m Travis Bergenstein. You know…Rachel’s boyfriend?” Travis held onto Leon’s hand, squeezed harder as men do when they feel threatened. “Oh, I suppose Rachel hasn’t even mentioned me to you, huh?”

  “She talks about you quite a bit.” She didn’t really, but Leon wanted to quickly defuse the ugly situation. He wrenched his hand free.

  Rachel sighed, looking up from her computer. “Owen, Travis…” She swept her
hand indifferently between the two men. “Travis, Owen.” With determination, she spat out, “I have work to do, Travis.”

  Travis tossed his head back, chuckling at the ceiling. “Hey, I’m just here to take you to lunch. Like we discussed.”

  “We did not have a lunch date today.”

  “Oh, I see. Maybe it’s Owen you’re going to lunch with.” He hitched a lazy thumb at Leon, his gaze locked on Rachel.

  “Don’t do this, Travis. In fact, after what happened…I’m wondering if we shouldn’t just…”

  Travis leaned in closer, obviously used to throwing his weight around. “Just ‘what,’ Rachel?”

  Rachel stood, her hands coiled into fists. “This is my job, Travis! This is not the place to discuss us. Just leave!” She brushed by the two men, entering the corridor of cubicles.

  Travis grinned, watching her departure before turning his attention to Leon. “What about it, Owen? You taking her to lunch? Hm?” He prodded a beefy finger into Leon’s chest. Leon glanced around, certain they had an audience. Heads popped over the tops of cubicles like so many groundhogs fearful of seeing their own shadows. “You gonna’ go out with my girlfriend?”

  Leon took a step back, putting distance between them before he acted in a way he couldn’t control. “Look, Travis, I’m not going out with your girlfriend.”

  “Then why isn’t she having lunch with me? Because of you?” His finger thumped Leon’s chest again.

  “I repeat…I have not gone out with Rachel. And I’m not going to. And do not touch me again.”

  “Tell me something. Why won’t Rachel shut up about you?” He studied his finger as if contemplating where to place it. Then he torpedoed it into Leon’s chest again.

  So much for keeping a low profile. Leon snatched Travis’s finger and twisted. Travis’s eyes flew open, his brow raising the mast of panic. Leon wrenched Travis’s arm behind him, spun him like a dance partner, and pushed him face down onto Rachel’s desk.