by Paul Cude
'Ahhhhhh,' he thought, 'it is the same woman.'
Mr Garrett's secretary continued, clearly finding it very difficult, judging by the sound of her shaky voice.
"I know it's no excuse, but that, that Manson fellow, some of the things he said, and the way that he said them, well... it was all so... believable. I hope you will accept my heartfelt apology."
Not surprised to hear that Manson had been turning people against him, he supposed that he should have realised earlier exactly what had been going on.
"Apology accepted," he mumbled down the phone before the secretary could burst into tears. "Let's just put it all behind us and forget about it."
"That's very kind of you Mr Bentwhistle, we'll see you at eleven o'clock," answered the secretary with a sniff, before hanging up.
Peter's face lit up with a small grin, imagining whether the day could get any weirder.
At exactly 10.55, he put on his jacket and headed towards the nearest stairwell, on the way to Garrett's office on the top floor, not wishing to be stuck in a lift with anyone due to all the unwanted attention he was getting. Bounding up the stairs three at a time, he straightened his tie before going through the door at the top. In front of him, in the middle of the corridor, on the thick plush carpet, at her desk, was the secretary who he'd only spoken to a little while ago. She nodded and smiled at him as he walked past.
"Go straight on in, he's expecting you," she said softly.
Striding past the desk he noticed a wicker bin on the floor, full to the brim with used tissues, next to a very shiny yukka plant. Silently he hoped that she hadn't been crying on his account, but from the sound of her voice on the phone, he thought that perhaps she had.
Walking up to the oak door, he knocked twice and waited.
A soft, "Come in," floated through the door. Turning the brass handle, he opened the door. There sitting at his desk, beaming away, paperwork in hand, was Al Garrett, fit and well, in fact looking fitter and decidedly more healthy than Peter had ever seen him, even appearing to be sporting some kind of tan, with his normally pale skin looking a lovely shade of golden brown. With a wave of his hand, Garrett guided Peter to the chair opposite.
"Peter my boy, it's so good to see you," remarked Garrett jovially, putting down the paperwork he'd been perusing.
"You too, sir," replied Peter, vividly recalling the last time he'd been in that office. On that occasion, Manson had appeared unexpectedly, foiled his clever plan, sacked him on the spot and had him led from the building by armed guards. Not his finest hour.
"Less of the sir, Peter. Please call me Al as you have done in the past."
He nodded agreeably.
"Before we get into anything else, I have to ask, how are you? Have you fully recovered from your heroics? I was led to believe that you may still not be fully fit."
"I'm fine sir, um, I mean Al. I have only really fully recovered in the last few days, but I feel as fit as a fiddle now, and I'm so glad to be back at work."
"That's good to hear my boy, we've sorely missed you."
A warm, fuzzy feeling coursed through Peter's false body on hearing this, not realising how much working at Cropptech meant to him until he'd been injured and unable to return. It was just like one big happy family really. Since leaving the nursery ring and working above ground, he'd spoken to so many dragons in the same position on returning to the dragon domain. It was quite staggering the sheer number who thoroughly hated the cover jobs they'd been thrust into. It had taken him a long time to piece it all together... that there were jobs, good and bad, in exactly the same way as there were below ground. Fortunately he'd hit the jackpot when being sent to work for Cropptech, something he appreciated now, more than ever.
"I do have to offer you my most sincere apology for what you went through while that c... c... c... cad Manson was here. I can't begin to imagine what it must have been like for you. We all, particularly myself, owe you so much."
Peter got as far as opening his mouth to protest before Garrett waved his finger, signalling for him to remain quiet.
"Also I understand that Mrs Green, my secretary, treated you rather badly during that period.
Still not sure if he was meant to speak, he gave an awkward little smile, one that Garrett assumed meant yes.
"You have to understand, Peter, that during the time Manson was here, I had very little control over what I was thinking or doing, Looking back, the whole thing seems to be just one long, continuous blur. I don't remember eating or sleeping. All I can remember is being in this damned office, doting on every word he said, and believing it without question. I can't even remember hiring the damned man. I'm told that I hired him through a friend of a friend, who'd had a recommendation from someone in the army. But alas, I recall not a single thing. While I know now that I was under the influence of some very new and powerful drugs, thanks to the people at the... at the... now what were they called? Oh yes, that's right, the Illegal Appropriation of Precious Metals Bureau, which incidentally I believe you know, as they were the ones debriefing you and overseeing your recovery."
Feeling himself getting hotter and hotter, clearly the bureau to which Garrett was referring was the dragon clean up squad, straight out of the King's Guard.
"Um... yes, they seemed extremely knowledgeable, and have looked after me very well," lied Peter, hoping that the line of questioning would move on quite quickly.
"Anyway, back to Mrs Green. I hope, Peter, that you can find it in yourself to forgive her. I know that it was only me under the influence of the drugs, but she was constantly bombarded by information from Manson, backed up by his smooth talking. While it's no excuse for her behaviour towards you, I'm absolutely convinced she only acted that way because she thought you were out to harm me. Ludicrous to believe now of course with hindsight, but not so at the time."
Garrett indicated with the crook of his finger for Peter to come closer, and then looked around the empty office suspiciously to make sure no one was about.
"To tell you the truth, the reason she acted that way was because of her feelings towards me. We, that is, Mrs Green and I, have a very complicated and unusual relationship. More than that, I really can't say."
Peter sat there agog.
"Anyway, I hope you can see your way to forgiving her, and everyone else that may have treated you badly during that period."
"I think I can," he replied, nodding.
"Good lad," ventured Garrett, shuffling through the papers on his desk. "Now what was next on the agenda? Ahhh that's right, I remember now."
Fiddling with a loose thread that had come away from his black trousers, he twisted it with two fingers, trying to belie the nervousness he felt sitting in front of his boss.
"Protecting the laminium like you did Peter, saved the company and myself a whole lot of money. More than you could ever know. If Manson had got away with everything that he planned to, then almost certainly the insurance wouldn't have covered us, which may even have resulted in the company going out of business."
Shocked, he hadn't realised the situation had been so finely balanced. Garrett continued.
"Anyway the fact of the matter is that Manson only stole a very insignificant amount of laminium."
'Not insignificant in the dragon world, I can assure you Mr Garrett,' he thought.
"And the company itself is now as sound as ever. All of this is down to you young Peter. So... I feel the need to ask you if there's anything I can do for you, anything at all?"
He wasn't sure he'd heard Garrett right.
'What is he trying to say?'
'Bald Eagle' sat stock still, gazing keenly over his glasses at his employee. Peter didn't know what to say, still not quite sure what Garrett was offering. After an uncomfortable thirty seconds or so of total silence, Peter felt compelled to speak up.
"I'm not quite sure what it is you're saying sir... um, I mean Al."
Garrett smiled across his desk.
"What I'm saying son, is
that your actions and your actions alone have saved this company millions of pounds and that I want to reward you. Would you like a new car, your mortgage paid off, the holiday of a lifetime, a lump sum of money? You name it."
Unable to believe what he was hearing, he wondered what he was he going to do. All he'd done was his job... his dragon job anyway. And certainly didn't feel that he was owed any sort of reward, let alone the kind Garrett was talking about. But if he didn't accept something, then maybe it would look suspicious. What exactly should he do?
Sitting across the desk from Peter, Garrett could sense his employee's turmoil.
'This young man,' he thought, 'is unlike most ordinary young men. Anyone else in his position would have already grabbed the cash, yet he seems almost reluctant to accept anything.'
"Perhaps you need a little more time to think about it? There's no rush of course. When you've made up your mind, or think of something, then just come and see me. A decision like this should be well considered."
"Thank you... Al," he whispered.
"Now," said Garrett, moving on. "Is there anything I can do for you at work? Any equipment or staff you don't have to do your job effectively? If there's one thing you've shown, it's that you know what you're doing when it comes to protecting this company. Anything you need, you just have to name it."
Peter considered what Garrett had just said... carefully. Part of him was once again blown away by the generosity of it all. The sensible side of him knew that this might be his one chance to make the company's security as good as it could get, and prevent anything like the Manson fiasco from ever happening again. Thinking hard, he tried to come up with anything that would make a difference on top of all of the state of the art equipment and great personnel they already had, but found with his boss staring at him from the other side of the desk, that his mind had turned to jelly and all he could think about were the armed goons that Manson had used to do his bidding, and he certainly didn't want to go down that route.
"Is it possible for me to think about this and get back to you... Al?" he said, a little sheepishly. "It's just that nothing springs to mind right now."
"Of course," replied Garrett sincerely. "Take as long as you need."
As he breathed a sigh of relief, something did spring to mind. Something Garrett could in fact do for him.
"Sir... um... I mean... Al, there is something I'd like to ask for," Peter stuttered, awkward at having to ask. Garrett leant back in his chair, eyes wide in surprise.
"Go ahead son."
"Well, uhhhh when all the things with Manson were going on, and I was sacked and escorted out at gunpoint, one of my men stood up to them. He didn't have to, he just did, totally out of nowhere. Not only was it great judgement on his part, but at the time it gave me comfort and a certain amount of hope, maybe even spurring me on into coming back. I was wondering if it was possible to see your way to offering him a... promotion."
"And just who would this be?"
"Owen Brown."
"Ahhh," sighed Garrett. "The big burly fellow who's normally on gate duty in the mornings."
"That's him."
Garrett sat back in his chair, scratching his chin. Just as Peter started to wonder if he'd overstepped a boundary, the old man cracked a smile and nodded.
"Sure, why not. Might as well make it two promotions instead of just one."
Peter screwed up his face, not really understanding what his boss was saying.
"Two promotions si... Al?"
"Of course my boy. You'll take over as departmental head, responsible for security throughout the whole of Cropptech. Owen can then step up into your current role. How does that sound?"
Not knowing what else to do, he nodded his agreement.
"Good, good," mused Garrett. "I'll make the necessary arrangements, and hopefully everything will be in place by the end of next week. Is there anything else Peter?"
"No Al," he replied, shaking his head.
Garrett thrust out his hand and shook Peter's, as they both stood up.
"Don't forget son, think about both of those things we talked about. My door is always open to you. Have a good rest of the day."
With that, the old man sat down, picked up the white phone on his desk and started dialling. Turning around, Peter made his way out of office, and back into the plush corridor, all the time in a kind of daze. Smiling at Garrett's secretary as he made his way to the lift, he pinched himself on the wrist, as he pressed the button to go down, wondering if it had all been a dream. The 'ding' of the elevator announced its arrival and proved that it wasn't. Stepping into the lift, he pushed the button for the ground floor, silently staring at his reflection in the mirrored walls as the doors slid shut behind him. Instinctively, he adjusted his light blue tie, straightening it ever so slightly. Continuing to stare at himself on the short journey, for the first time since he'd taken human form, he decided that he needed a... haircut. His long, dark, wavy hair, flowing down just beyond his shoulders, didn't really fit in with the post he now held, but it certainly didn't fit in with his promised promotion. On the walk back to his office, he thought about having a haircut, particularly whether he should let a human hairdresser do it (a lot of dragons do it this way) or whether he should see if Gee Tee had a mantra that could help. Opening the door to his office, he stepped inside.
"BOO!"
Nearly jumping out of his skin, he whirled round, ready to fight if necessary. Richie stood, arms folded, behind the door, a huge smile lighting up her delicate features.
"You nearly gave me a heart attack," he exclaimed, relieved.
"Some head of security you are... Bentwhistle!" she replied, walking over to him and enveloping him in the mother of all hugs. "Anyway, Scared of Salisbridge, I'm here to take you to lunch."
Peter glanced down at his watch.
'It can't be lunch time yet,' he thought. But it was two minutes to twelve, and the staff restaurant always opened dead on twelve. 'I had no idea I was in Garrett's office for that long.'
"Come on," ordered Richie, offering out her hand.
Patting his trouser pockets, he checked he had his phone, and more importantly... wallet, and then took Richie's hand.
"You're in a very good mood," he said as they walked hand in hand down the brightly lit corridor.
"Cheeky!" she cried, slapping him playfully on the bum, which caused him to blush profusely. "I'm always in a good mood, I'll have you know."
"Hmmmmm," sighed Peter sceptically.
Richie raised her eyebrows.
"Want another slap?"
"No," he replied, covering his bottom with both hands. "Anything but that."
It was then that they arrived at the double doors of the staff restaurant, which strangely seemed closed. Normally, they would be open wide with a queue extending out of them.
"What's going on here?" he asked with a puzzled expression.
"Let's find out," remarked Richie, giving him a great big shove into both doors. Peter went flying clumsily through them, trying hard to maintain his balance, and not fall on the floor as he did so. Total darkness suddenly turned into bright light. Looking around, he found himself the centre of attention in a very full restaurant. A round of applause started, softly at first, building to a full on thunderclap after thirty seconds or so. With little else he could do, he stood, blushing all over again, as even Richie, off to one side, now joined in.
Eventually the applause subsided. It was then that he discovered he was the guest of honour at a lunchtime celebration arranged by Al Garrett. Richie, of course, had been in on it all along, and Peter wouldn't have been too surprised to find out that it was originally her idea.
The lunch, if that's what it could be described as, went on for just over two hours. By the time it was all finished, Peter was stuffed to the eyeballs. Great pleasure had been taken by the cooks in dishing him out all of his favourite foods: roast beef, fajitas, fish and chips, and not just one portion either. Never had he eaten so well, or
so much. Staff from numerous departments came over and shook his hand, clapped him on the back, or just said thanks. All the time, Richie sat opposite him, grinning away, amused beyond belief.
Although he didn't relish the attention thrust upon him, surprisingly, he had a wonderful time. Everyone was so friendly. It made everything he'd been through seem totally worthwhile. As the last of the staff filed out of the restaurant and the cooks started tidying up, only Peter and Richie remained, having both been told by Al Garrett to relax and soak up the atmosphere.
"You sneaky git," accused Peter, leaning across the table towards his friend.
She smiled that famous Richie smile, right back at him.
"Would you have agreed to come if you'd have known?"
Carefully he considered the question.
"No," he admitted truthfully.
"There you go then."
"That's all you have to say?" he countered.
Shaking her head, Richie said,
"It wasn't all just about you, you know."
"Do tell," he replied sarcastically.
Richie's beautiful smile faded as she sat back in her chair, considering her next words.
"Manson being here, and what he did, affected nearly everyone in the company. From ordinary workers being intimidated and bullied by those gun wielding idiots, to Dr Island being sacked. I guarantee you that everyone here knew someone who'd had a bad experience. You've seen what the company was like before Manson, much like it is now. Everyone, and I mean everyone, is so pleased that the company and its leader are back to normal. They all wanted, needed even, to be given the chance to put everything behind them. Also, they all feel they owe you a great debt for playing such a vital role in returning the company to what it was. For them to be able to come and thank you, pat you on the back... it may seem insignificant to you, but it's a vital part of the healing process for each and every one of them.
None of the things that Richie said had even occurred to him. Now that she'd explained it though, it did all seem to make perfect sense. Never before had he considered looking at things from this point of view.