Carnies and Wildcats: Ulciscor

by Robert Spearman

  Jimmy’s three weeks alone helped him put the story of Allen Ridley and the murdered girl behind him. He planned to follow his dad’s last lucid words.

  I am determined to run from the past and not let it catch me.

  Jimmy was unsure why Seiffert wanted to see him but suspected it had something to do with Allen.

  He waited years to see someone give Allen a taste of the misery he had caused others.

  I’m glad to be on the sidelines, Allen. Happy to watch you burn.

  * * *

  Allen walked into Seiffert’s office the next morning. The old man suggested that they move their meeting to his apartment’s kitchen.

  “Coffee? Something to eat?” Seiffert asked.

  “Coffee is fine, black.”

  Seiffert shuffled around in the kitchen and came back to the breakfast table with two cups, a pot of coffee and a half-eaten pack of cinnamon rolls.

  “God I love these things,” Seiffert said, pointing at the cinnamon rolls. He poured coffee for Jimmy and himself, both grabbed a cinnamon roll.

  “Well Jimmy, today is a big day. Our friend, Mr. Allen Ridley, has discovered a problem with the locks from his Vietnamese factory. Oh, and not your magnet trick, but a genuine defective issue with the manufacturer. Handy Lumber has informed Allen that the business relationship has ended.

  “This morning at nine, Allen will announce his resignation from the company. Once the resignation is submitted, one of my organizations will assume ownership of the company.”

  Jimmy’s mouth fell open—his chin touched his chest.

  “Don’t go wondering how I made this happen. You will find out in time. I will own the company, but the company’s management is a different matter. Jimmy, if you want it, the company is yours to manage.”

  Jimmy was without words. The words came squeaking out, “Yes sir I want it.”

  “Good! I hoped you would say yes. After today, you are on your own. Send me money when the company is profitable again.” Seiffert gave him instructions for his first day, most of it about Handy Lumber.

  Jimmy watched and listened as Seiffert called Steven Pruett. “Steven,” Seiffert said, “Paul Pritchard from Tampa. There will be a gentleman showing up at your office in ten minutes. You may know him. His name is Jimmy Miller, and he’s a former employee of Ridley’s. He was Harvey Ridley’s right-hand man for years. Mr. Maclendon and I are employing him as the president and general manager of the company.

  “Jimmy will go to the board meeting with you but he is not to answer questions from Allen and neither are you. After Allen resigns, Mr. Miller is to assume full power and authority on our behalf. Understood?”

  “Yes. Understood,” said Pruett.

  Seiffert pointed to the door. “Now get going. His office is on the third floor—Suite 302. Name is Steven Pruett. You may remember him, he was the Ridleys’ attorney. One last thing, don’t have any discussions with Pruett about me or my offices up here. Tell him Mr. Pritchard sent you. Don’t breathe the name Seiffert. The less you say, the better.”

  Jimmy stood and grabbed Seiffert’s hand with a firm shake and a smile. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  Steven Pruett stood waiting in the reception lobby when Jimmy walked in the door. They both recognized each other on sight. Pruett grabbed his briefcase and they left for the board meeting. On their trip to the company, Pruett did not speak and Jimmy was thankful.

  Steven and Jimmy walked through the front door of Ridley’s and into the lobby just as the board members were finding their seats. The conference room was a sardine can. There were six board members—three on each side of the table, their elbows touched. Harvey had rarely called board meetings. When he did, he held them in a local hotel or in the backyard of his house during the annual company party and barbecue.

  Allen stood at the head of the small table waiting for everyone to sit when Steven Pruett and Jimmy walked into the room. A look of surprise crossed Allen’s face. His face then contorted to one of confusion. Allen understood why Pruett was here, but Jimmy’s presence made no sense.

  He wanted to ask Pruett about Jimmy, but his guests were getting impatient—already looking at their watches or fiddling with their cell phones. Those that didn’t have tee times at the country club had their own businesses to run.

  Allen sensed their restlessness and started. It was too late to change his mind and he was glad. He wanted to be an attorney again.

  Allen began by thanking everyone for their attendance. He acknowledged each board member and thanked each one for their years of support for his dad. Allen outlined the company’s beginning and its history of many years of successes. Allen explained the present situation and finished his speech by announcing his resignation as president, effective immediately.

  The members of the board were indifferent. Allen had expected the board to show more sympathy for him and the company’s predicament.

  They said nothing.

  They did not care.

  They had no investment in the business.

  Harvey’s board was comprised of a bunch of old friends he would call together to drink and discuss business. He paid them a fee every year and in exchange he became a board member of their companies, a trade-off.

  Finished, Allen sighed.

  Everyone stood to leave. Steven Pruett addressed the group. “Gentleman, if you could give me a few more minutes. I promise not to keep you much longer.”

  Several of them grumbled under their breath, but they settled back in their chairs. Allen was still standing at the opposite end of the table from Pruett.

  “Most of you are here today because you were friends of Harvey. I trust you wouldn’t want to see Harvey’s hard work end with Allen. Allen has done an excellent job running the company and he is to be commended for that. I come today, as executor of Harvey and Myrtle Ridley’s wills, to inform you the company’s ownership will pass to a charitable organization.

  “This organization had two options, to liquidate the assets or to try to restore it to its former profitability. I am very pleased to announce that they have opted to manage the company and not liquidate. Standing here with me is their choice for president and general manager, Mr. Jimmy Miller.”

  As Pruett finished his statement, Allen realized what was happening and he sat, falling back in his chair. His legs were weak balloons leaking air. Allen waited for Pruett to finish and said nothing. Most of the board members approached Allen and shook his hand, wishing him the best. They extended the same warm greetings to Jimmy Miller as they exited the room.

  Allen remained seated—his face red like the eye of a stove and just as hot.

  Seiffert’s instructions were for Jimmy not to speak to Allen, but he could not restrain himself.

  “Allen, my dad once told me something I want to share with you today. He said, ‘the sun don’t shine up the same dog’s ass all the time.’ I guess your day in the sunshine is finished.

  “Now go to my office, pack your shit and get the hell out of here!” Jimmy shouted.

  Everyone in the front office, including Marie, heard him.

  Allen considered rushing to the end of the table and punching Jimmy in the face until his face resembled meatloaf but restrained himself. Instead, he rose and walked to Steven Pruett and shook his hand, and then shook Jimmy’s. He wished Jimmy luck and told him to take care of his dad’s company.

  Allen went to his office. He was crying but managed a smile when he passed Marie.

  Marie almost felt sorry for him.

  Allen buzzed into Marie and asked her to have someone bring a box from the warehouse. Ten minutes later he had packed his office. He stopped and said goodbye to Marie. He asked her to call him sometime.

  Allen paused in the lobby and removed two pictures of his dad from the wall. He placed them on top of the box and walked out the door.

  * * *

  Jimmy watched Allen drive away. He walked Steven Pruett to the front door and thanked him for helping. Jimmy
returned to find Marie waiting for him in his new office.

  “Congratulations,” she said, smiling.

  “Thanks but I guess you saw this coming.”

  “Remember? I told you. So, Mr. President, what’s the first order of business?”

  “Ask the employees to gather in the warehouse. I want to make a company announcement.”

  “Okay. It’s good to have you here.” She smiled again.

  Jimmy was happy—the happiest day of his life. But worried too, his time alone convinced him to forget about a relationship with Marie. But how to tell her? He did not want to anger her or her uncle.

  The employees gathered and Jimmy made his announcement. Most everyone knew him, but he introduced himself again and reminded them he had been with the company for over thirty years. Jimmy told them of the new changes and rallied everyone to work together to make the company better and stronger.

  At the end of his speech, he handed a slip of paper to the warehouse manager. It contained the address of the storage warehouse which housed the two containers of the non-defective locks from China.

  “Make arrangements to pick those up and bring them here ASAP,” he said.

  Jimmy returned to his office and stopped at Marie’s desk. He asked her to pull the employment records for the employees fired during Allen’s management.

  Jimmy called Bill Berlage at Handy Lumber.

  “Berlage,” snapped the guy on the other end of the line.

  “Mr. Berlage,” Jimmy said, “Jimmy Miller at Ridley Specialties. I wondered if you might have a moment to chat with me.”

  “Jimmy Miller? My God, someone said you left! How in the heck are you?”

  “Doing great. Gone until this morning, but Allen has resigned and the new owners have asked me to assume management of the company.”

  “Well, that was quick. I guess this load of shitty locks hung Allen.”

  “Yep, that’s pretty much it. I’m coming to you with my hat in my hand, to ask for a second chance. Allen tried to pull a fast one by moving production to Vietnam and it backfired. I can have new, non-defective locks to your stores within a week, from the same factory that has been building them for years.”

  “Wow,” said Berlage. “One week? That’s hard to believe.”

  “Well, you can believe it. Allen screwed the Chinese factory over too. He ordered two containers of locks from China and then moved the business to Vietnam. Allen never canceled the orders in China. Allen left them holding the bag, but I can have them here within the week.”

  “Okay here’s the deal,” Berlage said. He seemed to accept Jimmy’s explanation. “You get me new locks back to all the stores in one week and we’re good—business as usual. But, we are not paying for the defective locks.”

  “Understood,” said Jimmy.

  “And Jimmy, lots of luck to you. It’s gonna be good to work with you again. Makes me feel like old Harv is back.”

  Jimmy spent the rest of the day re-establishing old relationships and meeting with the various department heads. He asked Marie to bring in the files of the terminated employees. Marie brought in twenty files and Jimmy went through them. He separated them into two stacks and handed one of them to Marie.

  “Call these folks,” he said, “and tell them they have their jobs back if they are interested.”

  “And the others?” Marie asked, pointing to a stack of five folders.

  “Those are the ones Allen got right. Give these back to human resources.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Allen left the company and drove around Valdosta.

  He visited his parent’s graves at Sunset Hill Cemetery.

  He visited the landlord of his former law office and discovered there were no spaces available for rent.

  What do I do now? Where do I go?

  The gnawing hunger in his stomach gave Allen direction. He drove to downtown Valdosta and searched for a parking place near Beulah’s Homespun.

  Allen circled the block two times at Beulah’s before giving up and parking in the lot across from The Ashley near Brambley’s Hardware.

  Allen paused at The Ashley. He considered going into Ashley’s Pub for lunch but remembered the day he fired Jimmy Miller here.

  Thinking about Jimmy will ruin my appetite.

  Allen needed comfort food and Beulah’s was the place to get it. Allen continued his stroll around the block on his way to Beulah’s.

  He paused in front of the pawnshop and thought about buying a gun. He wondered if suicide might be the best way out of his predicament, but his growling stomach changed his mind.

  I can’t die on an empty stomach.

  Beef before bullets is best.

  Beulah’s was busy as usual. Folks were not lining up outside the building like for Sunday lunch, but the line stretched from the buffet serving table to the front door. Allen looked at the people.

  How many know I am a failure?

  How many know I lost my father’s business?

  How many even care?

  Allen loaded his plate with heaps of southern goodness—fried chicken, mashed potatoes, string beans and collards. He grabbed two slices of pecan pie from the serving tray, Beulah rang up his bill and he paid.

  Allen found an empty table and ate while he remembered the last time he was in Beulah’s. He had loaded two boxes for him and Ronnie’s sister, Holly. He thought of their picnic near the river and their night together.

  Allen removed the memory of Holly from his mind and attacked his plate like a ravenous wolf. After the hunger pains subsided, he slowed his pace and ate the rest of his meal. He finished both pieces of pie, savoring every bite.

  Allen paused again at the window of the pawnshop on his walk back to the parking lot. Allen still lacked the courage to buy a gun, much less pull the trigger. He walked back to his SUV but when he arrived at Ashley’s Pub, he turned, pushed open the door and said, “What the hell.”

  Allen walked up to the empty bar. A few people were eating lunch in the dining area. Patrick Seiffert was working, and he recognized Allen.

  “Something for you?” Patrick asked Allen.

  “Scotch and soda please, heavy on the scotch and light on the soda,” Allen replied.

  Patrick nodded and poured two shots of whiskey into the glass, followed with a splash of soda. He pushed the drink across the bar to Allen.

  “Run a tab?”

  “Sure.”

  Allen finished his drink in one gulp and handed it back to Patrick. “Another one.”

  Patrick made another drink and handed it to Allen. Allen drank it much slower, sipping not gulping. He looked around the pub—he tried to soak in the surroundings.

  “You’ve got an excellent place here,” Allen said.

  “Thanks. First time here?” asked Patrick.

  “No. I came by a couple of months back, but it was a quick meeting.” Allen motioned for another drink.

  “Hey, let me ask you something,” Allen said. Allen was slurring his words thanks to Patrick’s two, strong drinks. “Are there any offices for rent upstairs? I’m thinking of reopening my law practice and I need a place to hang my shingle.”

  “I’m not sure,” replied Patrick. “Let me call up to the leasing office and ask.”

  “Sure, give ‘em a ring. If the offices upstairs are as swanky as your restaurant, it would be great. I’m partial to swanky. I don’t want to pay an arm and a leg though.”

  Patrick laughed. “Maybe a finger or two. Definitely not an arm and a leg. Hold on a sec and let me call.”

  Patrick went to the storage closet behind the bar. He called his uncle and told him Allen Ridley was in the bar asking about office space. Seiffert told his nephew to send him up to the seventh-floor office.

  Patrick went back to the bar and told Ridley, “Well sir, you are in luck. The management office said they have spaces available. If you want to chat with them, their office is on number seven, Suite 701. They’re the only tenant on that floor.”

&n
bsp; Seiffert watched Allen on the monitor as he settled his tab at the bar. He called Martha and told her she needed to come up and “play secretary” in Suite 701. “And hurry, we’ve got a special visitor coming up,” he said.

  Martha rushed up to the office and Seiffert told her Allen Ridley was on his way. “Let him wait out here for five minutes,” he said. This was unexpected. He needed time to devise a plan.

  Seiffert called Dwain. “Where are you? How long before you can get here?”

  “I’m on my way in for drinks at Patrick’s. I can be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “Good, go there and get Patrick. Tell Patrick to close the bar or let a waitress cover for him. You both go to the basement and wait for me, in the dark and out of sight. I am expecting a guest to check in today and I need muscle to help him settle into his new accommodations. Understand?”

  “Gotcha,” replied Dwain.

  The surveillance screen showed Allen sitting in the waiting room, making small talk with Martha. Seiffert buzzed the phone on Martha’s desk.

  Martha directed Allen to the door. Seiffert was waiting just inside the room. He extended his hand to Allen and said, “Lewis Seiffert.”

  “Allen Ridley.” He shook Seiffert’s hand.

  Seiffert motioned for Allen to sit in a chair opposite his desk.

  “I understand you are looking for office space,” Seiffert said. “What do you have in mind?”

  Allen was looking around the office. “Nothing as spacious or fancy as this. I’m planning to open a law practice so I will need something half this size with a receptionist’s office.”

  Seiffert opened a book and ran his finger down a page. “There is a suite on the third floor in the size you described. Shall we go take a gander at it?”

  “Sure that would be great,” Allen said. He worried he could not afford it and this was just wasting the old man’s time.

  Seiffert motioned to Allen’s briefcase. “Do you want to leave that here?”

  “I’ll carry it along,” Allen said.

  Seiffert and Allen walked out together. Seiffert stopped and spoke to Martha, he said, “Martha, I am going to three to show this gentleman a suite. I think Dwain may be there working. Please call ahead and tell him we have a guest arriving in a few minutes.”