Chapter 2
Bill shook his head, staring dispiritedly out the window of the taxi. Athletic, still in his late thirties, Bill Gardner hated what had become of his city. His skin crawling, he almost tugged the sleeves down on his white shirt, decided against it and instead rubbed his hands on his jeans—as if he could clean off the filth of the city by doing so. He closed his eyes behind his dark sunglasses and tried not to think what the scorching July heat would do to all the refuse in the city. Already, he could smell the sour and pungent aroma that hung like a dark cloud over the city—even with the windows up.
“The city should do something about this,” he muttered. In fact, he didn’t understand why the Mayor of New York hadn’t done something. This was getting out of hand.
The taxi driver heard him. “The garbage?” he asked. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad,” he finished, answering his own question.
Bill stroked his well-groomed goatee. “Any word when the strike will end?” he asked, knowing that most taxi drivers knew the news before the broadcasters even had the chance to announce it.
“No. Wastend employees still refuse to drive the trucks. They demand more pay and more benefits before they return to work. I just don’t know why the company doesn’t just either give in to their demands, or hire a whole new batch of employees. The trash has been piling up for a week now.” The gray haired driver pointed to the dumpsters of a prominent hotel, which were overflowing with bags of trash, much of it just lying in plain sight.
The questions raised by the taxi driver touched upon Bill’s lawyer instincts. “I bet it has to do with the union. The union won’t allow any more new hires, trying to back the company into a corner. If the company just gives in, they run the risk of going bankrupt or passing on the higher costs to you and I.”
The driver swore. “You know, I’ve been flushing as much trash down the toilet as I can. At least the sewer still works. My neighbors finally took all their trash to the landfill themselves. It’s a 45 minute drive one way! I can’t afford to do that!”
“I think we’re all screwed until the strike ends,” Bill replied, sighing.
“The Mayor needs to do something,” the driver muttered, echoing Bill’s thoughts from earlier. “He should have never made that contract with Wastend to begin with.”
The corporate lawyer knew exactly what the driver was referring to. The topic had been a favorite one of local talk shows over the last few days. Two years ago, the Mayor had signed a citywide contract with Wastend to pick up garbage for most of the city, effectively driving out all other competitors. At the time, it had seemed like a good deal as Wastend had negotiated fees that were lower across the board. Now, the downside of that contract was rearing its ugly head. With the competition gone, there was no one to take up the slack when Wastend employees went on strike. Oh, there were one or two tiny companies that were picking up trash, but they were waging a losing battle in such a large city.
No, this strike needed to end, and it needed to end quickly.
The taxi rolled to a stop in front of the corporate offices for Helm and Weiss Law Firm. “Here you are, mister. That’ll be $15.22.”
Bill handed him a twenty. “Keep the change.”
The driver shrugged. It wasn’t much of a tip, but Bill was in a hurry to get to his office. The air outside had begun to smell faintly of refuse, causing the lawyer to recall what one commentator had described as unsanitary conditions about to incubate a whole host of diseases. Great. Just what we all need. He hurried inside, where the recycled air at least smelled better. When he reached the eleventh floor, he moved through the lobby of his office.
His secretary, Cassie Byrne, smiled as he came in. “Good morning, Mr. Gardner.”
“Cassie. I see you beat me here as usual.”
“Always, sir.”
He chuckled, and went over to the coffee machine to retrieve a hot cup. “What’s my schedule like for today?”
“You only have a 9 o’clock with Tim Hunton of the School of Technical Developments. He wants to discuss the legal ramifications of adding an extra layer of security in the classrooms. Oh, and management has requested that we re-use the coffee cups to cut down on the trash.”
Bill regarded his Styrofoam cup sourly.
“Management suggestion or law?”
“More of a royal decree, complete with capital punishment for first time offenders,” she replied with a straight face.
Bill chuckled again. “Cassie, half the time I can’t tell when you are serious.”
“And I’m not?” she asked seriously.
“We shouldn’t be using disposable cups anyway.” answered Bill.
Continuing to chuckle, he entered into his spacious and somewhat lavish office. “I’ll be preparing the briefs for the Stark case until Mr. Hunton arrives. See that I am not disturbed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Bill hadn’t even arrange the papers or turned on his laptop when his desk phone rang. He picked it up. “Yes?”
“Sir,” Cassie said. “I have a man on hold who insists that he speak to you right away.”
“I thought I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“I know, sir, but this man is very insistent, and he threatened to see to it that I get fired if I didn’t get you on the phone.”
“He what? Who is this idiot?”
“He didn’t say, sir.”
Bill had risen to his six foot two height, his muscles clenching in anger. He didn’t like it when someone threatened his staff. “Put the fool on. I’ll take care of this.”
“Thank you, sir.”
There followed a click and with no semblance of grace, Bill demanded, “Who is this?”
“Is this Bill Gardner?” a deep, rather gruff voice, replied.
“You blasted know it is, mister. I want your name. How dare you threaten my assistant!”
“Calm down, Mr. Gardner. I was only trying to motivate her. I needed to talk to you without her knowing who I was. My name is Frank Vellore. I am the CEO of Wastend.”
That caught Bill off-guard some. He paused and got his anger under control. If this really was Mr. Vellore, no wonder he wanted to keep this conversation a secret.
Secrets were no stranger to Bill. His military past had often put him in positions where secrets were as common as breathing. Several of the operations he had participated in were still classified as top-secret. Even the mention of the code names would most likely land him in jail. One such operation had taken place in Columbia to combat drug trafficking. But that was the past. Now, he just wanted to focus on his job as a lawyer and deal with new cases he received every day.
“Okay, Mr. Vellore, you’ve got my attention. But if you want my cooperation, I suggest that you stop threatening my staff.”
“Easy enough to do. Look, Mr. Gardner, I will get right to the point. I wish to retain your services in helping me end this strike.”
Now, Bill’s heart began to race for a completely different reason. A job like this could propel his career well into the next hierarchy of lawyers in the nation. This would be a dream job, being that it would be so televised and public. “Why me?”
There was a pause, and Bill almost regretted asking the question. Finally the voice said, “Because you possess the skills and expertise that we need.”
Something about that answer didn’t seem right to Bill. Shouldn’t Vellore be more interested in his experience and success in the court room or at the negotiating table? What skills and expertise did was he referring to.
Before he could question the Wastend CEO further on it, Frank asked, “Can you come down here immediately? We have much to talk about and plan for, and not much time. I need this strike to end soon.”
Bill thought about it. Finally he nodded, even though Frank couldn’t see the gesture. “I’ll be there in an hour. At your main offices?”
“Yes, and please don’t tell anyone where you are going or who you are meeting with. I need this to be complet
ely confidential, Mr. Gardner.”
“I understand.”
“Good. Thank you, Mr. Gardner.”
“Don’t thank me yet, sir. I’m on my way.”
He hung up the phone and stood behind his desk thinking. Why had he been called? He was a good lawyer, if he could indulge in a bit of boasting, but there were many other high profile lawyers with much more experience than he had in this sort of thing. No way was he going to turn down the opportunity, but still, he had to wonder.
He packed his laptop, stuffed some standard authorization forms and confidentiality agreements in the case too, and appeared at his office door. “Cassie? I need you to reschedule that appointment with Mr. Hunton.”
“Reschedule?” She looked at the clock. “But sir, he is due to be here in the next ten minutes.”
“Then give him my apologies and reschedule if he is willing. If he is not…” Bill shrugged. “Oh well. But, I have to go.”
“Very well. What do I put down on your hourly logs?”
“That I am in a meeting.”
“Where?”
“Undisclosed, per client request.”
“This is most unusual.”
Bill grinned. “Don’t you know it, sister? Look, Cassie, I can’t tell you where I am going or who I am meeting. This needs to be kept confidential. I’m sorry, Cassie.”
Cassie was a pretty girl in her mid-twenties. She was actively working for her degree in criminal justice and working part time for Bill. She was very intelligent, so he had to be careful what he told her.
“How long will you be gone?” she asked.
Bill glanced at his watch. “I don’t really know, but my guess is all day. I’ll call in when I know more.”
With the essentials out of the way, Bill hurried out of the office.
The First End Page 2