Monahan 02 Artificial Intentions

by Rosemarie A D'Amico

  “Miss Everwood,” I said, “Good afternoon.”

  She stopped and placed both hands on her cane and peered up at me.

  “Miss Monahan. How nice to see you,” she said.

  “Likewise,” I said. We walked, or rather shuffled, over to the side of the elevator lobby for a little chat. Miss Everwood was dressed in a beautiful off-white, cashmere coat, sensible chocolate brown walking shoes, and a jaunty hat right out of the thirties. It even had a little feather on the side. The whole outfit looked a little warm for the temperature outside, but some older folks are apparently cold all the time. She had a mesh shopping bag hanging from the same arm as her purse.

  “Off to do some shopping?” I inquired.

  “Yes. I’m just picking up a few Friday night treats. Thought I’d rent a video, get a bag of popcorn and maybe a chocolate bar. Seen any good movies lately?” she asked me.

  I was a little taken aback. Her Friday night sounded like one of mine, not what you would expect of an eighty-year old woman.

  “Depends,” I told her. “What type of movies do you like? Chick flicks? Action?”

  “I love movies with lots of sex and gratuitous violence,” she said. With a straight face.

  “Really?”

  She slapped me on the arm. “No, I was just joshing with you. I do like movies with some action.”

  “Then watch Pearl Harbour. It’s really good.”

  “No, I don’t think so. Thanks anyway, but when you’ve lived through the horror of something like that, you don’t necessarily want to see it on the big screen.”

  I imagine she had a point.

  “Not to worry,” she told me. “Part of the fun is browsing at the video store and watching people’s reaction when I ask where the porno flicks are.” She laughed at this and so did I. Our Miss Everwood was quite a joker.

  “So,” I nudged her. “Any action at the apartment of my co-worker?”

  She shook her head. “Nope. Although I did get a few hours of sleep last night so I can’t guarantee there wasn’t some coming and going. But I doubt it. Nobody’s allowed in or out of that place after eight at night. I think I told you that didn’t I?”

  “Yes. Yes you did Miss Everwood. Thanks for the information. Enjoy your movie and your Friday evening.” She gave me a little wave and shuffled off.

  Kelly was standing in the same spot, still talking on the phone. He finally hung up as I was putting my key in the apartment door.

  “My guy’s on the ground in Flagstaff,” Kelly said. “If you’ve got a minute, I can come in and fill you in.”

  “Absolutely,” I told him. “Gimme a minute to change into my jeans. Help yourself to anything you want in the kitchen.”

  Kelly was sitting at the breakfast bar and Jay was serving coffee when I joined them in the kitchen. As soon as I climbed up on my barstool, Jay served me a hot, black coffee.

  “Thank you,” I told him and then turned to Kelly, who was sitting beside me. “So, give us a report.”

  “Okay. Jerry Rigley, my guy, has been in Flagstaff for about two hours now. He headed straight for the hospital because he wanted to see if he could get any information from them before the administration types close up shop for the weekend. The hospital confirmed that both Miss Scott and Mr. Tucker were employed at the hospital at the same time. That’s about all they would share. Jerry did manage to buy the secretary in the personnel department a coffee and she was so grateful she gave him the home addresses they had on file for both Scott and Tucker. Checking out both of those addresses are next on his list of things to do. Hopefully, he’ll find someone who can recollect something about the two them.”

  Kelly sipped his coffee and I had a hunch he had more news so I sipped my coffee too, and waited. Jay was leaning against the opposite counter, with his arms folded across his chest.

  A couple of silent moments passed and I finally broke it. “So, anything else to report Kelly?”

  “Well, there is some news a little closer to home,” he offered. “Apparently Mr. Ben Tucker has been seeing a nephrologist here in New York.”

  “Excuse my ignorance, but what’s a nephrologist?” Jay asked.

  “A kidney specialist,” I told him. “I learned that the other day when I was doing all my reading of the Global Devices files and our PISTON project.”

  “Well that’s interesting,” I said to Kelly. “What are they treating him for? Is it an infection?”

  “No, I’d say it’s a little more serious than that. It seems our Ben Tucker, or Donald MacLean, is on dialysis. Three times a week.”

  “That would explain why he was nowhere to be found when I went looking for him the other day. Can people on dialysis hold full time jobs?” I wondered out loud. “How long does dialysis take?” I wasn’t sure who I was asking these questions of, but it was definitely an interesting subject. And, it seemed that Kelly had the answers.

  “Dialysis is different for each person. Each session can take anywhere from an hour to overnight. Lots of people keep their jobs while on dialysis. In Tucker’s case, the dialysis appointments last three hours each time.”

  It suddenly struck me that at every turn we were running into kidneys. Real ones or artificial ones. I had heard more and learned more about kidneys in the last two weeks than I really cared to know. I mused about that for a while before Kelly interrupted my thoughts.

  “Mr. Tucker is in dire straights though,” Kelly told us. “He has kidney damage because of his paraplegia. He’s losing his kidney function and is close to renal failure.” Kelly reached inside his jacket and pulled out his little notebook. He flipped to a page near the middle and read from it. “Apparently he has neurogenic lower urinary tract dysfunction.” He looked up at me. “He needs a kidney transplant. Soon.”

  “That’s not all he needs,” I said. “A kidney transplant. And a job. His ass is fired for lying on his job application.” I felt only a wee bit of satisfaction when I said that out loud. It would have been better if I could have said it to his face.

  Although it seemed like a lifetime ago, it was just yesterday that I had confronted Ben in my office about the Global Devices contract. He had denied any knowledge of what was going on. If asked, I wondered how well he would be able to deny knowing Nat Scott before working at Phoenix. The man was a convicted sexual offender, which in all likelihood put him in the category of psychopath. I think that’s the right term to describe people convicted of sex crimes. Just to make sure I wandered into the bedroom and grabbed the dictionary off the shelf. Psychopath: a person affected with antisocial personality disorder. Well, one could argue that sexual offenders fit into the category antisocial. The internet gave me more insight into antisocial personality disorder. Psychopaths use charm, manipulation, intimidation, sex and violence to control others and satisfy their needs. They have no conscience or empathy. Psychopaths are pathological liars, have grandiose self-images and use glibness and superficial charm to get what they want. I felt like ice water had been poured over me and I shuddered.

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph. What had I gotten into this time?

  chapter forty-seven

  Carrie and I spent at least an hour on the phone going over a list of things I had missed that day at the office. There were a dozen phone calls to return, none of which couldn’t be put off until Monday. At least that’s what I thought as she went down the list of calls.

  Russ Freeson had asked that we meet as soon as possible to go over updated financial statements. He and the auditors had apparently re-worked all the numbers after he got the news about Global. The quarterly financial statements that we had filed about two weeks ago with the Securities Commissions would have to be restated and refiled. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not good. More fucking damage control and I wasn’t confident that we would be lucky enough to get this done with little fanfare or scrutiny. So far there had been no coverage of the release we had issued on the cancellation of the Global Devices contracts. Let’s keep our fingers crossed.

 
Sandra Melnick, our VP Operations who had agreed to take over R and D, had called. She had spent the day with the team and wanted to report back to me. Call her on Monday.

  Mark Hall, our whining VP of Sales who had made such an indelible impression on us yesterday, had called. Hoped I didn’t mind, but he was going to take some time, take a few days off, maybe head over to Bermuda with his wife. Get away from it all.

  “Was he kidding?” I asked Carrie.

  “No Kate, he wasn’t.”

  “Remind me to deal with that on Monday,” I instructed her. Mental note to self to fire that whining wimp. Unbelievable how a good crisis brings out the finest in some people.

  “Get Russ Freeson in to see me first thing on Monday. Ask him if there are copies of the financial statements that he could fax to the apartment now. Do you have the fax number here?” She did and she would call Mr. Freeson right away.

  Sara Williston from the bank had called. Twice.

  “Did she say what it was about?”

  “No, but the second time she called she sounded a little disappointed that you weren’t here.”

  My watch said it was 4:30. By some standards, that would be way past quitting time for some bankers. Not Sara though. She answered on the second ring.

  “Sara, it’s Kate Monahan. My office said you called today.”

  “Hi. Thanks for calling back. I hope I didn’t get you at a bad time.”

  “No, I’m at home, just finishing up for the day. What’s up?”

  “I’m not sure,” she started tentatively. “Do you know if Tom was acquainted with a Dr. Jordan Francis?”

  “Yes he was. Why?”

  “Well, one of our branches on the Upper West Side called me today. Very strange.” She paused.

  “And?”

  “They were doing a routine audit at the bank, and one of the auditors was checking that all the safety deposit boxes had been paid for and she recognized a name on the list of box holders.”

  “Whose? Dr. Francis’?”

  “Yes, but she recognized the other name from recent news reports. Tom Connaught. He’s a co-owner of the box. The auditor looked up Tom in the bank records and saw that he was a customer at my branch. And called.”

  We both paused for a minute.

  “I want into that safety deposit box,” I told her.

  “You can’t Kate. Tom was only a co-owner. We’d need Dr. Francis’ permission.”

  “Well, that’s not likely in the near future. He hasn’t been heard from in almost a month.”

  “Is there some way to contact him?” Sara asked.

  “Not that I know of. He hasn’t been seen at his home or his office for over a month.”

  “Are NYPD looking for him?”

  I snorted at this. “They didn’t seem too interested today when I tried to talk to them about it. Dr. Francis was a client of our company and from talking to people at his place of work it seems he resigned his job and said he was moving away. That doesn’t sound like a missing person to most people. It sounds like someone who doesn’t want to be contacted.”

  “Well, I’m sorry but until Dr. Francis turns up, we can’t access the box. I didn’t mean to upset you with this news Kate, I just thought you’d want to know.”

  “Yeah, thanks Sara. I’m not upset. Just another dead end in a day of dead ends. Not very encouraging but interesting.”

  So what the hell could be in that safety deposit box? What were Tommy and the impossible to find Dr. Francis up to?

  It was Friday night, and I was glad to see the end of the work week. If I had been at my apartment in Toronto I would be doing some housework, some laundry, ordering a pizza for delivery, and hunkering down with a good Harlequin romance novel. A normal, boring, Friday evening. But nothing that had happened over the last couple of weeks resembled normal, and I longed for it. The traffic below on Fifth Avenue was heavy, and the fumes from the cabs and buses, and Lincoln Town Cars wafted up to where I was sitting on the balcony with my Diet Coke. My feet were up on a cushioned ottoman and my drink was sitting on a glass-topped table beside me. You could fit one small kitchen chair on my balcony in Toronto so I was feeling pretty special sitting in this very comfortable outdoor chair, enjoying the exhaust filled air. The smoke from my cigarette just added to the whole ambience. Jay would be back soon with our pizza and I had a good book to get into. I might even take a long bath and get into bed really early.

  As things turned out, it would be a long time before I felt this relaxed again.

  chapter forty-eight

  It was a good thing that I fell asleep so early the night before. We had a seven a.m. appointment with Frank Sanchez so I didn’t whine too much when Jay had me up and at ‘em at six. Jay had woken me the night before from a deliciously cozy couch in the living room where I had fallen asleep reading restated financial statements. Before I dozed off I remember thinking that I had found the cure for insomnia - financial statements - and for especially bad cases I would recommend reading the notes to the financial statements. Honest to God, did people actually read that babble?

  Manhattan was beautifully quiet early on a Saturday morning and Lou was on hand to drive us to Frank’s place.

  I settled into the back seat of the car and thought about how quickly I was getting used to being driven around. “Lou, there is no way you are working seven days a week,” I told him. “I don’t care if you’re driving the President of the United States.”

  “It’s okay, ma’am,” he assured me as we pulled away from our building, heading south on Fifth Avenue. “I’m off at noon today and Mr. Northland has arranged for one of our other drivers to be available.”

  Traffic was light this early in the morning and we made good time driving to Soho. Lou got lucky with the lights and I counted twenty consecutive blocks before we hit a red. As we drove, Jay and I discussed our weekend plans. Although I had absolutely zero desire to go to the office, I knew I had to. One of the reasons that presidents and chief executive officers were in the office seven days a week was because of the endless stream of paper, documents to be reviewed, requests to be turned down, opinions to be given, advice to be doled out, phone calls to be returned, emails to be answered, studies to be studied, research to verify, and proposals to be vetted. I wasn’t complaining - well maybe a little bit - but my problem wasn’t just the amount of work, it was the continual learning curve. Some of the research papers that crossed my desk were absolutely mind boggling. The fact that Tommy had degrees in biology, engineering, and software design probably made it a little easier for him to understand the mounds of paper. Yours truly had a solid high school education and two years of community college where I’d trained as a paralegal. None of my education had prepared me for the highly technical, financial, and scientific issues that crossed my desk on a daily basis. I was learning though how to fake it well.

  Frank’s lesson was pretty much a repeat of the day before. “We need you to practice what we went over yesterday,” he told us. “Repetition and more repetition will make it second nature, so we need to train not just your body but your brain too.”

  Knife and gun disarms, how to get out of choke holds, what to do when someone grabs you from behind. We practiced, and then practiced some more. And then just to be sure, we practiced one more time. Jay would attack me and then I would reciprocate. How to handle the situations was almost becoming second nature to me and as Jay and I went through the motions I allowed my mind to zone out and my body to take over. The hour flew by and when Frank suggested we take a few minutes to practice our jabs and low line kicks, I was all for it. I do believe I actually got a second wind and wasn’t half as exhausted as I was the day before. Could I actually be getting in shape?

  The three of us stood around chugging from bottles of water when we finally finished up about an hour and a half later.

  “So Kate, what do you think about all this training?” Frank asked me. “Do you feel like you’re getting the hang of it?”

  I m
opped the sweat from my face before answering. “I think I’m getting it. I’m starting to understand it better. Today was good though because I was able to react to Jay’s attacks without too much thinking. I’m actually liking it and enjoying the physical side of it. Especially the punching and kicking.”

  “Good to hear. But remember, there’s no substitute for awareness. Keep your mind sharp and always be aware of your situation. Don’t let your guard down. Don’t get into stupid situations.” Jay nodded his head in agreement with Frank.

  “Understood Frank,” I assured him.

  I was at my desk by ten o’clock. I had a quick shower at home after our workout with Frank where I changed into presentable jeans, T-shirt and running shoes. If I had to work, I was going to be comfortable.

  The office was expectedly quiet - it was after all a Saturday morning in the summer. When I had signed in with the security guard in the lobby of the office tower, I noticed that there were only a few signatures of Phoenix staff on the list. Not that I recognized any of them. I was only a couple of weeks into the job and most of the employees were still strangers to me.

  The mound of papers in my in-basket made me groan and I decided to make some coffee before tackling the pile. The hallways were dark, with the only light coming through glass panels built into the walls next to the doors of offices that had windows to the outside. There was an eerie greenish glow coming from one open doorway and I smiled when I realized it was coming from the photocopier. The coffee room was pitch black but I found the light switch right where it should have been. The door to the coffee room closed behind me quietly.

  There were two large coffee machines on the long counter. One which made a whole pot of coffee at a time and the other which dispensed caffeinated or decaffeinated coffee by the cup. I fetched a large china mug from the cupboard and placed it under the spout on the one-cup machine, pushed the button for caffeinated, and watched in fascination through the clear glass front of the machine as it measured up a goodly amount of coffee beans, ground them, placed the coffee grounds in a funny looking gizmo, shot a large amount of boiling water through it which drained into my cup, and then disposed of the used coffee grounds into another container. Very cool.