by Lisa Harris
“Who’re you talking to?” Fritz flipped on the overhead light and strolled in. The man’s modern fashion sense was juxtaposed with Ace’s boxy black-rimmed glasses and scraggly hair in desperate need of a trim.
“Shut the door.”
“Wow, what’s up with you?”
“Well, aside from agreeing to develop a weapon I never wanted to be a part of, I was attacked in the parking garage. If Randee hadn’t been there—”
“Who?”
“The new accountant.”
“He helped save you?” Fritz grinned.
“She, who by the way, possesses exceptional battle skills. Someone’s out to steal the briefcase and might end up killing me in the process.”
“Maybe it was just a mugging.”
“Seriously?” Ace growled, lifting his briefcase onto the desk.
“I mean, there’s a huge difference between a mugging and someone trying to murder you.”
“This isn’t good. I don’t feel right about developing the prototype.”
“Not this again.” Fritz flopped on the chair opposite Ace’s desk, bordering on the threat of a file folder avalanche. So much for a paperless system. “You’ve got to change your perception of this project. You’re providing a service benefiting thousands.”
“Today proved my fears. If the plans end up in the wrong hands, think of the devastation.” Ace leaned forward and met Fritz’s annoyed gaze. “Tell them you made a mistake, and the prototype is a flop.”
Fritz shook his head, not a hair shifting from its gel-plastered place. “It’s a done deal. PrimeRight’s reputation is on the line.”
“The gun’s illegal.”
“Nothing contracted and ordered by the government is illegal. Everything regarding Ghost belongs to the ATF. The only difference is your brilliance in eliminating the gun’s metal components. Your development gives the ATF a heads-up. What they do with the weapon isn’t our problem. And for the record, deadly disintegrating ammunition already exists, so it’s not like you’re some nefarious scientist trying to overtake the world with an evil invention.”
“Frangible ammunition—”
Fritz lifted his hands. “Don’t use technical terms on me. Remember, I’m just the PR guy.”
“Frangible ammunition is the correct term for disintegrating bullets. It was created for training purposes with the promise of low-impact damage at close range. I’m charged with creating the exact opposite. Disintegrating with high-impact damage at close range.” Ace lowered his voice. “If criminals get a hold of Ghost, think of the unspeakable damage they’d possess. The gun’s undetectable. If they smuggle it into airports, schools or courtrooms, the carnage will be on me!”
“You’re delusional if you don’t believe crooks are working on weapons exactly like this right now. We’re giving our government an advantage by developing it first. We’re protecting the public. You’re the best, and you can do this. When it’s finished, you’ll be a hero.”
“As if that matters one iota to me.”
“Our employees need this contract. PrimeRight needs the money and recognition.” Ace didn’t miss the hint of desperation in Fritz’s tone and his dramatic sigh.
Ace’s plea had fallen on deaf and unwavering ears. They’d had this conversation a hundred different ways and gained no ground. Fritz only spoke in dollar signs.
A long moment passed between them. Would his partner finally surrender? A microscopic portion of hope hovered in Ace’s mind.
Fritz planted his expensive black leather shoes on the linoleum floor and rested his hands on his knees. “I didn’t want to mention this, but the agreement you signed stipulates if we fail to deliver, the ATF will prosecute us for violating the law. They’ll deny any involvement, and they won’t pay us.”
Ace pushed up from his chair, thrusting the seat back so fast it slammed against the wall. “What? You never told me any of that. I’d never have agreed to the project!”
“Actually, I did. It’s in the contract.”
Ace paced around his office. “You tricked me.”
Fritz snorted. “Hardly. You signed the same documents I did.”
“I trusted you.”
“And I trust you to do what’s right.” His friend’s tone deepened and took on a hardness Ace didn’t recognize. “Without this contract, PrimeRight will go under, and we’ll be forced to lay off all our employees. They’ll lose their health insurance.” Fritz paused.
His words sank in; Ace was being manipulated by his friend, again. He turned and caught a glimpse of Yolanda and Randee through the small window in his door. The women’s timed appearance emphasized PrimeRight’s predicament. Yolanda smiled and gave Ace a slight wave, which he returned.
“Diego’s treatment is going well,” Fritz said, tone softening.
Yolanda’s seven-year-old son, Diego, had a myriad of medical issues that had kept him hospitalized most of his young life. As a single parent, she worked hard to provide for them, and her insurance benefits were essential. Dread swarmed Ace. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I understand your reservations, but we owe our employees to do everything possible to keep our doors open.”
Ace shuffled to his chair, slumped onto the seat and held his head in his hands.
“You’re not just my business partner, you’re my best friend. Think of all the great things you’ll be able to do for women like Cara. By keeping guns away from the criminals, you’re saving innocent lives.”
Once again, Fritz’s precise aim bull’s-eyed Ace’s guilt right in the jugular.
Frustrated at himself for relenting, Ace studied his friend. Everything about Fritz was etched out of a fashion magazine. Not an out-of-place strand in his perfect haircut framing his blemish-free face. Why had he chosen this man to befriend? Fritz was nothing but trouble, from their childhood antics to this project nightmare. He was also the closest person to a brother Ace had ever known, and their thirty-five-year history spoke for itself.
Ace groaned. “Fine. But for the record, Ghost isn’t complete. I need an extension.”
“Everything looks great on paper.”
“Paper and invention are two different things. Once I’ve got the prototype completed, I’ll let you know.”
“How much time are we talking?”
“Weeks. Maybe a month.”
Fritz shook his head. “Negative.”
“I can’t make it come together any faster than I already am. I need to eliminate the bugs.”
“Like?”
“The bullets haven’t passed testing yet, and the removal of metals like tin or copper for the binding agent to the nylon 6 polymer—”
“Whoa, you’re talking way over my head.”
Ace sighed. “There’s no proof Ghost will sustain firing. My experimental tests explode the frame after the first shot. That’s unacceptable.”
“I’ve seen the gun and the bullets. They all work.”
“I won’t release Ghost until I’m sure it’s the best product I can create. Do not rush me.”
Fritz held up his hands in mock surrender. “Fine. But the delivery date is scheduled, and we’ll celebrate at the anniversary event tomorrow night. I don’t want to disappoint. This invention will put us on the map. You’re going to be a rich man.”
As if he cared about money. “I’ll do my best.”
“There you go, thinking like the innovator you are.” Fritz pushed up from the chair. “Guess I’d better meet this ninja-fighting Randee accountant. And you’ll have to give a report to the cops.” He moved toward the door, then paused. “Thanks, Ace.”
“For what? Giving in to you all the time?”
“For having my back. You’re the best.” Fritz gave a quick slap to the wall, emphasizing his words, before exiting.
Ace removed the thumb drive fro
m the briefcase, booted up his laptop and inserted the device, pulling up the specs for Ghost.
The gun defied the Undetectable Firearms Act by mere existence because it was developed entirely out of plastic. Even the bullets were made from a specially formulated nonmetallic powder binding agent that disintegrated into tiny fragments upon impact. It was impossible to locate via a metal detector.
Innovative in the ATF’s hands.
Mass destruction in the hands of criminals.
Copyright © 2020 by Sharee Stover
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