Like a bad omen, a very bad omen, someone answered her prayers. "I'm here, I'm here, EMT training, someone call an ambulance, clear the way, I can help!"
I didn't even have time to turn my head before Elvis lost his footing.
In a dazzling, rolling swoop, Elvis took Becky's legs right out from under her. The two of them slid downhill, almost onto the tarmac before Becky came out on top. She let out a roar and smacked Elvis on the head with her forty-pound purse.
"Get away from me, you lunatic. Someone get him away from me!" She made a mad scramble to her knees, trying to escape. "Don't touch me! I'll die first! I'll kill you if you touch me. Anyone lets you give me mouth-to-mouth I'll kill them too!" Relentless, she beat Elvis with her purse.
I honestly don't think the guy was still trying to help her; he was just trying to get up, but disoriented, he couldn't get away.
Radar poked my shoulder tentatively. "You okay?"
I nodded. "Someone should calm her down."
He looked at me like I had lost my mind.
Well, okay. She didn't look very approachable. She was still screeching, and she had tears running through her makeup. None of the rescuers, not even Bill, who was still firmly mashing the prisoner, looked willing to take on Becky in order to save Elvis from sure destruction.
With a sigh, I hauled myself up from the ground. Becky was considerably taller than me, and at the moment she was a lot angrier. There was nothing to do but put my arms under hers and pull her backwards. If I had been below her instead of above, it wouldn't have worked. "Becky, Becky, it's over," I shouted, trying to haul her backwards up the hill. "Rebecka!"
She sobbed hysterically and nearly slipped out of her jacket. "I've been attacked!"
"It's me!" I tried again. "Stop Beck! You're okay now. No one is going to hurt you." Since she was unable to hit anyone now that I had her arms, she hurled her purse in Elvis's general direction.
"I'm not letting him touch me!"
"He's not going to. Honest." I confided this promise in a loud shout into her ear.
"I mean it," she shrieked.
"It's okay. Really."
She struggled until I managed to get her several feet away from Elvis. Unbelievably, like some sort of headless chicken, he kept on coming until Radar came down the slope and blocked him.
Becky panted heavily once or twice and then, finally, the fight went out of her.
I loosened my grip, letting her fall forward so I could help her sit down. "It's okay, Becky. They're gone."
Well, not everyone was gone. Police cars pulled into the parking lot, lining the curb. More flashing lights pulled in as we sat there.
Radar meandered lazily back up the hill and disappeared inside the building, but three other guys began telling the police what they witnessed. Someone carted a handcuffed Mr. Beefy into an ambulance. The ambulance personnel came over to soothe Becky. I left her to their careful attention.
Wow, that woman had a short panic switch. She probably shouldn't hang out with me anymore. The guy that had driven off wasn't going to be so nice the next time he caught up with me.
I didn't have much time to worry about it though. The cops started asking a lot of questions. Someone figured out in a hurry that I was Sean's sister. Then Derrick showed up, followed shortly by Sean.
I had already given my statement, and as soon as Sean arrived, he stood next to me, defying anyone to ask me more questions.
Radar came back outside and approached us. He dumped a sandwich in my hand. He had gone to the Subway across the street, bless him.
"Aren't you going to give me any of that?" Sean wanted to know.
"No," I said, protecting the sandwich from his greedy hands. "Half is for Becky."
Becky didn't look too interested in food. She was still mad and a little hysterical. She had hold of Derrick's arm and was demanding Art's arrest. Art, dumb though he was, belatedly figured out that it was time to clear the disaster area. He scurried back inside when Becky started detailing his crimes.
Jacques and Arnold finally appeared and began to "manage" the situation. Arnold approached one of the the officers and wanted know if Acetel could get round the clock protection. Receiving a non-committal answer, he began quizzing one of the police officers on their methods for catching the crooks.
Jacques bustled over to me. I was ready to brush off his concerns when he asked, "Do you think you'll make our three o'clock meeting or should I reschedule?"
Sean looked at me and recognized the spark in my eyes. He backed away. "Since you're doing okay, I'm going back to the office. Don't hesitate to call if anyone gives you any trouble." He stared at Jacques rather pointedly. "Must be some important meeting." He turned and made his way carefully back to his car.
On the way, he rescued Derrick from Becky. I ignored Jacques and took half of the sandwich to Becky. "Let's go get a soda," I said.
She sniffled. "With caffeine. And real sugar. None of this diet garbage stuff today. I'm too stressed." She took a huge bite of the sandwich as we headed inside. Right before the door closed behind us, I heard Jacques and Arnold arguing about who would turn in the report to upper management. Arnold was texting someone on his cell phone, no doubt the absent Pete and A.J.
We bought sodas from the vending machine and sat in the cafeteria. "I still think they should have arrested him," she muttered. "Bastard almost killed me."
It would have been tacky to ask why someone as annoying and incompetent as Art hadn't gotten laid off when the company had the chance. I sent the hamster in my brain spinning away, but I couldn't think of a polite way to bring it up. "Who does Elvis--I mean Art, work for now? Did his boss get laid off so he skated through the whole layoff mess and kept his job?"
She sniffled pathetically, still feeling sorry for herself. "Nah, Art reports to Jacques, and Jacques didn't have to lay anyone off. And even though Jacques is a total pain, I don't think he had the heart to fire that big loser. When he first ended up with Art, Jacques sent him to every improvement course he could think of. Art has been to "Seven Habits of Highly Effective People" four different times. Jacques finally gave up and sent him to EMT training. I think Jacques was hoping he would change careers."
"Guess it didn't work."
"No kidding." She crumpled the sandwich wrapper with one hand. "He's going to need more than an EMT if I see him again today."
I grinned. By the time we walked back upstairs, I barely had time to plan my next test before it was time to meet with Jacques about the employee survey. After what I had just been through, how bad could it be?
Chapter 22
Bad bosses are like bad dates, only worse. With a really bad date, you can call a taxi. With a bad boss, you can't even get up and walk out.
Considering the narrow escape I had experience at lunchtime, I wasn't in the mood to deal with twenty questions that might or might not save a job I didn't even want.
Jacques was blithely unaware of my conflict. He insisted on reviewing the employee improvement survey in painful detail, including the parts I had left blank. "Are these your only hobbies?"
I didn't have time for many hobbies. Telling him I was working two jobs at once probably wouldn't help. "Yes."
He cleared his throat and then listed my spare-time activities in case I had forgotten. "Karate, nunchucks...and shooting at the range…" his voice trailed off.
Now that it was read back to me, I could see that jotting down the first few things that had come to mind might not have been wise. The narrow list might leave a mistaken impression that I leaned toward violent hobbies. "Shooting is a family pastime," I said. "My brother takes me."
"Oh, does he live here in town? Was that him out there today at lunch?"
"Yes."
Jacques seemed to be waiting for more, but I wasn't going to volunteer any additional family nuances.
"I noticed that you didn't completely fill out the twenty-five things you wish to do before you die. That shows you aren't a very focused indiv
idual. I see you also left your spiritual goals blank, although that is personal and optional."
My eyes crossed. "I listed eleven goals, and you're right I wasn't entirely comfortable filling you in on my spiritual goals." Especially since one of the goals would have to be to make it to church every week. Shoot, I could have filled in at least two lines because not only should I make it to church, given my occupation and friends, praying more frequently should be a number one goal.
He moved on. "Going to Hawaii as your top goal seems..." he hesitated. He steepled his hands together, an indication he was giving this one all his formidable brainpower. "The purpose of this survey is to help me help you reach your work goals, but also blend with your home life. All goals are worthy of course, but some of them are more…supplemental…than others."
So the Hawaii thing was a little lame. But I really did want to go and had been thinking about it a lot, especially with winter coming on strong. "I wasn't certain you could really help with loftier things like getting a date, winning the lottery and world peace so I tried to stick to more attainable goals."
To my surprise, he looked pleased. "Oh! You could have listed marriage and children under spiritual goals."
My mouth dropped. He made some notes on the paper. "You have to set your goals high even if they don't seem feasible!"
"I didn't mention children." I hadn't even mentioned the "M" word.
"What?" Overcome by his own enthusiasm, he missed my comment. It was probably for the best.
"Nothing." I stifled a large sigh.
He skimmed through the survey again. "You didn't say what sorts of things you would like said about you at your funeral. This is very important, you know."
"It is?" Maybe he thought it was especially important because of the attack. If so, it was extremely rude of him to bring it up. Shouldn't a boss offer comfort after such an ordeal? Telling me to plan my funeral arrangements was…ominous. Maybe he had sent the thugs, and this was his way of letting me know he would get me sooner or later.
Should I leave now, while I still could?
He leaned over the desk, his beady little eyes almost rabid in their eagerness. "If you focus today on what you want people to know about you, then ultimately in life you will be a success! All you have to do is figure out the ending, and then you'll know the entire path!"
I blinked. "What?"
"Profound isn't it?"
I clamped my mouth firmly shut. I didn't correct his misinterpretation of my astonishment. The man was loose a few network connections.
"Think hard on what you want said, Sedona. Perhaps as a starting point, it would be easier if you consider what you want said about you when you leave here."
"Leave here?"
He sat back and tapped his pen. "Of course. You won't work here forever, will you?"
Why do my bosses always say things like that to me?
"I'm going to graph these goals and align them with some self-help classes for you to take, including the personality test, Myers-Briggs. You should sign up for a few more classes than the usual five I recommend to most people."
My eyes crossed, but he babbled on.
"You also need to pick up more projects now that you're almost done with the two you have."
"Almost" done was stretching things, but I didn't have a chance to protest.
"It's time for you to take on a full load. Select up to seven more projects and we'll go over them." He handed me a sheet of projects and a sheet of classes. The prices of each class, at five per employee, were probably enough to bankrupt the company without additional pilfering. And if I were taking all these classes, when did he think I'd have time to take on seven new projects?
I escaped back to my own office, very certain about one thing. Jacques may have found a way to bilk money from Acetel, but he was not running several hidden employees on the side. He simply didn't have time for it, even if he didn't assign them self-improvement courses. Jacques might very well be redirecting work to Kronology, but the man couldn't manage the work at Acetel, let alone extra employees in Denton and maybe some in San Jose.
Who did that leave?
Arnold could probably pull off such a scheme from a technical and organizational standpoint. Or maybe one of Arnold's people could do it.
The problem was that even the most focused manager would have cases blow up in his face. Those cases would require phone calls, new equipment, and re-assignment of people for testing and retesting. Said manager would have a heck of a time showing up to work at Acetel and managing a hidden team via the internet and phone.
I started typing on the keyboard, not sure where I was going, but moving anyway. Who had the skills to slide work to someone else, trust them to get it done and take a cut?
Instead of finishing one of my lab tests, choosing improvement classes or new projects, I trolled the company web. Radar could access anything I couldn't, but what I was after was simple and public: I wanted names. I wanted to find out who could run employees and projects on the side. He'd have to have access to company projects and data, as well as potential clients. He was probably a manger or wanted to be one.
The company organization charts weren't hard to find. I started with the Denton one because Denton only had forty or so employees.
The first thing I noticed was that the contractors who had been laid off were still listed. The names stood out because they were in blue and had a "c" after the name. There were more contractors than just the two names I had heard; one HR name was listed as being a direct report to A.J. Stella reported to Pete and still had the "c" next to her name. Ben Martinez, with the title of "financial manager," reported to both A.J. and Pete. The way he was placed on the org chart made it appear as though Jacques and Arnold reported to him or at least through him. "And wouldn't he have had access to all the records? And even if he did, so what?"
The names of the people I knew were easy to find. Everyone was still working for the same manager they worked for now. I only remembered two names from my illegal search of the employee database. Alvin with a last name that started with an "N" and Sandra Garcia. According to the list Radar had accessed, they had been laid off.
Neither name was anywhere on the organization chart even though it still showed Ben and Stella. It was possible I didn't remember the names correctly or maybe the post office boxes had been in San Jose, but I didn't think that was the case.
I pulled up the San Jose org charts. Neither name appeared. Hmm.
I double-checked the dates on the files; they were pre-layoff. Stella and the other contractor were listed plain as day. So where were the two employees that I saw on the layoff list? Maybe the organization chart had been partially updated?
Radar said the client files and test results weren't tampered with. But someone was watching the employee database. When I opened those files, Radar got paged. An email was sent. Goons showed up and tried to kidnap me the next day.
I pulled up every org chart I could find, regardless of the dates. I couldn't find the name Alvin or Sandra Garcia anywhere.
I thought about calling Becky and asking her where the latest charts might be stored, but before I picked up the phone, I remembered Arnold's presentation. It wasn't an org chart, but it listed all the projects and the people.
Since he had emailed it to me, I didn't even have to search for it.
My heart beat a little faster as I read down the projects and names. Neither Alvin nor Sandra was listed.
Maybe Arnold had updated his files and deleted laid off employees. After all, he was using the information to try and get promoted or paid more. Listing old employees wasn't likely to help.
I stared at the screen, picked up the phone and called Becky. She was happy to help.
"Do we have a new org chart? I'm trying to figure out who to call in San Jose for a new project Jacques gave me."
"Just use the old charts. We haven't done new ones yet because the reorg hasn't been finalized. Well, maybe it has been in San Jose,
but that's why A.J. and Pete are here now. Yanno, move all the players. I'll send you the ones I have."
"Okay, thanks." I hung up and waited impatiently. It didn't take long for the file to make it through the ether. I scanned it quickly. It was exactly the same as the one I had already seen. No sign of either Alvin or Sandra.
Hmm. Could they really work off campus somewhere? I knew what it took to run a project or two. I had managed projects and people at Strandfrost. How could one person siphon off work, run extra employees, get reports turned in and get paid without anyone finding out?
I spent the rest of the day looking through old project files, some in San Jose and every file I could find in Denton. Neither Sandra or Alvin was assigned to anything. There was no trace of either of them except the post office box address I had seen. It was looking more and more as if they didn't exist at all.
Chapter 23
When I got home, there were no messages from Huntington. I could wait around and hope he called or I could try catching him at his condo. Pretty simple choice and this time I wasn't bringing food.
One foot was already in the garage when the phone rang. It wasn't Huntington. I had almost forgotten that Turbo existed, never mind that he was "researching" for me. "You almost missed me," I said.
"Is the case keeping you busy?" Turbo asked, as if there was absolutely nothing else in my life besides Acetel and working for Huntington.
"Something like that." I really did need to broaden my activities. My attraction to someone as dangerous as Mark had to be due to some sort of deprivation, didn't it?
"I contacted my buddy, Daniel," Turbo said. "Are you on your cordless phone? You know that most cordless phones aren't secure."
"Of course I'm on my cordless phone."
"Anyone sitting outside your house could easily pick up a conversation on a cordless phone with a scanner unless you've bought one of the new cordless digital phones or have one that works on the new frequencies."
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