In full summer, concealing oneself in the woods is a fairly easy proposition. In winter it can be a bit more difficult. I was thankful that I was not a colorful dresser. My slacks were dark brown and my coat was black.
The path consisted of wood chips and packed earth. I walked briskly, but I hesitated to run. I didn't know how far back the clearing would be. I could be upon them before I knew it. Then, instead of focusing their ire on each other, they would both vent their fury on me.
I heard them before I saw them, and that enabled me to take refuge before they saw me.
I slowed my pace way down, and bent over to two thirds my usual height. Through the trees, I could see Donnie and Sid standing in the clearing. Their body language was the same: Donnie was posturing like a man intent on starting a bar fight, Sid looked authoritative, almost bored by the younger, larger man.
Speaking of size: Both Donnie and Sid were big men, over six feet tall. I wouldn't have thought of either man as a pushover, but if it came to raw fisticuffs, I would have placed my bets on Donnie. Donnie was fifteen years younger than Sid. Donnie hit the weights with regularity. I would also have guessed Donnie to be the veteran of many fistfights. He was one of those guys who would have been a scrapper from age twelve until decrepitude. Or so I thought.
I couldn't stand there on the trail. They were absorbed in each other at the moment, but they could have seen me through the trees. All it would take was for either of them to happen to glance in my direction.
On one side of the path just ahead of me was a little hillock, a natural rise in the forest floor. It wasn't the ideal hiding spot; it wouldn't shield me from a dedicated search. But it would protect me from casual detection.
I edged forward and mounted the hillock, momentarily raising my body aloft. Donnie continued to rant at Sid, and Sid continued to verbally brush him aside. If they were going to see me by accident, it would be now, I thought. But when I came down on the other side of the hillock, they were still talking. Neither man had seen me.
I lay down against the cold ground. Thankfully, it wasn't muddy here, but my coat and trousers would need a good cleaning after this. When I returned to the office, I would have to make up a story about falling down during my lunch hour.
I slowly eased myself skyward, scooting myself up the face of the hillock, so that I could watch them as well as listen.
Chapter 71
“You think I’m an idiot?” Donnie shouted, waving his arms in the air. Well, who was the idiot who brought the Russians into this?”
Sid gave Donnie a look of complete and utter disdain. There was something surreal about it: Despite all that had happened, despite sleeping with one of his subordinates, despite waving a gun in my face, Sid was now affecting the air of the button-down, above-it-all corporate manager.
“Without the Russians,” Sid said, “you and Bethany would still be bringing in less than a grand a month. Now you’re set to collect tens of thousands.”
“Yeah, a lot of good it’s going to do me in jail!”
“You’re not in jail. And you won’t end up in jail, if you’ll only shut your mouth and let me do the thinking.”
“I should never have let Bethany talk me into including you,” Donnie said, shaking his head. “You think you’re the manager. But you’re not the manager in this.”
“Do you know why Bethany brought me in?” Sid asked.
Donnie smirked at him. “No. Why? Why don’t you tell me, hotshot?
“She brought me in, because she knew that the two of you couldn't handle it. Look at you, Donnie: You’re trailer park trash. You have no idea what you’re doing. Bethany knows that. That’s also why…”
Sid’s voice trailed off.
“Also why what, Sid?”
“Nothing.”
Did Donnie know what was going on between Sid and the woman who was, nominally, his girlfriend? Perhaps not. But his words, tone, and his posture all suggested that he had his suspicions. I mentally filed away this tidbit. It might come in handy before all this was over, I thought.
“Don’t tell me it’s nothing.”
Then Donnie stepped forward and took a swing at Sid.
This wasn’t a shove, like men will commonly employ when merely testing the resolve of another, or trying to provoke. This was a haymaker. For a split second, I thought that I was going to see Sid lying unconscious on the ground.
Then the unexpected happened. Sid deftly sidestepped the punch and landed a glancing, sideways blow across Donnie’s temple.
The younger man was stunned. He had not expected Sid to be capable of hitting him in the first place, and he had not expected Sid to be capable of hitting him so effectively.
Sid used one foot to sweep Donnie’s feet out from under him. There seemed to be no real contemplation in Sid’s movements, he might have been functioning on pure instinct. But I knew it wasn't instinct: No man has instincts like that. It was practice and training.
I recalled something Sid had mentioned a while back, about spending some time working out in a martial arts dojo during his younger years. He hadn't made a big deal of it, and I hadn't inquired if he had earned his black belt. I now had the answer to that unasked question.
Donnie went down hard, striking the earth first with his buttocks and back, then with the back of his head. He cried out in pain, shock, and—I would imagine—no small degree of humiliation.
Sid, meanwhile, was unruffled. He hadn't even disheveled his overcoat.
Sid looked down at Donnie with more of the disdain that he seemed to have reserved only for me of late. The manager began his walk back to his car.
“Make yourself presentable, and come back to the office,” Sid said over his shoulder. He walked away, leaving Donnie Brady groaning on the ground.
Chapter 72
Sid was walking directly toward me now. As he approached, I ducked back behind the hillock.
I thought I was being quiet, but a woods in the middle of January is already very quiet. There are no leaves to rustle in the wind. There are no birds calling out, no cicadas buzzing.
My body made a small thud against the hardened earth as I ducked. It wasn't much, but it would have been enough, I thought, to alert anyone nearby who was seriously listening.
I heard Sid’s steps come to a pause on the path. If he decided to look over the top of the little rise that concealed me, that would be the end of my subterfuge.
Sid audibly exhaled, and continued his walk.
I reminded myself that there was one more person whose notice I had to avoid. I wasn't going anywhere. Not yet.
A few minutes later, I heard Donnie Brady trudge up the path. He was apparently favoring one foot, and breathing loudly.
I heard him cursing Sid under his breath, making threats into the empty air.
Still I waited. I would have to give them both time to reach their cars, and start back toward the office.
After I decided that I had waited long enough, I made my way back to the parking lot. I had thoughts of either Sid, or Donnie—or both—waylaying me along the trail, as if the fight between them had been nothing but an elaborate ruse.
My more rational side told me that the fight had been no ruse: At this point, Donnie and Sid were feeling almost as hostile toward each other as either man was feeling toward me.
Good. That development could likely help me, if and when the opportunity came to use it against them.
Finally I reached the parking lot. Sid’s red Mercedes was gone; and there was no sign of Donnie Brady, either.
Chapter 73
Donnie did manage to make himself presentable—barely. I wondered, throughout the day, if anyone happened to notice the traces of mud that clung to the knees of his trousers.
Traces of the same mud clung to mine, despite my efforts to clean all of it away in the bathroom. Business attire is simply not made for crawling around in the woods.
I was on the elevator at 5:02 p.m. that day—joining the outward rush ahead of eve
n Donnie and Bethany.
As I have mentioned, since teaming up, Ellen and I had made a point of avoiding direct contact at work. We knew that the other side was watching us as much as we were watching them.
That didn't mean that I never saw her, however. The accounting area was on the first floor, near the main entrance. It was possible to see Ellen Trevor’s cubicle from the main foyer of the building.
I happened to look in that direction on my way out, and I saw that Ellen’s cubicle was empty.
I thought nothing of it at the time: Wasn't it possible that all of the turmoil and betrayal had dampened her enthusiasm for the job? So she was out of the office a bit earlier than usual. Nothing to be alarmed about.
But I had learned to regard nothing as a coincidence anymore. As soon as I was in my car I texted her: “I’ll see you tonight at the usual time. I have something big to report.”
Her reply chimed as I was pulling my car into my parking space at my apartment complex: “Sorry, cannot meet tonight. I have a horrible case of the flu.”
Alone that night in my apartment, I tried to remain calm. Of course, what does “calm” mean when your entire world has been turned upside down, when your boss has waved a gun in your face, and you’ve been kicked by a Russian mobster?
For the first time I seriously wondered: Can I really trust Ellen Trevor? I was still troubled by those revelations of hers that only invited more questions.
Was Ellen carrying on with Donnie, even as Sid was carrying on with Bethany? She had admitted to having had a relationship with him, after all. That supposition wasn't too far-fetched.
Maybe I should start to look out for my own interests, I thought. Everyone else—including Ellen, probably—was playing their own game, keeping everything close to the vest. Perhaps I was being too open, too trusting, even now.
I could simply walk away from it all. I had a little money in my savings account. I could move north to Dayton to be close to my daughter, rent a little apartment, look for work. That work didn't have to be something corporate. I might end up waiting tables in a restaurant, or stocking shelves in a Walmart. Well, I had done that kind of work before. I could do it again, if I had to.
But then I thought: No, I had made a commitment to Ellen. I had an obligation to see it through.
I was concerned about her leaving me in the lurch. I wouldn't be the one to skip out, to leave her alone with the sharks.
Chapter 74
The next morning, though, I was forced to consider the very real possibility that Ellen had left me in the lurch.
I texted her first thing in the morning: “Will you be at work today?”
No answer.
I had a sinking feeling. Something was up. Either Ellen had been kidnapped or…
She’d decided to betray me?
Was I being too pessimistic? No. I didn't think so.
When I arrived at Thomas-Smithfield, I stopped by the accounting department, not even bothering to go to my desk first. It was already past 8:00 a.m. The ever-punctual Ellen Trevor should have arrived already.
But she wasn't there. The rest of the accounting department was already busy at work, but Ellen Trevor was nowhere to be seen. Her computer hadn't been turned on yet, and her chair was pushed underneath her desk. There was no morning cup of coffee, no purse, no coat or gloves.
Panicking now, I began to run through various scenarios. I had foolishly agreed to use Ellen’s condo as the depository for the evidence we were compiling against the conspirators—most of which I had compiled.
That evidence was my lifeline. It was what I had planned to use—with Ellen’s assistance, of course—to build the case against Sid, Donnie, Bethany, and the Russians.
But I realized how little planning I had actually done. How did I intend to present the evidence to the authorities, and which authorities had I had in mind? Certainly not Sgt. Burke of the Beechwood Police Department.
I had told Ellen “someone at the state or federal level”—as if such a vague designation meant anything, given the alphabet soup of agencies that made up the state and federal governments. I had planned out none of that in detail. And if Ellen had departed with the evidence (or if it had been taken from her) then I had no chance of winning the war being waged against me. Sid’s depiction of events would prevail. Worse yet, I would be easy prey for the Russians.
Until now, I’ll admit, there had been times when I had half-enjoyed the spy game. I had felt like I had turned the tables on my opponents.
Now I just felt naive, and vulnerable. And desperate.
“Where’s Ellen Trevor?” I asked. “Isn’t she at work today?”
This is the sort of blunt opening that is guaranteed to provoke questions in any corporate environment, in which everyone is supposed to know his or her place and stay there.
I didn't belong in the accounting area; and my mere presence here, so early in the day, would be guaranteed to draw attention. The fact that I was asking about a person here in a pointed manner made the situation much worse.
“I—I believe she called in sick today,” said one young woman. She exchanged looks with a young man—another accountant—who occupied the desk directly in front of her.
“What do you want with her?” the young woman asked, matching my bluntness.
“I need to talk to her,” I said. I knew I was being cryptic. I could have made up an accounting-related issue. But that degree of elaboration was beyond me at the moment.
The two accountants exchanged looks again. They were wondering if I would simply go away now. They were hoping I would go away, no doubt.
“What seems to be the matter here?” another voice interjected.
I turned around and saw Anne Hull. She had been standing directly behind me. I had to assume that she had also heard most of my conversation with Ellen’s coworkers.
“Where’s Ellen Trevor?” I asked, addressing both Anne Hull and the accounting department at large. “I need to know where Ellen Trevor is.”
“We told you that she called in sick today,” the young male accountant said. “At least that’s what we think.” He looked at Anne Hull and shrugged. What’s up with this nut? His expression clearly implied.
“Frank,” Anne said. “You need to go to your desk now. They’ve told you that Ellen Trevor isn't here today. You’re being borderline disruptive.”
“She isn't sick,” I said.
“And how could you possibly know that?”
“The Russians did something to her,” I blurted out. I could imagine how ridiculous I must sound, but I didn't care.
“‘The Russians’?” Anne repeated back to me, with arched eyebrows.
“If not the Russians, then either Sid or Donnie. Maybe even Bethany. Hell, maybe all of them.”
Anne reached out to take my arm, no doubt to physically direct me out of the accounting area, where—just as she’d said—I was now becoming borderline disruptive.
I flinched at her touch, and pulled back.
“Forget it,” I said.
She said something in my wake, but I didn't stop to listen. At any rate, I was leaving the accounting area.
Anne Hull was speaking to my back, her words harsh and scolding. Once again I had proved to her that Sid Harper was doing the right thing by engineering my way out of the company. I’m not sure if that’s what she was saying just then, mind you; but I’m pretty sure that’s what she was thinking.
Instead of heading for the elevator and the purchasing department, I made a turn for the main entrance of the building.
I wasn't going to report for my job today. I could no longer pretend that anything at Thomas-Smithfield was even the slightest bit normal.
Chapter 75
I drove directly to Ellen Trevor’s condo. The first thing I noticed was that her car, a metallic blue Honda Accord, was not in its parking space.
Before going to the front door, I tried her cell phone again.
There was no answer. I let the phone ring a
t least ten times. I hit the call end button and put the phone back into my pocket. Wherever Ellen was, she wasn't answering her calls.
The front door of Ellen’s condo was accessible via a single wooden staircase. I bolted up the stairs, not caring that my footfalls were raising a commotion and were plainly suspicious, should any of her neighbors happen to be at home at this hour of the morning on a workday.
I rang the doorbell. I waited for the sound of footsteps. I waited for Ellen to shout, “Just a minute, I'm coming.”
Nothing.
This time, rather than bothering to ring the doorbell, I started pounding on the surface of the front door.
"Ellen!" I pounded on the front door again."Ellen! It's Frank. Open the door, please!”
Ellen Trevor wasn't at work. She wasn't answering her phone. She wasn't in her condo, either, even though her coworkers reported that she had called in sick today.
I began to hatch a plan to break into her condominium. I knew though, that I lacked the skills to do this with any degree of stealth or efficiency. I also knew that if I hadn't alerted any of her neighbors to my presence yet, I would surely do so if I started jimmying her front door.
I walked back down the stairs to the parking lot. Needless to say, I was feeling completely dejected now, totally at a loss.
Somehow, I would have to find her. But I didn't know where to begin.
I was reaching for my car’s automatic opener fob when something large and heavy crashed into me. I went flying, and the world spun before my eyes.
Chapter 76
I was lying on my stomach on the cold blacktop of the parking lot. Someone large and powerful was straddling my back, pinning my arms down.
"You just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" It was the voice of Donnie Brady.
I was filled with a surge of both rage and fear. Donnie must have seen me leave Thomas-Smithfield, or else he knew what had happened to Ellen, and he had guessed my subsequent moves. Maybe Anne Hull had called Sid, and Sid had sent Donnie after me, for all I knew.
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