Cash Out

by Greg Bardsley

  I roll my eyes. “Do you even know anything about the audience for this event? For that matter, who are you again?”

  Grin widens. “I’m helping Stephen out.”

  I grin back. “You’re a consultant.”

  Grinning. Slightest of nods.

  “Someone with Hill, Knowland, and Davis send you over? Little twerp named Duncan?”

  The grin fades. He shakes his head. “I’m with Robards International.”

  Liar.

  “What’s your practice at Robards?”

  “Paradigm rationalization.” He places a hand on my shoulder, like he’s saying, This is above you. “High-level stuff. Tectonic-plate-shifting stuff.”

  Yeah, whatever, dude.

  “David Duncan hooked you up with Stephen, huh?”

  He puts his hands out, steps back.

  I look at the shades. “You’re an executive chaperone, disguised as some kind of hip business mind fluent in catchphrases. ‘Paradigm rationalization,’ my ass.”

  “Listen.” He chuckles and comes in closer, so I can feel his deep, calm voice. “I’m here for Stephen these next two months, like it or not.”

  “Two months, huh? Gee, that’s a coincidence. It’s just two months until Knowland, Hill, and Davis can sell its first block of FlowBid shares.”

  The new guy chuckles, looks away.

  “You’re a babysitter.”

  He shakes his head.

  “Are you with Stanislau?”

  The new guy turns back to me. “I think we’re finished, dude.”

  Earl, the pilot steps into the cabin, announces, “He’s here.”

  Beth straightens her things, glances over her notes—ready, no doubt, to rattle off all the items she’s managing for him. I stoop and squint out the window. Fitzroy has pulled up beside the jet in a gray Porsche said to be worth $110,000. He hands his bag to one attendant, tosses the keys to another, points out something on the dashboard, a big stupid smile on his face.

  I step in to the new guy. “Either you tell me if you’re with Stanislau, or I go to Stephen before these wheels are up.”

  The grin freezes. “I can call Duncan right now,” he says. “Get you fired.” He bites his lip, thinking. “Get you off this plane before that door shuts.”

  “I’m afraid . . .” I poke him in the chest, get him in the sternum. “David Duncan . . . isn’t taking calls the next day or so.”

  His forced grin disappears.

  “And neither are his goons.”

  Fitzroy climbs up the stairs.

  The new guy says, “I don’t know the first thing about Stanislau. I mean it.”

  I look at him, thinking, Could be. Stanislau is the muscle. This guy? He’s intel. Duncan’s high-priced babysitter.

  “What’s your assignment?”

  “Danny!” Fitzroy enters the cabin, hollering, happy. “My ass man.”

  The new guy grimaces. “The same as what yours should be.” He nods to Fitzroy, who’s plopped into his chair. “Keep this guy out of trouble another two months, save thousands of people millions of dollars. Not just Knowland, Hill, and Davis, but everyone—investors, employees, partners.”

  Fitzroy yells into the air, “Wheels up, gomers. Let’s go.”

  I will say this about Fitzroy: As much as he might abuse you, there’s a soft side to him.

  He’ll call you names. He’ll shred your work to pieces. He’ll do that pyramid routine on you as you hover over his speech with the new guy, rewriting a perfectly good pitch just because the new guy has to seem like he’s adding value. He’ll make you sit there and nod and smile and look away as he speculates on your ass preferences to Beth, the new guy, and Sally the flight attendant, everyone laughing. He’ll run you ragged with work and harassment.

  But then he feels guilty.

  You can see it softening his face, deflating his glee. Soon you’re the recipient of rare bottles of wine, backstage passes to the hottest acts, sometimes even spot bonuses. Which explains why, somewhere over Texas, Fitzroy has Sally set up the bed in the back so I can I slip my aching body into its silk bedding, lower my throbbing head into an enormous down pillow, close my cherry-red eyes, and slip slowly into three of the sweetest hours of airborne slumber I will ever know, melting in this bed of Big Money, the absurdity of it all striking me in these final moments of lucidity, swaddled in opulence some forty thousand feet up, dozing off in this flying luxury suite like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

  If Crazy Larry saw me now in my Big Money bed, I’d be in his garage, too.

  And then, thick black nothing.

  Until a light slap to the face rouses me. “Danny,” Fitzroy whispers. “Wake up.”

  I open an eye, grunt. “Hey.”

  Fitzroy is sitting beside me, like a parent. “We’re descending.”

  I rise up on my elbows. “Okay,” I rasp. “Thanks.”

  He puts a hand on my chest, pushes me down gently. “It’s okay, we have a second.” He studies my face. “You feeling better?”

  I nod, realizing how long I slept. “I needed it, I guess.”

  He looks at me. “You’re not doing so well, kiddo.”

  I look away. “I know. It’s been a tough couple—”

  “You’re walking funny, too.”

  “Well, that. I got a—” The last thing I need is for Fitzroy to know I’ve been snipped; I’ll never hear the end of it. “A little injury.”

  He whispers, “You sure you’re okay, Danny? Because if you’re not, you gotta let me know. I could help.”

  I open my eyes, sit up “No, I’m good, Stephen. Thanks.”

  “I’ve got IT investigating that e-mail. We’ll nail ’em, whoever did it.”

  “That’s okay, Stephen. I just want to put it past me.”

  “It is past you. Doesn’t mean we can’t nail ’em, quietly. Let ’em go.”

  I get a memory flash of my e-mail to BusinessWeek, shiver. “Thanks, Stephen.”

  “Listen.” He looks around, scoots closer. “Do me a favor tonight.”

  “Sure.”

  He glances back to the front of the plane. “Keep that clown away from me.”

  “The new guy?”

  Fitzroy nods. “Tonight. Take him out or something.”

  And here I was thinking Fitzroy loved him.

  “Sure, Stephen.” I rub my eyes, straighten up a bit. “Yeah, whatever you need.”

  He nods, looks back at the new guy.

  “So why do you let him shadow you and coach you and all that?”

  Fitzroy leans in. “Because I’m doing ‘the dance.’ Something you need to learn.”

  “The dance?”

  He leans in for emphasis. “The dance. The act of humoring folks.”

  I look at him, nod.

  “Humoring folks you need to humor.”

  “Okay, but . . .” I swing my feet off the bed. “. . . who are you humoring here?”

  Fitzroy looks away and blinks, like he’s trying to ignore a foul odor. “A couple of bozos on the board.”

  I’m thinking David Duncan and his partners at Knowland, Hill, and Davis.

  Fitzroy adds, “And Beth.”

  “Beth?”

  He whispers. “She brought him on, but I know where this originated. Beth is working with these guys on the board.”

  I’m tying my shoes. “Knowland, Hill, and Davis?”

  Amused. “Not bad, Danny. Not bad.”

  “So you’re doing the dance with these folks? Beth, too?”

  “I’ve got multiple sources telling me she’s pumping them for outside investment opportunities.”

  “You mean, she passes along tidbits about you and they give her a chance to sink some dollars into the next Google before everyone else knows about it?”
/>
  He nods and rolls his eyes.

  “And you have to do the dance with these guys?”

  He sighs. “They own more of this company than anyone, Danny.”

  “They want you to follow the new guy’s counsel?”

  “Nah, he’s full of shit.”

  “Then?”

  He looks away, deflated. “They’re just trying to keep tabs on me, make sure I don’t screw up in these final two months.”

  Just like the new guy said.

  “And they don’t know that you know?”

  He sighs again. “Who knows?”

  “So they have Beth planting spies, basically?”

  “It’s like my entire circle has been tapped.” He turns to me. “No one’s reached out to you? No one from Knowland, Hill, and Davis, or even outside?”

  Oh man.

  I meet his gaze, shake my head.

  Fitzroy looks at my mouth, thinking. “Did you know this guy Duncan called me the other day and suggested I let you go?”

  “What?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  My face reddens. “I mean, why?”

  “I just don’t think they trust anyone, Danny.”

  I look away, my mouth open. “Me?”

  And then it makes sense: If Duncan pushes me out, I’m useless to the geeks.

  Fitzroy picks at a cushion, shakes his head. “They have no faith in me, Danny Boy. No faith.”

  I don’t know what to say to that.

  “So do me a favor. Keep him away tonight, okay?”

  “Sure. Of course.” We sit there a second, and I add, “You think bringing security along would give you some separation?”

  “Nah. That’d just muddy things up more.”

  We sit there until I can’t stand it any longer. I can’t help it. I have to ask. Hell, I need to videotape Fitzroy tonight, and I still have no idea what to expect. This is my best chance.

  “You have something planned tonight? A customer meeting or something?”

  He blinks hard, swats away the question. “Don’t worry about that. Just handle the new guy for me, all right? Keep him busy.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  He leans in closer, the coffee breath hitting me hard. He whispers, “I had Sharon switch my hotel. You three are still at the Grand Hyatt, but the driver will take me to another place. Just to get some separation from those two.” He looks to the front of the plane, adds, “Don’t tell them. I’ll say something in the car.”

  I give him my earnest look, nod. “Good for you, Stephen. I’ll keep the new guy away.”

  My gut surges.

  Now, how am I supposed to end up with Fitzroy tonight if I don’t even know where he’s staying? I swallow hard, feel my heart pound. I’m toast.

  He nods, squints into space. “Beth won’t be a problem. She’ll be working in her room.” He nearly mumbles. “I loaded her up.”

  Long silence as we sit there.

  “Stephen?”

  He turns, looks at me.

  “Where will you be staying?”

  Still looking at me, settling on the shovel cut on my forehead.

  “You know,” I say. “I was thinking. You know, after I take care of the new guy, maybe I should come over so we can review tomorrow’s pitch one last time. You know, with all these changes.”

  Looking at my chin, then back to my cut. “Nah,” he says. “We can take care of that in the morning.”

  Damn.

  As we come to a stop, a large, black Escalade waits thirty feet away. A thin, middle-aged chauffeur in a black suit packs our luggage into the back as Fitzroy, Beth, and the new guy pile into the vehicle.

  I’m last to emerge from the jet. Having never been to Florida, I’m struck by the tropical humidity. Squinting from the sun, I saunter over to the chauffeur at the back of the SUV, the roar of the jet engines silencing my steps. I reach into my front pocket and finger my roll of cash. When he shuts the back door, I approach, pull out my roll, and peel off two twenties, tuck them into the front pocket of his suit jacket. I have to admit it feels pretty good, like I’m a wise guy or something.

  He’s unfazed. “Thanks.”

  I look into the SUV. Beth and Fitzroy have cell phones pressed to their cheeks, and the new guy is watching the ground crew service the jet. “There’s more, if you can help me.”

  He glances into the SUV. “Yeah?”

  “You sticking with Mr. Fitzroy tonight? Taking him to his evening appointments?”

  He nods. “I am at his call. All night.”

  “You have a card with a number I can reach you?”

  Nods.

  “I’m hoping we can stay in touch tonight.”

  Slight nod.

  “You know, I’ll call you and you will tell me where he’s at, who he’s with.”

  He’s looking me up and down. “Oh yeah?”

  I look around, pull out my roll again, and peel off two more twenties, stuff them into the same suit pocket. He looks down at it, offers an exaggerated I-don’t-know look.

  Bastard.

  I peel off two more, stuff them into his pocket.

  “Okay.” He reaches inside his suit jacket, pulls out a business card. “We’re in business.”

  By the time I get settled in my room, it’s nearly six, three in California. I call Kate’s cell, get sent immediately to voice mail.

  “Hey, honey. Just wanted to let you know I’m here.” I pause. “I’d tell you all the crazy shit that’s happening, but . . . Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I’ve been thinking. You’re right; the IMs were probably some kind of symptom. I know we never see each other. All I know is, life’s gotten lonely these past few years, and I miss you. So maybe it just felt good to have somebody—” I stop myself, take a breath. “So maybe that whole thing caught me at a weak moment. If you want me to move out or stay someplace for a while when I come back, let’s talk about it. But just know I love you more than ever, and if that little twerp ex of yours contacts you again, tell him to leave you alone or I’ll find him and beat the shit out of him. Okay, honey. I love you, okay?”

  I end the call, roll my eyes, and sigh. Yeah, that was smooth. Nice job, Danny.

  Next I pull out the chauffeur’s card, dial him up.

  “Randy.”

  Long silence. Annoyed. “He’s still here.”

  “And where’s that?”

  “The hotel.”

  “Yeah, but which hotel? That’s the whole point. I don’t know where he’s staying.”

  He pauses. “I don’t want to get caught up in something illegal here.”

  “No, no. Nothing illegal.”

  “Nor do I want to ruin my reputation. This gets out, I’m out of work.”

  “That won’t happen, Randy. I promise. Now c’mon. I paid you.”

  Long sigh. “The InterContinental.”

  “InterContinental?”

  “And I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”

  “Okay, that’s all I need to know.”

  “We’re square now?”

  “Almost.”

  He grunts.

  “Just text me if you take him someplace.”

  He grumbles, clears his throat. “Just be aware—sometimes these guys sneak out on their own. You know, take a cab? They’re a lot less noticeable that way.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Just let me know if there’s any action over there.”

  After the call, I pick up the hotel phone and ring the new guy’s room. His voice is heavier, like he’s in bed.

  “If I’ve caught you rationalizing paradigms, I can call later.”

  A chuckle. I can almost see him lying back in his hotel bed, shades still on.

  I can hear the grin in his voice. “You’re
not well, you know?”

  “Actually, I was thinking maybe we could get some food, start clean over a beer or two.”

  “Yeah? Now that Fitzroy has ditched you, huh?”

  “Well,” I say, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe we have the same interests after all.”

  “Finally realized that, eh?”

  “Meet you in the lobby in fifteen?”

  Lazy voice. “What about Beth?”

  “Dude,” I say, “she’ll never sleep with you.”

  He chuckles, but it’s unconvincing.

  “You don’t have nearly enough money.”

  “Women are drawn to more than money, Dan.”

  “Not that one.”

  “I’ll call her,” he says, and hangs up.

  Knowing I may never make it back to my room tonight, I shuffle into the bathroom with the button camera and its taping apparatus. As I stand there bowlegged, stringing the wire, I realize that I’ve forgotten to bring my black collar shirt with the black buttons. All I have is a dark blue shirt with off-white buttons.

  The button camera is black. I’m hosed.

  I find the roll of Scotch tape I packed, tape the wire along the inside front of my shirt, and secure the small tape box against my waist. I’ll have to wear my blue blazer and hope it will hide the bulge on my lower back. I button up the shirt but leave the top button undone. Sure, it looks like I’m trying to bring back the seventies, but at least this way my black “button” isn’t showing. I’ll have to fasten it into place before I see Fitzroy later.

  As I’m heading out, I catch a glance in the mirror. Eyes dark-rimmed, sunken, and bloodshot. Face fatigued and sagging. Shoulders slouched. Hair a little disheveled. I should be in a zombie movie.

  I take a deep breath, close the front door. Down to the gift shop.

  Then my date with fate.

  Emerging from the hotel gift shop with four packets of laxative powder, I spot the new guy lounging on an enormous white chair. He’s wearing loose brown cotton pants, with huaraches and a short-sleeved white collar shirt.

  I walk over to him. “No Beth, eh?”

  He grins. “These things take time.”

  I look around the lobby, finger the packets. “Why don’t we just order something from the lobby bar? I’m exhausted.”

  The shades study me. “You do look awful.”