“Yes.” Wilson said, pretending to sound genuinely contrite, “Late last evening when I called my wife she mentioned that Mr. Edmondson was trying to get in touch with me, but it was very late, I was exhausted and figured I would simply call him after our meeting.”
“That was rather unfortunate.” Showalter reprimanded, “Needless to say, I took a lot of heat for that. And because of the unfortunate mix-up, Mr. Harcourt started to second guess me and question again if I had made the right decision in going with your company.”
Charles could tell by Showalter’s body actions and tone of voice that the man was getting ready to throw Wilson ‘under the bus’ so to speak. Showalter might be willing to stick his neck out a bit, but not so far, that Harcourt would be waiting to chop it off like that of a Thanksgiving turkey.
His anger growing, Wilson questioned. “Are you saying that Harcourt told you not to use our company based simply on my not being available on my personal cell phone on a Sunday afternoon? Are you saying he plans to throw away all of our hard work and preparation for something so trivial, as meaningless as this?” Wilson could feel the cell phone starting to vibrate in his suit pocket.
Showalter continued, appearing to be back peddling. “Well, at that time, he did still leave the final decision up to me, but he made his displeasure perfectly clear. Charles, he chewed my ass out at home on my supposed Sunday afternoon off while at the same time trying to persuade me to see things his way and abandon our deal. As I said, even though he runs the show he does prefer to have his subordinates make up our own minds; or so I thought until this morning.”
“Ah.” Wilson thought to himself. “Here it comes. This will be the place, where Showalter buckles under pressure and abandons ship. He imagined a sinking ship with hundreds of rats jumping off into the ocean. This will be where Wilson would find himself alone, adrift in a vast empty sea, abandoned without a life raft or another rescue ship in sight.
His plan was starting to take shape now, but he needed to gather a bit more information first. “Well then, what happened this morning?” Wilson insisted, his frustration and anger visibly growing.
“Well,” Showalter hesitantly said, “Mr. Harcourt came storming into the building like a mad man heading straight for my office, scaring my secretary half to death. Bottom line Wilson is that he has insisted, in fact he has ordered me not to sign the deal with your company under any circumstances, and to go with a competitor instead. You know that if decision were still mine to make, I would give the contract to your company, but this is no longer the case. It is no longer up to me; it is up to Mr. Harcourt. And he will not permit any contract to be signed with Edmondson Systems.”
Wham! Pow! There it was; right in the kisser! Wilson felt as if he had been hit across the face with a baseball bat. There was no way that he would let this deal fall through. He no longer cared about the commission, the potential promotion, his reputation. Now it was a matter of personal principal. He had worked his ass off for this deal for a year and no way would that moron Harcourt stop him from getting what was rightfully his.
He anger began to boil. Wilson said sternly, “John…John…listen to me. You can’t let that idiot Harcourt screw up this deal. I know you are the real brains behind this company and that you actually run it. Harcourt is a fool and Washington is a simpleton. You know how hard we both worked for this. You need to be a man, to step up, take charge, and tell Harcourt that you demand he go with our company. If you insist, I know he will back down, unless he is actually so incredibly stupid that he is not aware of how much he needs you.”
Showalter insisted. “I’m sorry Charles. I really want to help you. However, Mr. Harcourt told me directly that if I attempted to sign with your company and legally committed H & W to this contract, I would be on the street looking for a new job by noon. In addition, he would tie the deal up in legal red tape for years. That would not benefit either of us. The bottom line is Charles, that I simply can’t do this deal with you.”
The cell phone began to pulse more agitatedly inside his jacket as Wilson’s fury continued to grow. Wilson said through gritted teeth, “Very well then John… just please.. Answer one simple… question for me. Have you actually signed with anyone else yet… you know…. Have you physically signed another contract?”
Appearing somewhat confused, Showalter said, “Well, no I have not… Not yet. But Bill Simpson, whom I assume know, from Ultra Tech will be arriving at 11:00 am this morning for me to sign his contract.”
“Ultra Tech?” Wilson thought. “Bill Simpson? Yes that would explain a lot.” Charles knew that Simpson and Harcourt were old time buddies since back in their early college days; probably frat brothers or some other such nonsense. And although under normal circumstances, Ultra Tech wouldn’t have a chance at getting a deal this big, there appeared to be forces at hand that had turned the tide in their favor; perhaps not unearthly or demonic forces, but perhaps something equally as powerful and equally as evil; political forces and the forces of cronyism. However, what these fools did not realize was that Wilson had an ace in his pocket, literally, and within a instant he saw his entire strategy laid out in his mind. He had his plan and it was time to make it a reality.
Wilson suggested, “Then there is still time.”
“What the Hell are you talking about Wilson?” Showalter asked. “There is no time. There is no more deal. It’s over. It’s done.”
Wilson demanded, “Tell me John, who besides you, myself and Harcourt is aware of his decision to break this deal?” He noticed a bit of resistance on the part of Showalter to answer and asked again, “John, this is very important to me.” John Showalter looked Wilson in the eyes appearing to be uncertain if he should tell him or not then finally seeming to agree that perhaps, Charles had a right to the information he requested.
“Well.” Showalter said, appearing to do so with great reluctance, “Other than Mr. Harcourt, I suppose Mr. Washington must know by now, since the both of them are having a private meeting down the hall at this very moment in Mr. Harcourt’s office.”
That was exactly what Charles Wilson needed to hear. He knew now what he had to do next. “Well then.” Wilson insisted, “All is not lost after all.”
Showalter looked at Wilson as if he was looking at a crazy man. As he watched, Wilson started to behave very strangely, placing his right palm against his heart, closing his eyes and putting his head down slightly as if concentrating greatly. Showalter looked as if he thought that perhaps the stress of the meeting had been too much for Wilson and that the man might be having a heart attack.
Showalter questioned sympathetically, “Wilson? Charles? Are you all right? Should I get help for you?”
Wilson held up his left hand in a stop gesture and Showalter flew backward pressed tightly against the back of the chair, the leather upholstery of the chair crushed inward from the mounting pressure, his arms dangling at his side, unable to move or speak as he watched Wilson in his rising concentration.
Next, Wilson looked directly into Showalter’s terrified eyes, smiled a sinister smile and calmly said, “There is something I want you to see. Something you must see.”
Chapter 18
An instant later, John Showalter miraculously found himself in the office of Johnson P. Harcourt floating high above the man close to the ceiling. The sensation was like those descriptions of out of body experiences often depicted on television shows. He could see and hear everything that was going on below him, though he was invisible to the parties below. He looked to his left and sensed the presence of another phantom, similar to himself, and saw a translucent image of Charles Wilson, wearing a sinister smile, suspended in the air next to him. J. P. Harcourt was sitting behind his massive desk, hands folded in a teepee shape, agitatedly discussing his displeasure with Showalter and Wilson and the entire Edmondson Systems situation.
“Sam,” Harcourt said, “I know you are somewhat fond of Showalter, actually much more fond of him than I am, but I think aft
er this Edmondson debacle we have to consider letting him go.”
Washington looked shocked at the suggestion. “Debacle? Letting him go? Are you serious J. P.?” Washing asked, “John Showalter has been an exceptional employee since we brought him on board. He has been single-handedly responsible for making us a ton of money as well.”
“Perhaps so.” Harcourt said. “And in all fairness, he has, in turn been well compensated for his work, as we both know. But there is something about this man that makes me very uncomfortable, something underhanded about his actions. He is much too ambitious for my taste. He has only been with us for just under two years and he had managed to insert himself into every aspect of running this company. If something every happened to either of us, Showalter could simply take over with the board of director’s approval and run the place flawlessly, as if it were his own company.”
“But isn’t that a good thing?” Washington countered. “His hard work, ambition and desire to run things, allows us to take more time to enjoy ourselves and to do the things that we find relaxing, while still making tons of money. That sounds like a win-win situation to me.”
Harcourt said. “But Samuel. This company is ours; our family’s not his. It was formed as a partnership between your father and mine. And although you have no children interested in pursuing the business, I do, and I don’t want that interloper Showalter doing anything that might undermine my current authority or my son’s future authority.”
Showalter watched from above; the anger seething within him. Harcourt continued. “Besides, in my opinion, he dropped the ball big-time on this one. That Wilson character and that fly-by-night Edmondson systems, somehow has pulled the wool over his eyes, and as a result he almost signed a multi-million dollar contract with them.” Harcourt continued, “Thank goodness I had the wisdom and forethought to intervene and stop this fiasco at the last minute before it became a legal nightmare.”
Washington, who was always the most indecisive of the pair, began to waffle and give in to Harcourt’s demands, as he always seemed to do. “Well, I don’t know J. P. Although I am not really in favor of it, I suppose if you feel so strongly that it is what is best for the future of our company then perhaps that is what we must do.”
“Those bastards!” Showalter said in the form of a thought wave that seemed to pass from his mind to Wilson’s, from his invisible floating observatory. “They can’t do this to me.”
Washington continued. “But since it is your idea, I would prefer that you take care of notifying him, and I am more than willing to offer him a nice compensation package. After all, there is no call for us to put him out in the street without a suitable severance package.”
Harcourt said. “I will take care of it. I can have the papers drawn up in accordance with his contract as soon as this meeting is over, then I will go to the board of directors with my recommendation, or should I say demand, and I am certain they will back me up on the decision.”
“So the board doesn’t know about it yet?” Washington questioned.
Harcourt offered, “Of course not Samuel. I would never take any such action without clearing it with my partner first. So far, you and I are the only ones who know about this.”
Deep inside of his mind, Showalter heard Charles Wilson say, “As you can see John, they can and they most definitely will not hesitate to toss you out into the street in a single ticking beat of your heart. As I said, you are the brains of this company and even those two morons know that, yet they are willing to throw you to the wolves without a second thought.”
“There must be something you can do to stop this. If you can accomplish this strange out of body thing, while I am actually sitting down the hall pressed against my desk chair, then there must be something you can do to help me. Is there Charles?” Showalter seemed to plead.
Wilson explained, “Of course there is John. But first I need to know that we are a team, that when I am finished, no matter what you may see happen here today, we will still have a deal.”
“As far as I am concerned, I will sign the contract in blood if necessary, Charles.” Showalter said, “Just do what you have to do to rid me of these two fools.”
“Well then, John.” Wilson said, “Just sit back, relax and enjoy the show while your new partner puts and end to all of this ridiculous nonsense.”
Down below the floating phantoms, J. P. Harcourt and Samuel Wilson both heard a loud ripping sound, as the air behind Harcourt’s desk seemed to shimmer and ripple for a few seconds, just before an enormous split began to form in the middle of the air. This opening started as a small black tear in the atmosphere, then opened to a larger rip about three feet off the ground; its sides burning with a white-hot glow.
Wilson looked down with evil pleasure as both Harcourt and Washington stared, mouths agape, at the phenomenon literally dumbfounded. “What the Hell!” Harcourt shouted.
From inside the opening appeared two stubby clawed hands, which began stretching, widening the opening. The searing hot edges of the slit did not seem to have any effect on the thick leather-like flesh covering the hideous hands as they continued expanding the opening even further. A rank odor of sulfur, human waste and decomposition filled the entire room. The hands glistened with sweat and slime, while on the end of the fingers, Showalter saw curved talon-like claws, which gleamed, reflecting the natural sunlight from the large window wall of Harcourt’s executive suite.
“What in the name of Heaven!” Samuel Washington exclaimed, although he knew instantly that what he was seeing appear before him had nothing whatsoever to do with Heaven.
Soon two ram-like horns forced their way through the opening followed by a mane of long greasy matted black hair. The bizarre creature, appearing literally from thin air tried to raise its head but there was not sufficient room for it to do so until it cleared the slit. Washington could see a pig-like snout dripping yellow-green snot and large tusks protruding up from the bottom jaw of its mouth, reminding him of those on a wild bore. With a great push as if the very fabric of reality was giving birth to some freakish monster, the thing rolled from the opening, landing squarely on its two huge flat feet. It stood hunched looking around the room, sniffing the air as if getting familiar with its new and uncomfortable surroundings.
The beast stood only about three feet tall, was completely naked, most definitely male by its prominent appendage, and covered from head to toe with some sort of glistening cosmic afterbirth. Its long feet had gnarled toes, with huge curved razor sharp talons extending from them. Its body, still sitting in a hunched position was a mass of sinewy muscles and brownish gray flesh covered in wet hair follicles.
Steam arose from its body indicating that its core temperature was much hotter than that of the air-conditioned office. Massive arms, as long as its body was tall, reached easily to the floor. In its clawed hands it held what looked to be knives, but not what one would think of as typical knives, they were the types of knives one might see in a museum. They were long, curved and appeared to be razor sharp. As Wilson watched the events unfold with savage glee, a word came to his mind; ‘scimitar’. He did not remember if that was a correct assessment as he was unsure if a scimitar was a type or sword or if it should be used when referring to a knife. But that was what he envisioned, a scimitar like something from some ancient civilization born of the Middle East.
The beast raised it head and gave an ear-splitting roar, spittle flying from its fang-filled maw, its slimy hair flying back and forth, splattering sweat and slime in all directions. Before Harcourt and Washington had a chance to react, the beast jumped up on the desk between them, turned toward J. P. Harcourt and proceeded to slice the man to bits. The first slash ripped across the bridge of Harcourt’s nose and down his cheek, opening up a massive facial wound and sending the lower portion of his nose flying across the room. Blood sprayed everywhere. Washington now sat staring in shock, paralyzed, unable to move.
The creature continued using both of his knives to sever
and slice as bits and pieces of Harcourt’s body flew everywhere; a piece of an ear flying here, a sliver of lip flying there. Both the beast and Samuel Washington were completely drenched in Harcourt’s blood.
After what seemed like and interminable amount of time spent savagely slicing, with one final plunge the creature shoved the blade to the hilt through Harcourt’s left eye socket. The blade continued to travel up, up, through the man’s brain and finally out the top of his skull. Harcourt’s body convulsed one final time, then fell face first slamming against the top of the desk, driving the blade in another fraction of an inch, just enough to make a sickening wet popping sound as it exited the skull.
The horrid creature stood over Harcourt’s dead carcass and grabbing its gargantuan member began to urinate on the man’s head. Wherever the foul liquid came into contact with the dead man, steam arose as the liquid burned through his flesh like acid, removing the flesh right down to the bone. The creature lifted his head and howled a cry of victory, shaking the horrid thing back and forth as if in ecstatic pleasure.
The beast turned to Washington who was staring wide-eyed in terror, muttering like a mad man, his lips unable to formulate words. Washington was entirely covered in Harcourt’s blood and had bits of the dead man’s flesh all over him from head to toe.
The creature took his remaining knife and placed the handle in Washington’s paralyzed right hand. A moment later the beast jumped down from the desk and looked up at the translucent Wilson. It gave a sly wink then dove headfirst through the opening, which slowly closed, sealing the air once again behind him.
Wilson and Showalter watched while the rip in the air closed and returned to normal, just as the office doors burst open. As the image faded from his vision, Showalter could hear women screaming and the maniacal laughter of Washington, who had clearly gone utterly insane. Showalter opened his eyes and still unable to move could see Wilson, sitting across the desk from him, still concentrating.
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