Siblings

by K. J. Janssen

  “John, I want to talk to you about expediting the study your committee is doing on Mitchum’s Pharmacy and St. Stephens Rehab. It’s been several months since they submitted their applications.”

  “To be more precise, it’s been exactly sixty-three days.”

  “That’s exactly my point. That space has been open and not producing revenue since the former tenants left. That was over seven months ago. Our bottom line is being hurt by these vacancies.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Ron. I’m also aware that it's very costly to turn over tenants. We must be certain that any addition to our center has a solid reputation, has a good long term potential, and doesn’t overlap any of our existing disciplines.”

  “You know that both those prospects fill the bill on all three. What’s the holdup?”

  “Hold on there, Ron—don’t be so sure of yourself. Did you know that Mitchum’s shareholders are calling for the removal of their current board chairman? Are you aware that they’re conducting tests at pharmacies with in-store clinics? From what I hear, the test is going well and they’re considering a nation-wide roll-out. That would mean they would want to have a clinic in the pharmacy located in our building. A clinic that would perform minor check-ups and dispense prescriptions, if necessary. That would clearly be an overlap. So, unless they were willing to make a pharmacy in our building an exception from their plans, we couldn’t accept them as tenants.”

  “Now, as for St. Stephens, were you also aware that they had a loss for the last two quarters and that they’ve had several recent resignations among their top management? Ron, these situations have to be carefully taken into consideration. They complicate the appraisal process. I realize that many companies have operating difficulties at some point, even some of our own practices, but it’s my ass on the line if things go wrong down the road.”

  “I agree with you that Mitchum’s could be a problem, but not if they agree to build without a clinic. We need to discuss this issue with them immediately. I’m sure you know that rehab centers in general tend to have soft periods occasionally, but if you look at their year-to-year comparisons, you’ll see that the amount of the current slowdown is significantly less than it has been for the past three years. That suggests that their annual figures will be higher. Slowdowns are a quirk in the rehab business model and shouldn’t be a reason for denying them a partnership with our group.”

  “We’re in agreement on that point, but you’re ignoring the management changes. That’s a red flag I can’t ignore. We need to examine deeper to ascertain what the cause is. The committee is committed to filling the two open spaces, but at the same time, it’s much too disruptive, from a center operations viewpoint, for us to do two separate openings. So if we can’t pass on Mitchum’s, were going to have to suspend our review for St. Stephens until we receive another suitable candidate.”

  “That’s ridiculous, John, and you know it. Why not let Pete Mickelson worry about that? He’s the General Manager. It should be his call. Don’t you realize that there’s a glut on the market of space for medical offices? If we delay our approval any longer, St. Stephens is likely to accept an offer from another suitor.”

  “We’ll have to risk that, but I don’t think there’s a better location or price anywhere else in town. Symington Medical Center is still the prime medical office facility in the city.”

  “Damn it, John, you’re acting very arbitrary. Does this have anything to do with the Wallington Sleep Disorder Clinic?”

  “Ron, how could you ask such a question? Are you suggesting that I’m being swayed by the fact that you managed to get the Wallington Sleep Disorder Clinic approved in my absence? The same Wallington Sleep Disorder Clinic that withdrew from the group seven months ago? The Wallington Sleep Disorder Clinic that subsequently went into bankruptcy, owing us six months of unpaid rental fees, and the same Wallington Sleep Disorder Clinic that managed to get the Center listed as co-owners in a lawsuit against them for non-delivery of pre-paid services? You’re not referring to that Wallington Sleep Disorder Clinic now, are you?”

  “You’re being ridiculous, John. There was no way we could have known the management of the clinic would revert to shady practices once they were under the protection of our corporate umbrella. Their stats looked outstanding at the time and you know it.”

  “That’s rubbish. It was your inept handling of the situation that caused the problem we now have filling those slots. It was our job to know; my job to know, but you circumvented my authority and signed them up. I know that you’re one of the founding partners of the Center, but you were, nevertheless, wrong to go around me to serve your own purposes. What I’m saying, Ron, is that you’re responsible for the mess that we’re in and I don’t appreciate your showing up at my office attempting to muscle me into approving another one of your schemes. The New Business Committee will proceed as planned. Mitchum’s is out for now and St. Stephen’s is on hold. If you want to do something useful, go out and find us viable candidates. If you have a problem with my decision, let’s discuss it at the next board meeting. That’s all I have to say on this subject.”

  John turned his back on Ron and walked over to his desk, giving Ron ample time to save face by exiting the office; an opportunity he gladly seized.

  ***

  Minutes later, Ron was pacing back and forth in Peter’s office. “He absolutely refuses to approve either one of them. I understand about Mitchum’s, so let’s scratch them, but there’s no business reason to put St. Stephen’s Rehabilitation Center on hold. That excuse he has about the inconvenience to our current tenants doesn’t hold water.” He waited for a response from Peter and when one didn’t come, he added, “He is wrong, isn’t he?”

  “I’m afraid not. It’s not only inconvenient, but also very costly. There are economies when you set up two together; enough to make it difficult to justify doing them separately. The only chance we have left is to come up with another candidate with outstanding credentials; one good enough to blow John’s socks off.”

  “What are the chances that we can build a case for one of the companies on the waiting list?”

  “You tell me. You and I investigated all fourteen on the list before recommending Mitchum’s and St. Stephen’s. Those two were by far the best. We attached our critiques to the other twelve when we presented our findings to the New Business Committee. I don’t think we could reverse our recommendations now just to fill the remaining slot. Anyway, I’m sure John has already thought about the same possibility and he will be waiting to ambush us if we try to push through one of those companies now.”

  “What can we do, then?”

  “I guess I’m just going to have to release my original report and let the partners deal with it.”

  “Just like that? To hell with our consecutive quarter profit record? Why are you willing to give up so easily?”

  “What do you want me to do, Ron? Falsify the figures?”

  “I’m not suggesting that.”

  “Maybe not, but that’s what your implying. I don’t mind doing a little dipsy-doo now and then—all accountants do that—but I won’t be a party to anything that could land me in jail; records be damned. I’m just going to have to present the report and the partners and investors are going to have to accept it for what it is.”

  “I’m not suggesting you do anything fraudulent. I’m just saying there must be some way to gloss over some of the negative stuff. After all, we’re still making money, even if not as much as last year, and the fiscal year still looks good.” Ron stopped pacing and sat down on the couch. “I’m not happy about this any more than you are.”

  “I kept thinking we were going to fill the empty space and save the year. I never anticipated it would take so long.”

  “It’s your responsibility to anticipate any financial bumps in the road.”

  “Don’t you get so high and mighty with me, Ron. You’re as much to blame as I am for the lack of vision. After all, you’re the CEO of Sy
mington Medical Center, Inc.”

  “You don’t have to remind me of that.”

  “Well then, stop pointing fingers and trying to fix blame. It is what it is. At this point, there’s little to gain by trying to bury it. I’m going to prepare my earnings report this afternoon. Let the chips fall where they may.”

  “Wait a minute—didn’t we receive a proposal from a new practice last week? It was from a doctor specializing in vascular surgery and interventional radiology. If I remember correctly, his requirement was for about the same square feet that Mitchum’s needed. He recently bought the practice from the founder, Dr. Rudolph Lassinger, who was located north of town. He wants to expand the practice and move it into the center of town. I think his name was Dr. Marshall Wentworth and he wants to call the new practice Wallington Vein and Laser. Look, Pete, can you give me a few days before you start your report? If this Dr. Wentworth wants to get set up right away, maybe we could convince John to expedite vetting him. I think even John will be impressed enough to want to lock him up.”

  Peter smiled. “Sure, why not. It’s certainly worth a try. I’ve heard nothing but good things about Dr. Lassinger. He operates Lassinger Vein Specialists. I hear he only uses equipment that he himself invented. There was an article in the Wallington Tribune about six months ago. I’ll dig it out of our files. What the hell, we may solve this problem yet if we end up recommending Dr. Wentworth to the committee.”

  “We certainly have nothing to lose by trying,” Ron said. “I’ll leave you to work on it.”

  Chapter 12

  Wilson pulled the buds from his ears, thinking he heard a knock at his door. The knocking repeated. He jumped up and went to the door. He looked out the peep hole and saw the Abbott brothers.

  Out in the hall, George said, “Come on, Wil—open the door. We know you’re in there.”

  Wilson undid the chain and opened the door. “What do you guys want?”

  “Is that any way to talk to old friends?”

  George Abbott pushed the door open and walked past Wilson, followed by his younger brother Bobby. “What a dump. Is this the best you can do?” They slumped down on the couch.

  Wilson closed the door. “It works for me. You’ll have to wait a minute. I was just finishing a text message to my sister.” He picked up his phone, pressed a few buttons, and laid it down on the table next to him.

  “How is the beautiful Margaret Symington these days? Did she ever get married?”

  “Why should you care? She sure wouldn’t have anything to do with the likes of you two. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “Willie boy, I’m just concerned about you. I felt real bad when you were sent to the stir. You know we would have helped you if we could’ve.”

  “Yeah? Well, all you had to do was step forward and admit your role in the operation.”

  “Now what good would that have done, Willie boy? Then we all would have landed in the slammer.”

  “So instead you let me take the hit.”

  “Willie boy, don’t think that I don’t appreciate what you did. I helped wherever I could.”

  “Stop calling me Willy boy. My name is either Wilson or Wil. Get that?”

  Bobby spoke up. “My, aren’t we testy? You’d think that after being called by just a number for three years, you wouldn’t mind what people called you.”

  “No thanks to you.”

  “Cut it out, you two. This is supposed to be a social call. Look, Wil, we didn’t come here to yank your chain. Believe it or not, I want to help you. I owe you a large and I’m not a man to turn his back on a friend. Why don’t we light up and enjoy some of this Guatemalan hash we brought with us. This is primo stuff; goes for three hundred a cube.” He reached in his pocket and took out a baggie with a dozen brown cubes the shape and size of dice.

  Bobby provided three four inch long pipes with small bowls lined with a ceramic material. He offered one to Wil, who hesitated for a moment before he accepted it.

  George handed Wilson one of the cubes and a lighter. “Now that’s better. You’re going to like this shit. It’s the best on the market.”

  An hour later, George was ready to make his pitch to Wilson. “So, how did you like that?”

  Wil had no intention of getting stoned, especially with the Abbott brothers. He smoked the hash, but only pretended to inhale. (Well, maybe he did once or twice to test the quality of the stuff). “Man, this is really good shit. How did you ever get a hold of so much?”

  “We distribute it. Things have changed a lot since you went away. I’ve got new partners now and we only deal in hash. Grass is too bulky to handle and the profit margins are too thin. All that stuff about legalization has clouded the outlook for the stuff. Hashish is the big thing now. So far the law hasn’t messed with hash, so the market opportunities are solid.”

  “Then I bet you can’t wait until grass is legal everywhere.”

  “You got that right. When the capitalists eventually get their hands on it, it will be as common as cigarettes. The mystique will be gone. Human nature being what it is requires that there always be something that’s taboo, something that makes you important if you can supply it. Hash is that new interdict and we’re right there as suppliers providing a top-of-the-line product. I don’t have to tell you that our market is teenagers and the under thirty-five crowd. People in that demographic get their jollies doing stuff that’s forbidden or looked down on. Hash is quickly becoming society’s fashion drug.”

  “So, Wil, the time is now if you want to make some big bucks. I’ve got a sweet little deal going with some high rollers who can supply me with all the hash I can handle without any up-front money. What I need is someone who can handle a large area south of town. Mostly middle class kids going to good schools who like to party on the weekends with the best stuff. You’ve got a young, innocent look, so you would blend right in with that crowd. The average deal is two grand with six hundred going to the seller. Hell, in a good week you could make three or four grand. I see brand new sports wheels in your future.” George hesitated for a minute to let everything sink in. “Does that sound like something that would interest you? You don’t have to make up your mind right now. I’m still at the same number as before, but don’t wait too long. Territories are going fast and its first come, first served.”

  He turned to his younger brother. “I guess it’s time to go, Bobby. Leave the pipe and lighter with our friend. Here’s another cube for you to enjoy while you make up your mind. Oh, one more thing, my territory captains get a ration of three cubes free every week; my way of saying thanks.”

  The Abbott brothers left Wil’s apartment about an hour and a half after they had pushed their way in.

  As they exited, a man stepped out of the shadows and stood by the front door, watching as they got into the Jaguar parked at the curb. As the car pulled away, he headed toward the elevator, hesitated for a minute, then turned and left the building.

  ***

  Wil grabbed his cell phone and dialed a number.

  “Blaine here.”

  “Mister Blaine, this is Wilson Symington. They were here today and they made me an offer to distribute hash for them. I recorded the conversation on my cell phone.”

  “Good job, Wil. What did you tell them?”

  “I didn’t give George an answer. I didn’t want to look too anxious. I think he assumed I wanted to think it over before I gave him an answer, especially given my history with them.”

  “We’re going to have to get together. Can you meet me at Sweeney’s on Oak Street at noon tomorrow? It shouldn’t be too crowded on a weekend. I’ll have Special Agent Hawkins meet us there. If you get there first, find us a booth in the back.”

  “Sure thing, I’ll see you then. I have some evidence too. George left me a sample of his stuff and a pipe. I’ll put it all in a baggie.”

  “That’s great! See you at twelve.”

  ***

  “Special Agent Hawkins, please.”

 
“Hawkins.”

  “Byron, its Norm Blaine. The Abbotts just made contact with Wilson Symington.”

  “I know. The agent I assigned to keep an eye on Wilson just reported in. They went to his apartment house and stayed about an hour and a half. It was about time for them to make contact. I wonder why it took them so long.”

  “He didn’t say, but he had the presence of mind to record their conversation and he said he has some physical evidence.”

  “That’s great. Do you think he’ll work with us?”

  “Well, the fact that he notified me about their visit and recorded the conversation is a very positive sign. I’m going to be optimistic. I’ll see you, at noon tomorrow at Sweeney’s”

  Chapter 13

  Six Months Earlier

  Two days after his release from jail, Wilson showed up at the office of his probation officer for a nine o’clock appointment. He expected to meet a “tough-as-nails” PO who looked like the ones portrayed on TV. Norman Blaine, as it turned out, was a soft-spoken man, who on the surface appeared to be sincerely interested in returning Wilson to society as smoothly as possible.

  Wil had already been hired by Wallington House to supervise their valet service, an interview that Norman Blaine arranged, so he expected today’s meeting would mostly be a pep-talk about the price to be paid for returning to a life of crime and a rule setting session.

  Norman met him at the outer door to his office. “Let’s go back to my office where we can have some privacy.” He closed the door and gestured for Wilson to sit in a chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”