Cash Burn

by Michael Berrier

  Jason gave up on the door and went to the window. He put his face to it between his hands, but the drapes blocked out everything. He went to the driveway at the side of the house, the leather soles of his shoes grinding the gravel, and opened the gate that led to the detached garage in back and the rest of the property. At the side of the house he tried the kitchen door. Max sniffed behind it, shadowing him to every entrance.

  “Hey, Max, unlock the door, will you?”

  More sniffs in response.

  The drapes on the kitchen window were open. Jason went to it. Inside, Max stood on the faded linoleum, staring back at him through the glass.

  Jason went to the plastic patio furniture propped up in the back yard. The chairs and table had started off white, but they’d been baked into a mottled gray by years in the sun and smog. Pooled dew and dust had dried into stains on the seat of each of the chairs. Jason left them empty. He took out his iPhone and scrolled through his e-mails. He was responding to one of Vince’s morning taunts when he heard a car crunch up the gravel driveway and cut off. Pocketing the phone, he crossed to the gate and opened it a crack.

  His father pulled himself out of the open car door with both arms. He took a moment to steady his balance before stepping past the door and slamming it.

  Jason opened the gate. “Morning.”

  The old man turned. His neck had lost most of its flex, so his shoulders and head moved as if he wore a brace. With recognition of Jason, he lifted an eyebrow. “Why aren’t you at work?” He went to the trunk and got the key jammed in and the lid popped open.

  “When are you going to trade this thing in?”

  “You people always think newer is better. Grab some of these groceries, will you?” He lifted two bags out. No plastic bags for the old man. He had too many uses for the paper ones.

  “What is it, a ’78?”

  “You know it’s a ’79.”

  “Is GM even still making Buicks?”

  “I thought bankers were supposed to keep up on things like that.”

  Jason thought it might be a smile tugging at the corner of the old man’s mouth, but it was so faint he couldn’t be sure.

  They lugged the bags to the kitchen door, and Jason’s father hinged over to set the bags on the stoop and get to his key. As soon as the door opened, Max stepped out. The old man’s hand went to the dog’s head before he gathered the bags and went inside. Jason followed, the Doberman circling them like a herder.

  “Get the rest, will you?” The old man put the bags on the table and pulled out cellophane-wrapped spaghetti noodles and a loaf of bread.

  Jason went back to the car. The neighborhood was silent. No thugs with knives loitering around. He gathered up the last three bags and propped one on a knee so he could slap the trunk lid shut.

  Inside, he kicked the kitchen door closed. “Did you have any visitors today?”

  The old man was at a cupboard sliding cans in one at a time. Peas. Soup. Pork and beans. “Just you. Why?”

  “Did you see my car?”

  “Looked like it could use a wash.” He folded an empty brown bag and slid it into the space between the refrigerator and the cabinet with the others that gathered dust and spider webs in there.

  “A couple of guys came by looking for your boy.”

  The old man froze, one hand in a bag, the other among the cans in the cupboard. He didn’t look up. He went back into motion. “Cops?”

  “Not hardly.”

  Now his dad turned his shoulders and head toward him. “What’s that mean?”

  “It means Phil’s in trouble. That’s what.”

  The old man sniffed. “Tell me something new.” Another bag folded and jammed into the slot. Jason thought there were probably bags in back that had been there since he was a teenager.

  “You seen him? Phil?”

  The Jim Beam was in its own bag inside a bigger one. Jason’s dad slid it out and set it on the counter. No point putting that away. “Couple weeks ago.”

  Saltines. White bread. Both into the broom closet where the old man had installed shelves because the cabinets had run out of room to keep food for a man and his two hungry grade-school boys. He kept the brooms in the garage now with all the other junk.

  “I want to talk to him. Do you know where he is?”

  “Maybe he don’t want to talk to you.” The old man plopped into a cracked vinyl chair next to the table. “Take a load off.” He had the Jim Beam in his bunched fist. It was only ten in the morning.

  Jason sat. “You have any breakfast, Dad?”

  Every time Jason saw him, that old nose seemed rawer. It could be a rotten, chewed-up vegetable. Blood vessels trailed across it like a graph of contrary indicators.

  The old man sniffed. “Get me a glass, will you?”

  “I’ll get you some orange juice. Or something to eat. Got any eggs around?”

  One of those eyes folded down into deeper wrinkles. “Yeah, I got eggs. I already got a conscience, too.” He shoved out of the chair and opened the cupboard over the sink, where three glasses stood at different levels of dirty. Back in the chair, he twisted the cap and the seal snapped. His eyes avoided Jason as he spun the cap and set it on the tabletop and poured.

  This explained why he’d gone grocery shopping so early. He was out of JB. He swallowed a sip, and something changed behind his face.

  He brought his eyes back to Jason. “You plan to give Philip a warning? You going to protect him?” The grin was peppered with meanness.

  “Sure.”

  Another sip. This one brought the level in the tumbler way down. He poured more.

  “Take it easy, Dad.”

  A sniff. Jason’s father leaned back in his chair, and the vinyl sighed underneath him. He drew the glass toward him and left his fingers on the smudged glass as if he got comfort from it.

  Max came off his belly and onto his paws, his nails scratching at the linoleum. He came to the old man’s side and sat. The wrinkled hand left the glass for the Doberman’s head.

  “That why you come by all dressed up? Tell me to take it easy?”

  Jason sighed. As always, blame charged every word. It colored everything red with anger.

  “All right.” He stood. “You don’t want to tell me, don’t tell me. But if these two guys come here, don’t answer the door, okay? And you might want to keep your car in back, unless you want it keyed.”

  He frowned, and shadows fell over his eyes. “They keyed your car?”

  “I’m just glad they didn’t do the same to me.” He paused just one second. “Or Serena.”

  At the mention of her name, the old man’s elbows drew in. “Don’t you let her get hurt. You hear me?”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  “They threaten her? Huh?” He was coming out of his chair. One hand fumbled through the air behind him and found the back of the chair to steady himself. “Did they threaten her?” His lower lip trembled, glowed with spittle.

  “I told you—take it easy.”

  Breath rattled out of the old man’s mouth. A smell like spiced oak and unbrushed teeth settled in the air. “Anything happens to her . . .” His head quaked.

  Jason wanted to put a hand on his dad’s shoulder and ease him back into the chair. But he couldn’t bring himself to try to touch him. “I have to go. Are you sure you don’t know where I can find Phil?”

  The old man’s shoulders stooped. His hands went to the table for support and his head dipped, pointing his sparse scalp at Jason. Then it rose to reveal the clouded eyes and ruined nose. “If I hear from him, I’ll call. You take care of Serena. Hear? You take care of her.”

  “Sure. Sure, Dad.”

  44

  Dan Martell’s department-store pose had cratered ten minutes ago. Jason thought he looked very old now.

  “Where, Jason?” Dan said. “Who’s going to hire me in this market?” It was an accusation.

  Jason shouldn’t have tried to reassure him.

 
Across the room, Margaret from HR scowled at him over black-framed reading glasses, gold chain links falling from either side so she could wear the spectacles over her chest like a weird necklace. She’d warned him to stick to the facts. After he’d tried to console Chris, she told him it only made things worse.

  Tell them it’s not personal. Explain the separation package, how the bank calculates severance and where they fit into the policy. Let them know they’d receive paperwork about their 401(k) and insurance coverage at their home address. Get them to sign the severance agreement, or at least take it with them. There were important provisions in the agreement about confidentiality and bank property. Explain to them that if they were going to receive their severance checks, they needed to sign the agreement. Sure, take some time to review it. But bottom line, if you want to get a few more paychecks, you’d better sign this document.

  Jason put his hands on Dan’s agreement. One more after this one. He’d already fired Chris Walters. He’d fired Geoff Pierce. Dan made three. Then he’d call in the last one.

  “This is the severance agreement, Dan. We need you to sign it. You’ve been with the bank for six years, so you get the maximum.” He turned to the page that showed the number of months and the calculation.

  Dan didn’t look at it. “Who’s going to hire a sixty-year-old banker, Jason? Would you?”

  “There’s also outplacement counseling.”

  Dan shook his head and sneered. “Counseling. I’d rather have the money you’ll pay them.”

  Jason looked to the agreement as if that option might have appeared sometime after his fifth reading of the document.

  Across the room, Margaret finally chimed in. “We encourage you to take advantage of it, Dan. It’s a good firm. It’s not just talking about how you’re doing. They’ll give you resources for your search too.”

  Dan kept staring at Jason.

  This was going nowhere. Jason stood. “I’m sorry, Dan.” He held out his right hand.

  “I’ll take less pay.”

  Jason let his hand drop. “Dan . . .”

  “You can cut it by a third. I’ll work for a third less.” Margaret said, “We can’t do that, Dan.”

  “Jason, please.” His eyes blinked five times, trying to keep tears from leaking out. “Half. I’ll work for half.”

  Jason returned to his seat. “Dan, take the severance. Take a couple weeks off with Barbara. Use the counseling. Maybe you’ll find something before the severance period’s over, and you’ll pocket some extra pay.” He slid the agreement forward.

  Dan looked down at it. His hand rested on it. The first page had the name of the bank and the words Separation Agreement at the top. It was a seven-page document. The goal, as described by BTB’s lawyers, was to get a signature on it before the separated employee left the meeting.

  “Jason,” Dan said in a whisper, his eyes down, “don’t make me beg you.”

  He could tell him it wasn’t personal. He could talk about the cuts and the numbers and where Dan’s salary and benefits ranked in the office’s overhead. But none of it would matter. “There’s nothing I can do, Dan. The decision’s made.”

  “You can change it.”

  “No. This is the way it’s got to be. I’m sorry.”

  Dan lifted his eyes. His chin trembled.

  “You’ll get through this, Dan.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t know.”

  “Know what, Dan? Look. Take the agreement with you. Go over it with Barbara. If you have any questions, call Margaret. Or call me. It’s a generous agreement. Things will work out.”

  “No, they won’t.” He crumpled the agreement into his hand. With a deep breath, he lifted his face and stood as if drawn up by his chin. He looked around the room.

  Margaret was on her feet too. She’d pulled the glasses down so they hung by the chain around her neck.

  Jason held out his hand again. “Call me in a few days, Dan. Okay?”

  “Yeah.” Dan took his hand, the grip firm. He winked—a reflex Jason had never noticed before.

  Dan turned. The mannequin posture had wilted in the space of this fifteen-minute meeting. He moved like a man who needed something to lean on.

  At the door, he stopped, his hand on the knob. He turned his head slightly but wouldn’t look up. “Barbara won’t understand.”

  Jason crossed the room. “Don’t sell her short. She might surprise you.”

  Dan raised his eyes. He turned them to the door and with his fist on the knob tried to stand up straighter. He couldn’t seem to turn the knob.

  Jason put a hand on his shoulder. “Try to think of it as beginning something new, Dan. Give yourself some time. I know you’ll come through this okay.”

  Without looking back at him, Dan opened the door. Next to Brenda’s desk, Foley waited to make sure Dan didn’t take anything that was bank property when he cleared out his office.

  Faces lifted from their desks to see this victim. At the sight of them, Dan hesitated. His head dipped, and he moved out along the wall toward his office, his posture reminding Jason of a whipped dog. Foley trailed him.

  They stared at Jason. All of them. But when he met their eyes, they turned away quickly. Hoping they weren’t next.

  Brenda didn’t look away. She had no idea she was next on Vince’s list. Her hands were folded in her lap, her face up to him with a sympathetic press of her lips and turn of her eyebrows. “Anything I can do?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I just have to get this over with.” She was lowest in seniority among the executive assistants. Jason placed his fingertips on her desk. Turned from her. “Angie, would you come in for a few minutes?”

  Angie’s head jutted forward in disbelief. “Me?”

  “Yes.” Jason turned and entered his office. He went to Margaret. “Give me the last severance agreement.”

  She drew it out of an envelope, glanced at the name, and handed it to him.

  “There’s been a change.” He went to his desk and lined through Brenda’s name and wrote Angie Barrett’s in above it.

  By the time he turned, Angie stood in the doorway. He handed the agreement back to Margaret.

  She looked at what he’d written. “We need to talk about this.”

  “Come on in, Angie.” Jason stepped behind her and closed the door on the faces that stared at him from the lobby. “Have a seat.”

  Margaret leaned forward. “Jason—”

  He silenced her with a glare and came around his desk to sit before Angie. “The economy is forcing us to do a reduction in force.” It was a tape by now, a repeating loop running through his mind. “Every office has to select twenty percent of their employees. Unfortunately, your name’s on the list. It was a very difficult decision. It has nothing to do with performance. You’ve been a pleasure to work with. The bank has approved a severance package, and based on your years of service, you’ll be compensated with a number of weeks of pay. Margaret’s going to prepare the agreement and she’ll have it messengered out to your home.”

  He glanced at Margaret. She stared at him, shaking her head.

  Angie showed no emotion.

  He let the tape roll. “Margaret will also deliver information on your benefits. Your health coverage will continue through the severance period and for the month following. If you want to continue it, the bank will work with you to get that taken care of. Margaret can explain the details.”

  He was done. It was all he had to say, and he’d said it three times earlier. Angie was the last one.

  “I get it,” she said.

  “Good. Do you have any questions?”

  “Yeah, I have a question.” She folded her arms. “What makes you think I’ll let you get away with this?”

  “It’s a reduction in force, Angie. It’s not personal.”

  “Oh, it’s personal. You think I’m blind? You think everybody in this office is blind?”

  “Look, the decision’s been made. I know it’s hard to accep
t—”

  “You better believe it’s hard to accept. I’ve got seniority. My reviews have all been good. You’ve got no basis to pick me except what you got going with your little blonde. She’s the new kid. She ought to be the one fired. Not me.”

  Margaret looked like she’d swallowed a bug.

  “I think you’ll find the severance agreement is pretty generous. Once you sign the agreement, you’ll receive several weeks’ pay.”

  “We’re talking about your thing with Brenda, not the severance agreement.”

  “Angie, the whole bank is going through this. You’re not singled out.”

  She turned to Margaret. “Do you know about this? Isn’t it against the rules for a manager to be messing around with one of his subordinates?”

  Margaret gave her nothing. HR training kept her face blank.

  Angie spun back around. “Not to mention a married manager. How do you sleep at night, Jason?”

  It was time to let his voice rise. “Look, whatever rumors you’ve started around here just confirm I’ve made the right call.”

  “They’re not just rumors. It’s common knowledge.”

  “You want to stop these accusations right now, Angie. Understand?”

  “You’re firing me so you can keep your mistress around. Everybody knows what happens when your door’s closed. We even have a pool going. What time of day. How long the door stays locked.”

  “That’s enough. Keep it up and the severance is off the table. I’ll axe you for cause. Is that what you want?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Fine. Send me your severance agreement. We’ll see if it’s enough to keep me quiet.” She stood and turned to Margaret. “Does HR back this up? Is this the official bank decision?”

  Margaret said nothing. She slipped Brenda’s severance agreement into the envelope and avoided looking at Angie.

  Jason went for his phone. “Stay right there, Angie.” He dialed Brenda’s extension. She picked up before the first ring ended. “Have Foley come in.”

  “He’s still in Dan’s office. It’s kind of a scene.”

  “You help Dan get out. I need Foley in here.” He hung up.

  Angie’s arms were folded. “Taking food out of my kid’s mouth. That’s what you’re doing. So you can keep your little fling going. You’re sick.” She went for the door.

  “Don’t open that door.”

  She swung it open. The door bounced against the stop and began to close behind her as she marched past Brenda’s desk to her own.