The Dinosaur Club

by William Heffernan

  Fallon let out a weary breath and turned his eyes back to Waters. “Charlie, there were six other people standing right there.” He ticked off the names. “This isn’t even worthy of argument. Just check with each of them.”

  “Sure,” Bennett snapped. “Your goddamned dinosaurs and your mistress. No one’s about to fall for that, Fallon.”

  Fallon stared at him, putting as much regret into the look as he could. “Is that what this is about, Carter? The fact that I’m living with a woman you once pursued?”

  Waters’s head had been snapping back between the two. “Just a minute,” he demanded. “What are we talking about here?”

  Fallon explained, as Bennett sat and fumed. He thought Carter might leap from his chair and come after him.

  Waters shook his head as if fighting off a bad dream. “This is all getting ridiculous,” he finally snapped. He glared at Bennett. “What’s the root cause of this damned foolishness?”

  Fallon didn’t give Bennett a chance to answer. He’d been called on Waters’s carpet and fully expected to be unemployed when the session was over. He intended to go out with all guns blazing. “Jim Malloy,” he said. “If you want a reason, Charlie, Jim Malloy is it.”

  Waters turned to him and blinked. “Jim Malloy is dead. How can he be the cause of this problem?”

  Fallon wanted to grab Waters and shake him. His mind raced with everything he wanted to say: A problem, Charlie. Of course Jim’s not a problem. He’s dead. And we can sure as hell ignore the fact that you and your boys drove him to suicide—just so you could line your goddamned pockets.

  Fallon said none of it. Instead, he glared at Bennett. “Word has gotten out that Carter is looking to withhold Jim’s accidental death benefit. It’s raised some tempers among his friends.” His eyes went back to Waters. “I think that’s quite understandable. Frankly, I’m surprised it hasn’t caused greater problems.”

  Waters’s face hardened. He doesn’t care what Carter’s done, Fallon told himself. He hears only one word: problem. And that’s the one thing he doesn’t want. It scares him. It’s the same reason he hired that blond thug with the sap.

  Carter’s tone immediately turned defensive. “The man was a drunk,” he snapped. “And the company is not liable for accidents that involve the victim’s culpability. Malloy was even driving a company car he’d been ordered to turn in because of his drunkenness.”

  “I countermanded that order.” Fallon locked eyes with Bennett. “And I was acting for the company. The man was not a drunk. The accusations were a crock of shit. I have a memo from the man who made them that proves it.”

  Before Bennett could respond, Fallon withdrew some papers from an inside pocket and dropped them on the table that sat between them. “That’s a copy of the state police report,” he said. “It’s quite clear. There was no evidence Jim had been drinking.” He watched Waters pick up the report, and begin to read it. “Charlie, Jim was one of the first people I hired after we got our feet on the ground.” Fallon’s voice was lower now, becoming steadily sonorous. “He was with this company twenty-one years, and in that time he did us a lot of good.” He raised his chin toward Bennett. “Now Carter wants to dick around with his death benefit. Maybe even force his widow to go to court, which she can ill afford to do. And people who work here—the people who worked with Jim—know all that. They see the injustice in it. And, Charlie, it’s making them very angry.”

  Waters folded the report and placed it gingerly on the table. “I’ll look into it, Jack. I assure you we won’t be creating problems we don’t need.” His voice was stiff, filled with irritation. He raised his eyes slowly, tried to stare Fallon down. “There’s another matter I’d like to discuss, Jack. It’s about some tests I hear you’re having run at M.I.T.”

  Fallon offered up his most boyish grin, one that would go well with the lie he was about to tell. “Already had them run, Charlie. They came back negative. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

  Waters nodded. “I’m glad we cleared the air on that.” The words were friendly, intended to imply satisfaction, but Waters’s eyes were full of suspicion. In twenty-four hours all his suspicions wouldn’t matter, Fallon told himself.

  Waters tried to regain control. “I need you to be a team player, Jack. All else aside, I need and expect that.” He shook his head slowly. “I cannot have you openly opposing other executives. I cannot have you publicly choosing sides that make that opposition apparent. And I can’t have you raising groundless concerns. We need solidarity here if we are going to move this company ahead. Do I make myself clear?”

  Fallon wanted to laugh in the man’s face, but merely gave him an acquiescent smile. “There’s nothing I want more than to move this company ahead.” He extended his hands, brought them back together with a clap. “I’ve been working toward that end for twenty-three years. And I have no intention of stopping now.”

  Waters kept his eyes locked on Fallon. “Then we’re agreed.” His words were a command; his eyes were still filled with suspicion.

  “Indeed we are,” Fallon said.

  Fallon dropped into his chair and glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to five. He was due to meet Wally and Samantha in thirty minutes. They would go back to Samantha’s apartment and change, then get in position to confront Bennett as he jogged through Central Park.

  Samantha had assured him a Monday night jog was an unwavering part of Bennett’s routine. He never socialized on Monday nights. Monday was set aside for his weekly run—something he refused to vary. Even the route remained the same. He would start on the walkway near the Metropolitan Museum, head around the lake, past Bethesda Fountain, then on through the Mall, and out again at Seventy-second Street. Samantha had assured them he was so fixated with the route, he even carried a stopwatch to compare his time to previous efforts. Fallon hoped she was right. They would wait for Bennett in the parking area between the fountain and the Mall. If he kept to his routine it would be over with before Carter had time to wet his shorts.

  But first there was one other matter. Perhaps the last bit of business he would do for the company. Les Gavin was waiting in Fallon’s outer office, had been waiting there—cooling his heels—for the past half hour. Fallon reached for the intercom, ready to summon the man, when Carol entered his office.

  She closed the door behind her. “Jack, your daughter’s here,” she said.

  “Liz?” he asked in amazement.

  Carol smiled at his bewilderment. “She says she has to talk to you.”

  Fallon glanced at his watch again. He had a helluva lot to do in the next few hours. He thought, Jesus Christ, Liz, your timing stinks. “Okay, send her in,” he said. “Tell Lester to wait.”

  Liz entered, tall and young and beautiful. Her blond hair shone, just as her mother’s always had. She was dressed in a green silk blouse and tan slacks, and had a matching tan jacket draped over her shoulders. She had become the personification of her mother in style and manner. He loved her, but he hoped her values were better grounded and that her life would follow a far different path.

  Fallon came around his desk and kissed her cheek. “Honey, it’s great to see you. But you caught me just as I was headed into a meeting.”

  Liz raised an eyebrow, and he immediately surrendered. “But sit down. Tell me what’s up.”

  Liz settled into a chair, as Fallon took the one next to it. “I want to talk to you about your life, Daddy.”

  Fallon felt in inward shudder. The fact that she had used the term Daddy made it even more intense. It was a signal he had learned to recognize over time. This would be an impassioned plea for something she wanted badly. And it would continue, he knew, until it ended in either acrimonious argument or acquiescence.

  He stole another glance at his watch. He had time for neither. Nor had he the stomach for it. His nerves were already becoming frayed.

  “That sounds like a long, serious topic,” he said. His mind raced. How do you tell your daughter you don’t have time for t
his? Do you say, Listen, I’m sorry. Let’s do this another time, dear. Maybe on the next visiting day at Sing Sing?

  “I certainly consider it serious,” Liz said. She hadn’t caught his tone, had gone right past it. She adjusted herself in her seat. “Let’s face it, Daddy. You’re going through a midlife crisis.”

  Fallon thought, Oh, shit, we’re off and running. “Is that what you think?” He inclined his head as though considering it.

  “I think it’s obvious.” She twisted in place again, clearly uncomfortable. Fallon wondered if she felt slightly foolish doing this. He loved her, felt sorry for her if she did. He also wanted to get rid of her as quickly as possible.

  “I’m afraid it’s not obvious to me,” he said.

  Liz let out a breath. It was a mannerism she had employed since the age of three. “Daddy, look at the facts. Mom has come back to you. She realizes she made a mistake. She was just frightened by all the sudden insecurity in your lives. She’s accepted that, and admitted she was wrong. But now you’re involved with …” She paused, then continued, “A younger woman, let’s say.” Fallon started to say something, but Liz hurried on. “I can understand it. I can accept the attraction an older man feels for a younger woman. I see it in school all the time. Professors having affairs with their students.”

  Immediately, Fallon wondered if his daughter had been hit on by some lecherous professor. If she had he would engineer the man’s ruin. The thought was interrupted as Liz continued to prattle.

  “Daddy, a younger woman may make you happy now. But eventually it will all come apart, and you’ll just be hurt. It’s inevitable. You deserve better than that. And so does Mom.”

  “Your mother already took her shot at better.” Fallon kept his voice soft, as nonconfrontational as he could manage. “Howard was better. Filing for divorce was better. Moving all the furniture out of the house was better.” He raised a hand, stopping a forthcoming objection. “Liz, all of that hit me like a ton of bricks. But I shook it off and got on with things. And I’m happy. Maybe I won’t be happy forever, but that’s the way life works.” He reached out for her hand. “Right now, just be happy that I’m happy.”

  “But what about Mom?” Tears had welled up in her eyes.

  His telephone interrupted them. Fallon reached out and picked it up. Carol’s voice came across the line.

  “Jack, Ms. Moore and Wally are here. They said you were supposed to meet them.”

  Fallon made a point of looking at his watch. “Jesus, yeah, that’s right. Tell them to go down to Wally’s office and I’ll meet them in a few minutes.”

  He replaced the phone and turned back to his daughter, praying he’d been saved by his fellow conspirators.

  “Honey, I have to go. We’ll have to finish this later.”

  Liz stared at him in disbelief. “Daddy, there’s so much more I have to say. What about us? What about Mike and me? This is creating havoc with all our lives.”

  Fallon felt burdened with guilt. He pushed it away. “Honey, we will talk. I promise you. I don’t promise you you’ll hear what you want to hear, but we’ll talk it out.” He took her arm and guided her out of her chair. “I have to go out of town tomorrow, but I’ll call you when I get back. I promise.”

  Liz’s mouth worked soundlessly, as he led her toward the door. He stopped before opening it and hugged her. “If there’s any way I can make things work out, I will.”

  He stood in the doorway and watched his daughter leave. Then he glanced down at Gavin, still flying one of the chairs in Carol’s office. “Come on in, Lester,” he said. “This won’t take long.”

  Gavin took the same chair Liz had just occupied. Fallon leaned back against his desk and stared down at his assistant VP.

  “Lester, I’m very unhappy with your work,” he began. “I’m even more unhappy with your complete lack of loyalty.”

  Gavin shook his head. He had gone slightly pale. “Jack, I … I don’t understand.”

  “It’s simple, Lester. Your little game as corporate spy has not gone unnoticed. You’ve been going through people’s trash. Looking through their desks. Making false accusations. In short, you’ve been a disloyal, self-serving little shit. And so you’re fired. Clean out your desk today. You have one month’s severance, and it won’t be necessary for you to come back into the office. I’ve already notified security. They’re waiting for you in the hall. Carol will forward all the paperwork to the proper people, and they’ll no doubt be in touch with you.”

  Gavin’s face flushed. “You can’t fire me!” Like Liz, he stared at Fallon in disbelief.

  “I can’t?” Fallon grinned his own disbelief. “I’m confused, Lester. Seems to me my business card reads: Jack Fallon, vice president, sales. That, I believe, makes me your boss. And as your boss, I’m firing your backstabbing little ass. So take a walk, Lester. And have a nice life.”

  27

  THE VAN THEY HAD RENTED SAT IN THE SHADOW OF A large tree only a few short yards from the roadway Bennett would hopefully use. It was eight-thirty, fully dark, and the portion of the path on which Fallon stood was thirty feet from the nearest streetlight. Fallon was dressed in camouflage fatigues. His hat was equipped with a pull-down face net that was now tucked under the brim. Wally and George Valasquez, dressed in the same mildly ridiculous attire, were crouched behind a nearby bush. Samantha, also wearing identical gear, waited in the rear of the van.

  Fallon heard the slapping of Bennett’s running shoes before he saw him. He stepped out into his path and grinned. “Carter, glad I caught you.”

  Bennett staggered to a stop. He stared at Fallon, at his clothing. He blinked several times. “Fallon,” he said. His voice held a clear note of disbelief. “What is this?”

  “I wanted you to know I fired Les Gavin today,” Fallon said.

  More blinking. “You what?”

  Fallon grinned. “I fired Lester.”

  “Why are you dressed like that?” Bennett’s eyes roamed Fallon’s attire yet again.

  “I’m going to a little paintball tournament. Wanna come?”

  Wally hit Bennett from behind, knocking him to the ground. He immediately grabbed one arm, while Valasquez grabbed the other. Fallon scooped up his legs, and all three began running toward the van.

  Bennett screamed, and began kicking his legs. A sudden jerk of his body sent Wally to the ground. George threw a roundhouse right that grazed Bennett’s head. “Prick,” he snarled.

  Wally quickly grabbed Bennett’s arm again and struggled to his feet. “Hit him again,” he hissed. George swung but missed.

  When they reached the van Bennett was still screaming. Samantha threw open the rear door, and slapped a piece of duct tape across his mouth. She wound it quickly around his head, then stepped aside as the others threw Bennett inside.

  Wally hurtled in behind and pounced on Bennett’s back, pinning him to the floor, while George grabbed his wrists and duct-taped them together. He immediately did the same with his ankles.

  Bennett thrashed about the back of the van, his feet slamming against one side.

  “Keep him quiet,” Fallon snapped. He was behind the wheel now, Samantha next to him, and he was pulling the van out of the parking area.

  Wally pivoted, and slammed his buttocks down on Bennett’s back. A whoosh of air escaped Bennett’s nose, then he became still.

  Fallon’s adrenaline-driven heart thudded in his chest. He drove across the park, keeping well within the speed limit. An unmistakable aroma assaulted his nostrils. He sniffed at the stench that suddenly seemed to fill the van.

  “What the hell is that smell?” he demanded.

  “I think I fell in dog shit,” Wally answered. He studied his pants. “Yeah, I did. It’s all over my leg.”

  “Jesus H. Christ,” George snapped.

  “Well, take the pants off and throw them out the window,” Fallon ordered.

  “Hey, I’m not gonna sit here in my goddamned underwear.”

  Samantha turned aro
und and began to giggle. It was part relief, part what she saw. Bennett, dressed in an orange Princeton T-shirt and jogging shorts looked like an Ivy League turkey trussed up for Thanksgiving dinner. Wally sat atop him, the leg of his camouflage trousers covered in dog shit. “Take off your pants, Wally,” she said. “None of us are going to peek.”

  28

  CARTER BENNETT AWOKE AT FIVE THE NEXT MORNING. Wally and George had dragged him from the van only a few hours earlier and had dropped him on the floor of the cabin. They had removed the duct tape from his mouth, but his arms and legs had remained bound. A pair of new camouflage fatigues had been placed under his head.

  Constantini, Hartman, and Annie Schwartz had hovered nearby spitting invective. Bennett had lain on the floor, surrounded and terrified. It had gone on for nearly a half hour before it finally stopped. Emotionally drained, Bennett had finally fallen into an uneasy, fitful sleep. Now, the first vision to greet his eye was the specter of Wally Green again hovering above him. There was an Indian blanket wrapped around the waist of his camouflage shirt, a black cowboy hat perched on his head, and a shotgun cradled in his arms.

  “Good morning, Mr. Bennett. Did we have a nice little nippy nap?”

  Bennett blinked; a sense of confused terror rushed back. He couldn’t believe this was happening; wasn’t sure what he should or should not say. He stared at the shotgun. It was insane. They couldn’t be doing this.

  “I’m thirsty. And I have to use the bathroom.” He heard his voice come out as a croak.

  Green grinned at someone behind him. “Hey, Georgie, Carter has to go pee, and you get to hold it for him.” He let out a cackle. Bennett twisted around and saw George Valasquez standing at the kitchen counter. He had just poured a cup of coffee and was taking his first sip. Ben Constantini and Joe Hartman were standing behind him, waiting their turn at the pot. All three were wearing fatigues, and they all sneered at him. Bennett’s head snapped around. Annie Schwartz was seated in a chair by the fireplace, nursing her own mug of coffee. She, too, was wearing camouflage, but she had tucked a Hermès scarf stylishly in the neck. The same look of contempt filled her eyes. And all of them—all of them—had a weapon close at hand.