by Archer Mayor
“Not to worry,” he said evenly. “It won’t last.”
Now she felt bad, and reached out to squeeze his leg. “What’s going on?” she asked supportively.
The flash of effervescence had passed. “Not sure,” he said briefly.
She stayed silent.
“How’re we doin’?” he asked.
“I think we’re okay,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even against the surge of emotion his inquiry had caused. “You having doubts?”
“Not about us,” he said, to her relief.
“Then what?”
“Me, as usual.”
“Is it what Joe did? Putting me in charge? I know that caused some tension. I was hoping we’d talked that through.”
“Yeah, we did. That was stupid.”
“The other thing, then?” she ventured. “How everything you touch falls apart?”
He didn’t answer for a while, before saying, “It always does.”
“It doesn’t, you know? Look at us—at Emma.”
He didn’t respond, keeping his eyes on the road.
She was at a loss. “You seemed happy to see me last night,” she said almost wistfully.
He turned toward her. “I’m always happy to see you.”
She felt her cheeks grow warm. Whatever was the relationship they’d forged over the years, this certainly wasn’t it, with sentimental statements like that. Willy was not a man to tell her he loved her, or missed her, or couldn’t wait to see her again. There were no notes delivered on birthdays or spontaneous gifts. He’d purchased her a box of bullets once, for self-protection. That had been it.
“That’s one reason I came home,” she said. “Instead of staying in Albany or Burlington. I’m always happy to see you, too.”
“I thought that was Emma.”
“Not only her,” she told him honestly. “I knew you were with her, and not Louise. You’re both my people, but I began this with you.”
He rubbed an eye and sighed. “Maybe that’s part of it. It’s different for me—having people.”
“That’s true for both of us,” she said. “You ever wonder about how folks said we wouldn’t make it?”
“Nobody ever told me that to my face.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “Gosh. I wonder why. You know they were saying it.”
“Yeah.”
“I used to think that’s because you were such a nutjob, and they were being protective of me—not knowing you the way I did.”
“But…?”
“Well, you just said it. I’m thinking now it wasn’t so one-sided—that they were saying that because neither one of us had a good history of hanging on to people, so how would we be able to hang on to each other? We’d be like double-damned.”
He mulled that over.
“If that’s true,” she continued, on a roll, “then why’s it so surprising if a little of that’s gotten into you, too? You got good reason to have your doubts—about me and you, both. But I’m stuck on you. Just so you know. Come hell or high water.”
She was tempted to say more, but stopped. This kind of conversation was foreign ground. She’d had soulful exchanges with Joe, who was a mentor and a trusted friend. But Willy and she had evolved to where they were virtually without dialogue. They each acted on their beliefs, with no commentary needed. In that way, she supposed, they resembled an older couple from a generation that valued endurance and taciturnity over sentiment and free expression.
“I got that last night, when you came home unexpected,” he said after a long, silent pause.
“What?”
“That you and Emma are everything I’ve got.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “But what happens now?”
She understood perfectly, and didn’t downplay it. They were shipwreck survivors—two who’d managed to surface and swim to comparative safety. Who was she to tell him that everything was now safe? On that level, what better metaphor could there be than the useless left arm he carried between them—the result of a bullet being two inches off target?
“We do the best we can,” she answered. “Like we’re doing right now.”
* * *
Willy’s destination was in fact South Burlington, the hometown of Al-Tech Industries, Robb Haag’s old employer.
As he turned from watching Sammie drive off, however, and took in his surroundings, Willy was struck by the value of a good business name. Al-Tech Industries had sounded impressive when he first connected it to Haag’s background. Now, looking at the one-story, midsized, slightly decrepit building before him, he was left with a significantly less prosperous impression.
He crossed the cracked, weed-sprouting concrete lot to the narrow front door, and opened it to discover a small office containing one young woman at a desk, equipped with a phone, a computer, a copier, and a coffee machine.
“May I help you?” she asked brightly, as if seeing her first human of the day.
“I’m here to see Alan Summers,” he said, not identifying himself.
“Mr. Kunkle? VBI?”
“Right,” he replied, confirmed in his opinion about the amount of foot traffic the place enjoyed.
He gestured to their surroundings. “Slow day?”
She smiled. “Oh, no. But I get what you mean. We get trucks in here, not people. We’re not retailers.”
She reached for the phone and announced, “Mr. Kunkle’s here,” before motioning Willy to a side door and advising, “Go right on in. Mr. Summers is expecting you.”
The next office was slightly more impressive, if only because its occupant had put down a rug, hung some pictures, and moved in something fancier than secondhand, industrial gray furniture.
The man behind the wooden desk rose to shake hands, but pointedly didn’t abandon his station, indicating a guest chair instead. “Mr. Kunkle? Alan Summers. Glad to meet you. Have a seat.” Willy imagined the body language was based on his host’s diminutive size and slight build, which drove him to seek out props like the oversized desk. In that way, he made Willy think of a small wet dog trying to climb up onto a dock.
They sat at the same time, with Summers crossing his legs and tenting his hands before his chin as he resumed, “So you’re a policeman.”
“Right.”
“How may I help you? You were a little mysterious on the phone.”
“True,” Willy said without apology. “What do you make here?”
“Energy cells,” Summers said. “Among other things. ‘Batteries’ to the lay public, although that technically sells the product short.”
“I bet. Who do you sell ’em to?”
Summers hesitated. “A variety of customers. We live in a world that’s become increasingly independent of those,” he indicated the electrical outlet in the wall near Willy’s chair. “So it’s a booming business. Of course, you don’t buy Al-Tech power cells at the store, so it’s understandable if you’ve never heard of us.”
He chuckled as if this had been tremendously amusing.
Willy skipped smiling. “You sell to the military?”
Summers donned his serious face. “Ah. Well, without knowing why you’re here, even though you represent the police, I’m sure you can understand my reluctance to have that sort of information spread around.”
Willy was not liking this guy. “It says you do on your website.”
The other man’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Of course. Well—there you have it. Hard to duck the power of the marketing department.”
“Like you wished you’d ducked this conversation?”
“No, no—not hardly,” Summers protested. “You’re here, aren’t you? Because I agreed to it. Maybe we should get to the reason why. That may clear things up.”
“Fair enough,” Willy agreed. “You know a man named Robb Haag?”
“Is Robb in some sort of trouble?”
Willy just stared at him.
“Yes,” Summers said af
ter hesitating. “He used to work here.”
“Doing what?”
“He was employed on the assembly line.”
“Doing what?” Willy repeated.
Summers frowned. “Mr. Kunkle. I’m not sure I’m entirely comfortable with this.”
Willy considered that, for all of a split second, before standing up. “Yeah. Me neither. I’ll leave you in peace and come back at a more convenient time with a couple of friends from Homeland Security. They actually have an office nearby, as luck would have it. So we should be able to get down to nuts and bolts in no time, and make you much more comfortable.”
Summers held up his hands as if in surrender and belted out a theatrical laugh. “Holy cow. My God, you’re prickly. Sit down, sit down. We’ve clearly gotten off on the wrong foot.”
Willy leaned on the man’s desk with his right hand splayed out, his eyes boring into Summers’s—purposefully emphasizing the man’s small stature. “That happens when you dance around. I told you on the phone that I work for the VBI, and your response told me you know what that means. I’m not a labor board inspector, sir. Either be straight with your answers or I’ll come back with reinforcements who have rules and regs that make Vermont’s look like a summer camp handbook.” He gestured to the chair he’d been using. “If I sit back down, it better be to have a conversation, and not some version of show-me-yours-and-I’ll-show-you-mine. Are we clear?”
Summers licked his lips, nodded once curtly, and said, “Please, do sit back down. My apologies.”
Willy did as requested. “Robb Haag,” he repeated.
“He did work here, for about two and a half years. I had to fire him. He wasn’t fitting in.”
Willy turned his palm up and smiled. “There you go. Now give me the details. What does ‘not fitting in’ mean?”
Summers’s irritation at the memory seemed to overtake his reluctance. “You name it. I put up with him much longer than I should have. The irony was that he was a good technician. He had the skills. But he was such a prima donna. He wanted better equipment, better lighting, better seating, more pay, shorter hours. Jesus, the list never stopped. And people didn’t like him. It wasn’t like I was pissing off the most popular guy on the floor. He treated everybody like dirt, from what I heard.”
“And you put up with him for two and a half years?” Willy asked pointedly, his real question implied.
“I know. I’m an idiot. Look, what we do here encompasses a lot of skill sets, from people taping up cardboard boxes to chemists and engineers working to invent a better mousetrap. We’re small, we’re outnumbered by the big boys who dominate the market, and we’re working in a business where a couple of cents here or there can cost a contract. I do the best I can with what I’ve got. But I’ll be very honest, what I got to pick from ain’t always the best and the brightest. I can woo some university types who don’t want to leave Vermont, I can sell the charms of the region to people who can and do earn bigger bucks elsewhere, and I can bend over backwards to supply fringe benefits that’ll buy people’s loyalty. But in the end? I’m as far from Silicon Valley as I can be, shy of Bosnia.”
He seemed almost exhausted by this outburst, and slumped back in his chair, looking at Willy as if he’d just been subjected to a vigorous interrogation.
Willy quietly said, “So?”
Summers understood. “So, Robb Haag, despite being a total jerk, had a talent I wanted badly enough to put up with a raft of poor attitude.”
“Until you couldn’t,” Willy suggested.
“Until I couldn’t,” Summers confirmed.
“Was it anything in particular?”
“It was. I won’t get into technical details, ’cause not even I understand all the ins and outs of it, but he got into a spitting match with one of the engineers about how to comply with the specs concerning one of our military products.”
“A lithium-ion battery?” Willy quickly asked.
The CEO stared at him, making Willy regret his own impulse. He was usually better at keeping his mouth shut, and letting his interviewees supply all their own rope. Hubris or impatience had gotten the better of him.
“What exactly do you know?” Summers asked.
It is not to a cop’s advantage to disclose details of a case. It’s rarely helpful and usually backfires.
Willy shook his head, as much at himself as in response to the question. “Mr. Summers, I know I was rude earlier, and I appreciate your letting that go. Especially since what you implied about trade secrets or company discretion applies to me, too. I can tell you that Haag is a person of interest, and that the case is important enough that it involves our agency. I can also tell you that I’ve already been in communication with Homeland Security Investigations. After that, I have to protect the integrity of my case.”
Summers was already waving the explanation away. “I understand, trust me. I deal with such issues every day. Yes—in answer to your question—it was a Li-poly design he was assigned to, and it was being assembled to military specifications. That was precisely the problem. He came forward with what he claimed was an improvement, but it didn’t matter. You can’t just arbitrarily change the terms of a military contract. It’s a nonstarter.”
“But he wouldn’t accept that?”
Summers rubbed his face, finishing by squeezing the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb. “I don’t know. Frankly, it might’ve been my fault by then. Generally, I’d been able to beat him back into line after one of these flare-ups. This time? I probably snapped.”
He leaned toward Willy as if the latter had been about to argue the point. “He would never concede anything; never accept the other guy’s viewpoint; never apologize for stopping everything in its tracks during one of his hissy fits. It was unrelenting. I would look at other people’s faces during these things and see how they couldn’t believe what was going on. I have a company to run. Mouths to feed. I just couldn’t deal with him anymore.”
Willy suggested, “So you fired him.”
“On the spot,” Summers admitted. “It wasn’t pretty. He threatened to sue and stomped around till I had security throw him out. He actually chucked a coffee mug at me. People cheered when he hit the parking lot. Unbelievable. The real joke was that I’d done the guy a favor by taking him on. He didn’t have the necessary degree when he applied. You could even call him a dropout. But I made an exception because of his natural abilities. I thought I had a whiz kid on my hands. Instead, I just had a spoiled brat. It became crystal clear to all of us why he hadn’t finished his degree, or didn’t have friends. I guess it was a mental problem, finally. That’s all I could think of.”
“Okay,” Willy said. “Thanks for that. It fits and it’s helpful, so I appreciate it. But I need to know a little about that battery.”
“I can’t—,” Summers began before Willy interrupted him.
“I know, I know. I heard you. I was in the military. I don’t need a blueprint. But if I were to tell you that he was maybe making these things now on his own, why would that be? What exactly might he be up to? I already know they’re supposed to go into drones.”
Summers was stunned into silence.
Willy waited him out, not having anything to add, and this time not ruing having told him too much.
“I…,” Summers began, searching for a response. “I … Look, it takes forever to land a DOD contract.… Okay. Maybe not always. I mean, they can come to you, too, if they know you’ve invented something extraordinary. But that doesn’t fit what Haag…”
He rose and crossed to the window overlooking the parking lot, speaking as he did so. “No. He was wrong. That was the bottom line. He thought he had a shortcut, but it didn’t work.” He turned to face his guest. “After he was gone, I told my guys to look into it—to overcome their prejudice about the source and see if he’d had a point. There was nothing there.”
He began pacing the office, his head tucked, virtually talking to himself. “We’re all looking
for the next breakout technology—bring in a power cell that delivers more in a smaller, safer package, lasts forever, is reliable, lightweight, and doesn’t cost much.” He stopped to address Willy directly. “Are you looking into him because he’s set something up? Is he onto something?”
Willy told him with more honesty than Summers could know, “I can’t tell you that.”
But it raised the question: What the hell was Haag doing? Right now, all Willy had to go on was the opinion of a man who didn’t know how to properly step off a train.
“Let’s back up a bit,” he suggested. “Just so I get it right. When we started this conversation, I got the feeling Haag worked on the assembly line, like someone turning the same screw four hundred times a day.”
Summers dismissed that. “I’m sorry. I mean, yes, he was involved in the assembly process, but not like those Charlie Chaplin movies or an I Love Lucy episode. I was being coy, since I wasn’t sure why you were here. We try to work as much as possible along open-ended lines. There’s much more latitude among the workers that way—a freer exchange of ideas. Like I said, Robb didn’t have a degree. I couldn’t hire him as an engineer, but with the system we’ve established here, he could still have input—at all levels—if he knew how to pitch it. That was the sticking point—all he did was drive everybody crazy. He was so full of himself.”
“He must’ve had some buddies,” Willy argued. “Even jackasses have friends. I’ve been accused of having a couple myself.”
Summers gave him a startled look, unsure of how to react. “Right. Well, you’re right, of course. At least I guess so. I don’t really know.”
“Can I go out back and ask?”
The reply, despite its content, was delivered amiably: “Not without a court order and my lawyer tagging along. My contract makes that an obligation. It’s a government security thing. I can’t let anyone back there without the right paperwork. I doubt you’d find much joy, anyhow. If and when you meet the man, if you haven’t already, you’ll see what I mean. Your joke a minute ago notwithstanding, Robb Haag would have to pay to have friends.”