The Buds Are Calling

by Coyne Davies, B.

  “Fuck! That’s savage!”

  “Joe had a bloody nose.”

  “Sick. Wish I’d seen that.”

  “Why? It’s terrible.”

  “Maybe one of ’em’ll quit now.”

  “Who though?”

  “What’s it matter? We just end up doing what Lorne tells us anyway.”

  “Least it wasn’t in front of the ladies.”

  “Yeah. That would suck.”

  “Ladies shouldn’t ever be triggered.”

  “No violence in front of the ladies.”

  “What about harvest? That’s pretty violent.”

  “No it’s not.”

  “Yeah it is. For the ladies.”

  “No . . . yeah, I guess. But it’s not gratuitous.”

  “And it’s not angry.”

  “It’s not so lit either, if you’re one of the ladies.”

  “Why are we talking about this?”

  Chapter 45

  “So no one thought to call the police?” Luther was leaning back in the lime-green leather chair looking disgustedly at the acrylic slab of a conference table rather than at Lorne.

  “Were we supposed to?”

  “No. No report. Less material for a civil suit.”

  “Damian’s claiming it was assault with a deadly weapon.”

  “He threatened a woman with a trowel. That could be deadly too, Lorne. Her husband protected her. Then she protected her husband. Damian might not have a leg to stand on, or a cheek to sit on, maybe.” Luther snorted. The Damian he saw in the video bore no resemblance to the laid-back guy he’d chitchatted with during dinner at Lydia’s a few months ago. You just never knew about people. “Anyway, it’s the other two I’m worried about. Did Joe — er, that’s his name, right? — Did he go to a doctor? Hospital?”

  “I don’t know.” Lorne was feeling sick.

  “Let’s make sure we have a slight technical problem. Don’t let the couple get a look at the video footage. How much did you know about this horticulture war?”

  “I tried to say out of it.”

  “For God’s sake, Lorne. You’re the production manager!” Luther threw up his hands and stared at Lorne. Then he sighed. “So did the couple’s logbook document any threats from Damian?”

  “No threats against them. But threats to the plants? Yeah. They were documenting Caldwell’s activities in the production area too.”

  “Jesus.” Luther could do without this craziness. Thank God, there wasn’t a union! Yet.

  He needed to send in another lawyer. He didn’t have the time or the knack. He’d decided as a student that employment and labor law was a mire, and he’d steered clear of it. His being even near the grow facility was a fluke. He just happened to be in the area “discussing business” with Lydia. The company needed to bury this. Fast. They should just fire everybody involved, including Lorne. Probably Greg too given he was head of HR. And Lydia! Luther could see several lawsuits unfolding; damage control was his specialty even if labor law wasn’t. This was the last thing the company needed.

  Lydia was shocked by the altercation and by the notion that the company could somehow be liable. She wanted to convene a meeting with all those involved and get to the bottom of things so that people could get along and appreciate the gifts that each brought to the CannRose family. “Why should anyone be fired? How will people ever learn to be friends that way?”

  Luther was speechless. No wonder Jordan had set up an industry around her just to look after the estate. Luther suggested she step down as president. She was puzzled by this because she thought her contribution was key to the company’s functioning. Luther shut up at that point. His wife was divorcing him. He needed a friend and he’d miraculously found a lover. A very rich one. She had a few years on him but so what? Maybe it was time to learn to get along. Take a look at things from Lydia’s uncommon perspective.

  #

  Cleaning up “the incident” at CannRose was simple. The company could not tolerate violent behavior under any circumstances, the labor lawyer explained in his deep, solemn voice. Cassie, Joe and Damian had to be fired. Six weeks’ full pay was offered to each. They just had to sign an agreement. Of course in signing, they released the company from any future responsibilities, health claims or any kind of litigation whatsoever related to the little fracas.

  Six weeks’ pay looked generous from the perspective of a black eye, given black eyes tend to heal quickly. Even the owner of the punctured butt thought it was a pleasant surprise. And any legal action Damian intended to take against Cassie was deterred by self-medication. Some premium Zimbabwe bud, cultivated by his current Colorado girlfriend, relieved the pain quite remarkably, so he never got around to the “obtaining legal counsel” step. And Joe and Cassie’s outrage at Damian’s very existence left no room for other considerations. They had never tolerated a perception of themselves as victims. So they hadn’t talked to anybody either. All three were somewhat bemused by the payoff and quite happy to sign. They’d all been about to quit anyway.

  However, the labor lawyer went on to explain that CannRose was also very forgiving. In truth, the execs realized they might be up shit creek if they got rid of all the cultivation experts at the same time. The lawyer didn’t allude to this point for even a millisecond. He’d spent years refining his approach, ensuring workers were screwed out of any leverage they might have for even the most legitimate claims. But this situation was turning out to be so easy it was almost insulting. He explained that the company was willing to grant people a second chance. If they wished to reapply after or even while attending anger-management classes or seeking therapy, their applications would be seen in a favorable light, though remuneration at present levels may have to be reconsidered as the company bore considerable risk by taking them back.

  When they told the guy he was wasting his breath, Lydia unexpectedly exercised her authority. She genuinely wanted to understand how any of this could have happened at CannRose. Damian had been living only yards away from her own house and she considered him a friend, but not once had she heard about difficulties between staff from him. And she’d always thought Joe and Cassie and their sweet children embodied the perfect wholesome young American family. Why, the freshness and hope in their faces fairly shone. CannRose couldn’t find a more suitable couple aligned with the company’s own core values. The labor lawyer advised her that understanding was unnecessary and a waste of time. “People are just naturally barbaric,” he said. Nevertheless she invited them individually into her office to hear each person’s side of the story. Since they weren’t planning to reapply they needn’t hold back, she told them. She wanted to hear all their thoughts on the matter, even the uncomfortable ones. How else was CannRose to avoid this in the future?

  #

  “You know what I think, Luther?” Lydia said to him as they swung gently in the hammock. They were wrapped up in their big towels enjoying a sunny afternoon down by the Great Pond.

  It was so rare that Luther was able to relax, he felt he’d stolen the time. He clasped her hands between his. “What do you think?”

  “I think people just want to be appreciated,” Lydia said. “They want to know they count.”

  “I wish it were that simple!”

  “But I think it is, Luther. People don’t get up in the morning and decide they’re going to do something terrible.”

  “I think lots of people do. Some people are driven, and a person better not get in their way. Or they think they have a right to something when somebody else has it. Or sometimes, say with a psychopath, the meanness just comes naturally. It’s a state of being.”

  Lydia looked across the water as a duck skidded in for a landing. “You see a much darker world than I do. I guess I like to see the best in people.”

  “Well that’s who you are, Lydia. I think I adore that about you.” He stroked the side of her face.

  “Really, Luther? That’s sweet.” Her smile waned as she turned her gaze back to him.
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  He kissed her cheek.

  Lydia stared at him — maybe right through him. “You know Jordan saw a darker world too. I suppose that’s why he liked to keep me in the dark. He kept me naive.” She nodded to herself. “Maybe so he could continue to adore me. I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You mustn’t ever censor information for me, Luther. Don’t coddle. It’s not fair.” She looked away again, back to the duck paddling in the pond. “You know when Cassie was telling me those horrible things she thought about Damian, I didn’t think she was a bad person for it. I just saw all that frustration. It was heartbreaking you know. She’s a very hard worker.”

  “I think the three people involved were relatively untainted, Lydia. Just rather innocent people caught up in a conflict. Nothing like the people I see most of the time.”

  “You’re saying the world out there is much, much darker.” Lydia sighed.

  “It’s sure not pretty. People are ruthless, cynical, greedy.”

  “Do you think Jordan was ruthless? Did you ever hear that about him?”

  Luther realized the conversation was becoming something more than just a chatty afternoon in the sun with his magnanimous lover. He needed to tread carefully. “I suppose I have heard that about Jordan. But it was pretty normal for the times.”

  Lydia turned back to him with her full attention. “How so?”

  “Oh, usual stuff. Hostile takeovers, mergers, plunder the competition’s talent to shut it down. Outsourcing, bribes on the side, financial threats, whatever it took to stay on top. Only so much market and profit to go around, Lydia. He was just more clever at it than most.”

  “But people got hurt.”

  “That’s business, Lydia. Hell, now it’s gone one further: cover-ups, collusion, artificial inflation of earnings, accounting fraud, tax evasion every which way you name it. Back in Jordan’s day the corporate world at least pretended to have a moral compass.”

  “Are we doing that now, with CannRose, Luther? You know I don’t understand business all that well. Are we carrying on in that normal manner? Like what you just said about how it’s gone further.”

  Luther kissed Lydia on the cheek again. “I think we’re pretty small players, Lydia.” Then he turned away to look out at the water himself. He wished he’d skipped drinks several months ago with Jordan’s two dearest old friends, the overseers of Lydia’s estate. Cyrus and Malcolm were as cold-blooded as vipers. They’d chortled and snickered over their martinis as they discussed Jordan’s shell companies and the Dutch mailbox set-ups. Usually things worked the other way around with money flowing out of the country. But for Malcolm and Cyrus, tax laws were minor hurdles, background noise that was easily filtered. Besides, the Netherlands held the European gold standard for marijuana production. They’d been at it for years.

  “How much more fitting could the financial arrangements possibly be?” Cyrus had exclaimed, popping an olive into his mouth.

  “Like tulips and windmills,” Malcolm had said.

  Chapter 46

  “It was a blood moon and something to do with the planets linin’ up on the equinox, something like that,” Lazlo explained, his rheumy eyes more lit up than usual. The CannRose vice-president-and-contractor was in a jolly mood. Even his voice was clear. The waste-management facility had finally been completed. Most everything was built now — enough to satisfy the state anyway. Caldwell and Luther would be off his back. He was telling Ernie and Greg about the festivities at Rosefields the day Guido had signed over millions of dollars. Rumors had reverberated through the grow facility that the party had turned into an orgy. It wasn’t an event that Ernie had catered, so he was curious about what happened.

  “More like a mosh-up for geriatrics. The board’s a bunch of antiques you know — friends Lydia had from Jordan’s old crowd. Cyrus and Malcolm weren’t there though. I think Malcolm was off the board by then anyway. And the munchkin wasn’t there either.”

  “Who’s the munchkin?” Ernie asked.

  “Luther.” Lazlo smiled. “Caldwell named him ages ago. Fitting I think. Now I guess he’s Lydia’s little munchkin.”

  “Yeah, I did notice that. People who work in glass offices . . .” Ernie shook his head.

  “Anyway they were all drunk,” Lazlo continued. “Half of ’em high. Damian has a bottomless stash and who knows what else he’s got.”

  “So who got naked? That’s what I want to know,” Greg said.

  “I sure as hell didn’t. Most of ’em were out on the patio having this ceremony.”

  “For Guido and the blood moon,” Greg said.

  “No, for the spring equinox. Anyway, I just stayed at the bar and raised my glass to ’em. Lydia had these sparklers, incense burning everywhere, candles floating in the pool. It’s heated you know — she keeps it going all year round.”

  “I don’t even start up my hot tub ’til late April,” Greg said.

  “So Guido, Jason, me and some woman — I can’t remember her name — we’re just chatting, and somebody turns the music up. It’s this airy-fairy stuff, la-la-la, and suddenly they’re all hugging each other out on the patio and they troop back in with their arms stretched out. I didn’t know where this was going and Guido was looking pretty uncomfortable.”

  “Not his kind of people?”

  “Even if they are the same generation.” Lazlo shook his head. “I got hugged too by at least four of ’em. Two months ago they wanted me fired.”

  “Money changes things.”

  “I’ll say. So then one of ’em puts on some old R & B. And it was that really old Bradford lady who started it. She goes outside hollerin’ about freedom and springtime, whips all her clothes off and starts gyrating to the music.”

  “That’s a very scary visual.”

  “She’s an old flower child ya know. Woodstock an’ everything ’til she married into money. Anyway, then the others decide to join her.”

  “It just takes one.”

  “Well, it took some of ’em quite a while. Like I said, they’re mostly antiques. I can’t remember who all. But picture this — there’s a couple of ’em on the big table and the rest out on the retainer wall. Music’s blaring. They’re dancin’, singin’ and bangin’ on cocktail shakers. Lydia’s found herself a ukulele.”

  Greg choked on his coffee.

  “It was crazy. I mean the Bradford woman’s gotta be close to eighty. The husband, he’s about the same and all stooped over. And this other guy, he’s a hippo, twice the size of my Gus. And Damian? Jesus with that hair, and he’s so skinny, looks like he stepped out of a concentration camp.”

  “Another night at Rosefields, I guess!” Greg chuckled.

  “It gets better. Caldwell finally comes back. He took his little girlfriend home. I can never remember that kid’s name and she’s so quiet. Anyway she wasn’t feelin’ too good. Tossed her cookies out by the garage.”

  “So did he have a tantrum or start telling them how to dance?” Greg asked.

  “Well, he’s watchin’ all this and he’s watchin’ Guido too. Guido’s lookin’ anywhere but out the patio doors and finishing up his drink like he’s getting ready to leave. So Caldwell starts taking off his shirt and I tell you the look on Guido’s face . . .”

  “Poor guy gets a freak show for his millions.”

  “I gotta hand it to Caldwell, though. He goes sprinting across the patio and cannonballs straight into the pool. So naturally all the nutbars follow him, with Lydia saying, ‘My gracious! What a perfect idea!’” Lazlo paused and smiled. “It was like water therapy, you know, like in the old days at the asylum. Settled ’em all right down.”

  “Good thing they weren’t all dancin’ on the table,” Greg said. “Can you imagine the accident that coulda been?”

  “Broken hips. Damian losing the other half of his brain.”

  “Everybody losing their teeth. Jesus!” Greg started laughing.

  Lazlo and Ernie were laughing too and rocking a little in the new ergonomic office chairs. In
fusions of money, like the one from Guido, were always put to fine use at the facility.

  “So what was Jason doin’ in all this?” Greg asked.

  “Drinkin’. He’s likely seen crazier shit where he came from.”

  Lazlo and Greg had been in agreement for some time about the angel investor and his sidekick. Lazlo had friends north of the border who knew about Jason. They said he’d reformed from his wasted youth. Greg said he was legally resilient and valuable too. He’d managed to beat any convictions or deal his way out of them. Guido was pure as snow by comparison.

  “He may have one or two distant connections, but they’re . . .” Greg shrugged. “They’re loose. Inconsequential.”

  “Fluid?” Ernie suggested. “Like little ripples intersecting in a pond?”

  “Yeah,” Greg nodded, liking the image. “Something like that.” Then he looked at Ernie quizzically for a second and smiled.

  Lazlo picked up his coffee. “He can be whatever from wherever. I don’t think any of us would still be here without him.” He raised his mug. “Here’s to Guido.”

  “And obviously he’s a good sport, among crazies too,” Ernie added and kept his suspicions about the man to himself. It wasn’t that Ernie thought Guido was some Mafia boss or anything, but he was sure the man was up to something. Guido knew way more about what was going on at CannRose than anybody else. Intel was power and Guido sure knew how to land the intel.

  #

  It was a warm night so Ernie sat out on his rooftop getting a little high. His attention was drawn to the bats that were flitting above him, in and out among the big oaks that towered on one side of the Rent-All. The bats absorbed all light; the stars above fleetingly disappeared and reappeared as the little mammals dipped and darted after their dinners. It was like the bats were in some complex and highly choreographed dance number. Perhaps dancing under the stars was a natural thing to do, although Ernie himself had never felt compelled that way. It had to do with his lack of coordination when moving with any speed. The same reason he’d never played basketball in spite of his height. Appearances are often deceiving, Ernie thought.