"Ali?" a voice whispered through the darkness.
Alice placed it immediately. Sandra Gentry, a custodian at the hospital.
Short. Plump. Loud. Unabashed to the point of hilarity.
One of the few people Alice was actually okay with entering. As fellow low men on the totem pole, the two were quite good friends.
Had been for many years.
Alice nodded her head in the darkened room. Said nothing.
The sound of Sandra's boots shuffled across the tile floor. A calloused hand rested itself on Alice's shoulder.
"Hey honey. I'm so, so sorry. I was home sick the last two days, I just heard he took a turn. I would have been here sooner if I knew."
Reflexively, Alice's right hand reached up and found Sandra's. Her left stayed locked on Craig's.
There was at least a twenty degree temperature difference between the two.
Alice sniffed loudly. Didn't trust herself to actually speak.
For the first time since she'd known her, Sandra remained silent too. Just stood with her hand clasped beneath Alice's.
They both remained that way for nearly fifteen full minutes. Neither one said a word.
Both watched as the life slowly retreated from Craig's body.
Once the long hand on the clock above the bed pointed due north, Sandra gave one last squeeze.
"I'm sorry sweetie, but my break is over. I'll be back in a couple of hours. You have someone find me if you need anything, okay?"
Again, Alice just nodded.
Chapter Six
Clinic.
The very definition of mixed emotions.
On one hand the work was erasing a long summer spent by Drake interning at The Innocence Project in Nashville. Miserable hours. Stuffy cubicle. Mind numbing writing assignments.
Coat and tie every day.
On the flip side, it was little more than indentured servitude. A program put in place by the law school to give students hands-on experience prior to graduation.
What it really did was give the city of Missoula thousands of hours of free legal work every year.
Why they felt this was necessary in a town that already had more attorneys than it knew what to do with was anybody's guess.
The previous spring, Drake had signed up for the Montana Legal Services clinic. At the time, there were two distinct reasons for his decision.
The first reason he picked it was because his friends Greg Mooney and Wyatt Teague were both also signing up for it.
By the third year of law school, most people are long past keeping up the façade of actually liking most of the classmates around them. Some might act friendly. A few might even say hello.
For the most part though, people had chosen their friends and splintered off.
It's to be expected in a setting that takes competitive adults and pits them against one another everyday for three years. At least there hadn't been any direct physical altercations between anybody in their class.
Word was Harvard students occasionally came to blows.
The fact that Drake liked both Greg and Wyatt was enough of a reason as any to lead him to sign up. As many hours as he was forced to log over the course of the year, he had to make sure he could at least stomach his cohorts.
The second reason he chose Montana Legal Services was the particulars of the clinic itself.
On its face, it provided services to the poor and indigent in Missoula County. Helped people out with traffic offenses. Contract disputes. An occasional divorce.
All terribly mind numbing, but still better than some of the alternative clinic offerings.
The thought of ever going near a water law claim was enough to make his stomach turn.
Part of the appeal was also the professor charged with overseeing it. Jon Lauer was a respected trial attorney and adjunct faculty member at the university. He had a strong record in town and a no-nonsense approach to his students.
Together, it seemed like solid enough reasoning to Drake.
In the months since signing up, his reasons for liking the clinic had grown to three. The third reason was nowhere near his radar when he chose the class originally, but was fast becoming the part he enjoyed the most.
At the moment, it was coming directly through the clinic office in downtown Missoula towards him.
"Hey hey partner," Drake said. Leaned back in his chair and watched as Ava Zargoza walked towards him.
Check that. Hobbled towards him.
Her lower left leg had been shattered by the same son of a bitch that had broken Drake's hand. It had occurred a few months prior on the first case they worked together.
Her healing process was coming along much slower than his.
"Hey yourself," Ava said, walking in a slow, uneven gait. Right leg forward normally. Left extended straight out to accommodate the enormous walking boot on it.
"Look at you up and around," Drake said.
It was the first time in nearly two months she hadn't needed the assistance of crutches. As miserable as the walking boot looked, it was still an improvement.
"I'd like to remind you I didn't miss a single day," Ava pointed out.
In truth, she had missed almost a week right after the accident. Still, Drake let it slide without comment.
What she had pulled off was rather impressive. Far better than Greg or Wyatt could have done for sure.
"Okay, allow me to rephrase," Drake said. "New shoes?"
Ava dropped herself into the ancient leather chair across the desk from him. Smiled. "Nice to be walking unaided again. Thanks for noticing."
"Of course I noticed. You seem much less imposing without your weapons."
The smile remained on Ava's face. It was framed by dark hair and eyes. Her Hispanic features were also plainly evident, as much an anomaly in Missoula as anyone else in the Zoo Crew.
Unlike most of them though, her coming to town was not by choice.
A student at the LSU School of Law, she had been displaced just days before the start of the year by Hurricane Wanda. Montana was not high on her places to be and she was not afraid to let people know it.
After her leg was broken, she had been given the option of returning home to wait for the reopening of LSU.
She had refused, though it still didn't ease her complaining by Missoula. Especially now that winter was fast approaching.
She was dressed in true Ava style, which is to say the exact opposite of anything that someone else in Missoula might wear.
Black wool pencil skirt. White blouse open at the collar. Royal blue v-neck sweater. Matching black wool jacket.
Customary string of pearls around her neck.
"How long you been here?" Ava asked.
Drake glanced over to the clock high on the wall beside them. It read just shy of five in the afternoon.
"Couple of hours. Took a look at the Gerritt boundary dispute."
"How'd that go?"
"About like you would expect it to. His neighbor planted a row of pine trees down the side of what he thought was his own property. Turns out they were four inches on to Gerritt's."
"You're shitting me."
"Nope."
"And he came to see us over it?"
"Sure did. Real sanctimonious prick too. Should have seen him roll in here in his oversized pickup. Giant belt buckle. Ten gallon hat."
"And again I ask, he came to see us?"
Drake arched an eyebrow. "Apparently he didn't get the memo that we're here to primarily serve the poor in this community?"
Ava snorted. "What did you tell him?"
"The truth. By all rights he can get pissy about it. Force the guy to dig them up and move them. Try to make him shift the property line and pay him for the land."
"Or?"
"Or to quite being an ass over four inches. The guy owns a three acre lot for crying out loud."
Ava coughed out a laugh. "That's probably not the most legal of answers."
"No, but it's definitely the m
ost pragmatic. Besides, if I was his neighbor I'd want a barrier between us too."
Ava shook her head. She was starting to thaw a bit. Still didn't take quite as cavalier approach to giving legal advice as her partner.
For his part, Drake preferred to call it common sense. Often told her the legal community could use a good dose of it.
That, and an enema.
"How about you?" Drake asked. "You here for awhile now?"
"Just stopped by. I left my stuff here before I went to get the boot. You got much else to do?"
Drake patted a plain manila folder stacked on the corner of his desk. "Had an MIP come in earlier I need to take a look at. Shouldn't be too bad."
Ava nodded. Looked like she going to say something. Thought better of it and rose to leave.
"Alright. If you need a hand with anything, you know where to find me."
Drake rocked himself forward in his chair. "Wouldn't dream of it. Happy cast-off day. If I come across anything else here, it can wait until tomorrow."
"Thank you," Ava said. Turned and shuffled back out the way she'd came.
Drake watched her go, then shifted his attention back to the papers in front of him. Was halfway through the first page of the file when he sensed someone standing close by.
Smiled and spoke before he even bothered to look.
"Forget something?"
He raised his eyes as the smile evaporated from his face. Standing before him was not Ava.
It was Sage. She'd been crying.
Chapter Seven
Six hours.
The time difference from Missoula to London was exactly six hours, the British ahead by a quarter day.
It didn't matter.
Cerberus wanted to talk to Jenks the moment he closed the store for the night. If that meant waking in time to meet with him at four in the morning, so be it.
After his meeting with Wells and Albright, Jenks decided against calling corporate. Just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he wracked his brain for an alternative.
Despite what he knew to be the standard procedure, he opted to send an email to the regional supervisor in Denver instead. Hoped in vain that he could solve the problem a little closer to home.
His email detailed everything that had been discussed at the budget meeting. Even appended the spreadsheet Wells had worked up.
Twenty minutes after he sent it a reply came in. The regional supervisor was concerned. The numbers were disconcerting.
Word would be passed up the chain of command immediately.
An hour later another email came in. This one was from the national director in New York City. He too was alarmed.
An inquiry was being sent to the higher-ups at corporate headquarters.
Jenks read each of these emails with an attitude that bordered on manic. He was certainly concerned about his store. Absolutely sick about it in fact.
Now he had to face corporate.
Not only did he have a store failing, but he had deliberately sidestepped the proper handling of such a situation.
A small pang began to work at his stomach sometime around mid-morning. By the time a terse email arrived at lunch telling him to be on hand for a video conference the moment his store closed, it had grown into a pick ax jabbing at his insides.
This was going to be ugly.
During the week, the Bargain Mart was open from eight in the morning until ten at night. Hours handed down from corporate. Most nights, the last customer they saw was sometime before eight.
This night was no different.
At nine, Jenks sent most of the staff home. The company was already losing money. No need to pay a full crew to stand around and do nothing.
At half past nine, he sent home everybody but his last cashier.
Three minutes before ten, he personally escorted her to the door. Waved as she departed for her car.
Locked it tight behind her.
Just as it had been fifteen hours before, the entirety of the store was his and his alone.
Jenks paused. For the briefest of moments he considered following her out. Climbing into his own car. Heading down to the Ox for a burger. Maybe grabbing a pizza from the Firetower.
Dismissed both ideas just as fast. His stomach was twisted so tight, he couldn't have eaten if he tried.
More importantly, everything he'd ever heard said this was not a call he could blow off.
Jenks broke into a jog through the empty aisles of the store and into his office. He circled his desk and dropped down into his chair to find an incoming call already appearing on his screen.
One long, heavy breath. A quick straighten of his tie.
A click on the green telephone icon accepting the video call.
Instantly the image of a polished cherry conference table filled the bulk of his computer screen. To the right was a severe older man with a head completely void of hair and a deep-set frown.
On the left sat a woman with straight hair somewhere between white blonde and silver. She wore wire rimmed glasses and a dark business suit.
Same frown as her counterpart.
At the head of the table set a man Jenks knew only by reputation. What had preceded him were tales of harsh business acumen and keen intellect that had taken on a level of myth within the Bargain Mart community.
He had thick hair with a touch of grey around the temples. Chiseled nose and jaw line. Navy blue pinstriped suit. Patterned blue tie beneath it.
An ensemble that no doubt cost several thousand dollars.
"Good evening," the man said. His tone was neither conversational or confrontational.
Still, it sent the fear of God right through Jenks.
"Good evening, I mean morning, to you."
Jenks visibly fidgeted in his seat. Wasn't sure how to act under the withering gaze of all three, so he gave a little wave to the camera.
Instantly regretted it.
The man ignored him entirely. "My name is Leigh Montgomery, and I am the CEO of Cerberus Venture Capital. To my left is Bernard Shaw, President of Bargain Mart International. To my right, Henrietta McMillan, our Chief Economist."
His voice oozed British opulence. Wealth and arrogance rolled into one vocal melody.
Jenks' tongue felt like it was three sizes too large for his head. It scraped against the roof of his mouth with a consistency like sand paper.
"Thomas Jenks. Nice to meet you all."
Nobody reciprocated the sentiment.
"I assume you know why we requested this call?"
Jenks opted to remain silent. Nodded his head in the affirmative.
"I also assume you know that in the future, you bring these things directly to us the way it says in your manager handbook? The very same handbook you were tested on before being given the keys to your store?"
Jenks nodded again. He'd been forced to commit the entire ninety page document to memory. Had to earn a perfect score before taking over.
Montgomery stared hard into the screen. "Let me be clear. If you attempt to circumvent the rules again, you will be alleviated from your employment with Bargain Mart."
"Yes sir," Jenks mumbled.
"Not your post as store manager. Your employment with Bargain Mart," Montgomery added for emphasis.
Jenks nodded again. His plan to try and avoid a confrontation had effectively blown up in his face.
He was off to an even worse start than anticipated.
Three angry glares continued to look at him. After several long seconds, Montgomery lifted a printout from the table in front of him. Scanned one side of it. Flipped it over and scanned the other side.
"Are these figures accurate and up-to-date?"
Jenks opened his mouth. A slur of mumbles slid out. He snatched up a Styrofoam cup from the corner of his desk and took a swig.
Piss warm coffee. The acidic liquid washed over his tongue. Somehow helped it start working again.
"Yes sir. As you can see, we had a declining period over the summer. W
ithin the last month or so, things have really bottomed out."
Montgomery arched an eyebrow. Dropped the paper back down onto his desk. "You're right. I can see."
Jenks fell completely silent. Trained his eyes on a spot of dark wood in the foreground of the screen.
"Bargain Mart is a multi-billion dollar company," Montgomery said. "This is certainly not the first time we've seen such a thing occur. The closing of a store in one of our major markets would be little more than an inconvenience.
"In a place as small as Missoula? We wouldn't even notice it was gone."
Jenks felt the color drain from his face. This was much worse than he had feared.
All day he'd braced himself for the tongue lashing that was coming. For a torrent of verbal abuse at the way he'd handled the store and even the situation at hand.
That would have been better. Preferable even. But to be so callously tossed aside made his body go numb.
"So that's it?" Jenks asked. His voice was barely above a whisper.
Montgomery leveled a stony visage at him. Looked from Shaw to McMillan and back at him.
Snorted softly. "No, Mr. Jenks. We have contingencies in place for matters such as these. We're going to take care of things.
"We just wanted to make sure you knew how insignificant you are before we did so."
Jenks felt his mouth drop open. Was unable to stop it as it did so. Wasn't even able to close it as it hung there.
Cerberus signed off the call without another word.
Chapter Eight
Wallet.
Keys.
Tissues.
Drake checked his pockets in turn. Made sure each of the essentials were accounted for. Scratched his English bulldog Suzy Q behind the ears.
Flipped a wave to Ajax on his way out.
The front door to the house they shared slammed shut behind him as he exited down the front walk. The cold air enveloped him as he walked quickly to the driveway and slid into his a truck.
Turned the ignition on and blasted the heat. Sat huddled tight behind the wheel for a moment before attempting to go anywhere.
Even dressed in wool slacks and a black cable-knit sweater, the wind had chilled him to the bone within seconds.
The truck groaned slightly as he eased out the driveway, the sound drowned out by the dashboard fan pushing stale heat into the cab.
Dead Peasants (Zoo Crew series Book 2) Page 3