Taylor’s report on the possible human causes of the magenta pill crisis was not the cause of his demise as a VBI creature. He wasn’t dismissed due to incompetence, but because he had broken a cardinal rule which Abelard had laid down the very first day he took up his new position at Pharma. Most people, Abelard had long ago concluded were incompetent, but could produce good work if properly managed. What Taylor had failed to do was report it to Abelard as soon as the problem surfaced. It may have gone away with the passing of time but such an outcome hardly ever occurs in a world where weak links always attract predators. Indeed, Abelard had rarely known problems that with time did not grow progressively worse and ever more difficult to happily resolve.
Comfortably settled in the large, powerful, richly appointed VBI Boeing 767 jet, which he felt had been built with him in mind, he studied the dossier that Taylor had compiled on the major trouble makers he had identified at the Pharma division. There were two which he quickly isolated as the ones he would need to shut down. The day shift supervisor, which he nicknamed Karl after the most reviled name in capitalist lore and the shipping room manager, whom he affectionately named Uncle Joe, another bogeyman of the haves.
He was met at the Philadelphia airport by the driver he had specifically requested, a man personally vouched for by McCurdle, his preferred thug in Montreal. Walkup was a man of impressive proportions and equally impressive lack of principle. He was the mercenary’s mercenary. He could be completely trusted to lie, cheat, intimidate or all of the above, whenever the need arose, and the need for such qualities, Abelard anticipated, would very soon be pressing. He had chosen to hit Uncle Joe first, having guessed from the profiles so helpfully prepared by the late Taylor, that Karl could be encouraged by example to put a stop to his disruptive tactics. Uncle Joe seemed a tough character, a military background with the marines, while Karl was but a nuisance with a little education, but just enough to let him see his way forward more clearly after Abelard got through with Uncle Joe. Taylor’s report, Abelard could not have known, neglected to mention Karl’s long struggle with paranoia. It would have a big impact on his own life.
They arrived at the shipping entrance and McCurdle, who had accompanied Abelard, fell in step with Walkup, behind the boss. The steel door swung open as Abelard swiped his plastic pass against the reader. No one knew he was coming and that was part of his strategy. He was counting on surprise and very few witnesses. He walked down the wide corridor directly to a small office at the very end, just as it gave into the vast warehouse where product was sorted for shipping.
Abelard stopped a bit before the glass walled office, remaining invisible to anyone inside. Walkup pushed open the door and Uncle Joe, who had been watching through the large plate glass window a shipment being loaded in the warehouse, was startled by the unexpected activity at his back.
“What is it,” he asked, gruffly?
“There’s something you should see out here,” Walkup said, with contrived urgency in his tone.
“Mr. Bush,” Uncle Joe blurted, recognizing Abelard from the pictures of its top executives VBI always sends to the employees. He seemed confused, which is just what Abelard had been counting on.
He didn’t get a chance to say anything more. Without a word and with much energy, Abelard smashed his outsized fist into Uncle Joe’s face, knocking him unconscious. Neither McCurdle nor Walkup had expected this outcome. They were not squeamish men and would have trounced anyone their boss may have asked them to, but this was so out of the blue it stunned them. They were now a bit uncertain as to whether they themselves might not be in some danger. They tried as best as they could to move unnoticed out of Abelard’s range.
“McCurdle,” Abelard growled, “put on his glove and hit me hard, on the jaw. Remember, on the jaw, I don’t want a black eye or a broken nose, only a visible bruise on the jaw. Is that clear?”
McCurdle may not have been overly intelligent in most matters, but when it came to underhandedness and general dishonesty he was remarkably talented. He very quickly understood the game and snapped out of his momentary confusion at the recent turn of events. He pulled on the almost perfectly fitting glove, begged Abelard to forgive him and let fly with a withering right hook. Abelard reeled from the blow, touched his burning jaw and without losing another moment calmly gave his men their marching orders.
“Walkup, get the phone in the office and call plant security. Tell them I have been attacked and that they should contact the police, making sure to let them know that it was not an emergency – he did not want the blare of sirens to widen the audience for his two act play. Drag him over to the open window that gives into the plant. I want everyone to see this.” He wanted, specifically, Karl to see this. As for everyone else, he thought it would be a good lesson. Well laid as it may have been, his plan to accuse Uncle Joe of assault, get rid of him and at the same time encourage Karl to good behaviour was about to go awry.
As Karl came through the door Uncle Joe also regained his senses, raised his bloody head and yelled, “they’re goin ta get ya, like they did me. Run!” Abelard knew then and there that these two had been working together to sabotage the magenta pill line. Karl ran towards a door at the other end of the plant which gave onto a smaller garage where less than full lot shipments were handled. Unfortunately for her, a clerk checking on an outgoing load was in Karl’s way. He grabbed her, pulled a gun from his waistband and put it to her head. He now faced a large crowd of people, day shift workers curious about the commotion, Abelard, McCurdle, Walkup and Uncle Joe, still a bit dazed from Abelard’s blow. The police had also been called, for the second time.
As Abelard tried to calm the situation and reason with Karl, he heard the approaching sirens and was thoroughly annoyed. He had hoped to settle all this quietly, through some personal intimidation and Uncle Joe’s well remunerated departure. But now he would have to operate in the glare of public attention. Within moments there were six policemen with guns drawn and pointed at Karl and his confused hostage. Despite his severe paranoia, for which he had once been institutionalized, Karl was not considered dangerous and had been taught coping strategies that made it possible for him to hold down a normal job under ordinary circumstances. But these were hardly commonplace conditions and no one had known about the gun, extra insurance that he apparently needed on top of his coping strategies.
The hostage was quite young, a student with part time work, was Abelard’s guess. She was not a beautiful woman but tall and wholesome, and immediately grabbed Abelard’s attention. She evoked in him memories of rare selfless compassion he had carried for another human being.
*