The Cyclops Conspiracy (5 page)

Up two more steps was the pharmacy department itself. Its shoulder-high counter was bisected by an opening to the land of medicated plenty. On a high, thin ledge in front of frosted glass, an assortment of antique pharmacy paraphernalia was displayed. There were mortars and pestles of polished ceramic, marble, and brass. Short, stout porcelain apothecary jars were labeled with Latin words like
Lactucarium, Paeonia Albiflora,
and
Pro Dolore.
Thick copies of yellow-paged tomes silently attested to bygone days of tinctures, elixirs, and compounds.
The United States Dispensatory
,
United States Pharmacopoeia
, stood next to a more modern, bound version entitled
An Illustrated History of Pharmacy.
Pharmacists and technicians peered down over the glass at impatient patients waiting for much-anticipated remedies.

Set against the far wall were four identical rectangular bays of shelves, laden with stock bottles of various shapes, colors, and sizes. Mounted on the narrow walls between bays were three multiline phones and an assortment of official certificates and regal-looking diplomas. The back wall of the far-right bay was missing. In its place was a shadowy doorway leading to a tiny office. It was in that cramped office that Jason had
first met Thomas Pettigrew. A physical ache clawed his gut. It had also been the first time he’d laid eyes on Christine.

A small man with dark skin and darker hair was manning one of the phones behind the partition. He was neither white nor black. Indian, perhaps. The phone cord stretched from his ear across the department like a suspension bridge. His unseen hands, Jason was certain, were scribbling furiously, taking a prescription from a nurse in a doctor’s office. A younger, black man appeared beside the pharmacist. The movement of his shoulders and upper arms told Jason he was scraping clusters of pills along a plastic counting tray with a spatula into the cylindrical chamber running along the side of the tray. Then, with a flick of his wrist, the pills were transferred from the chamber into a prescription vial. It was a task Jason and his technicians performed hundreds of times daily.

Jason walked slowly up one of the aisles. The store seemed especially crowded. Perhaps curiosity seekers had come to walk the same aisles the now-dead Pettigrew once had. He was a local icon, whose death had been carried on the newscasts and drew the interest of the locals.

Every step pushed him deeper into the swarming ghosts whispering from the walls. Christine was nowhere to be seen. The young, purple-blond cashier didn’t acknowledge him at first. She rummaged under the cash register and then looked up, snapping her gum. “Can I help you?”

He asked for Christine Pettigrew, and the young woman turned and disappeared into the shadowy doorway. A few moments later, Christine appeared, followed by Lily Zanns, the proper, starched businesswoman. Zanns motioned for Jason to join them.

“Mr. Jason. Come in, come in.”

Zanns squeezed his hand with a strong, yet feminine grip. The acrid odor of tobacco hovered. Her business suit, a pinkish red that women would call mauve, was similar in design to the one she’d worn to the funeral. Its only accessory was arrogance.

Jason looked past Zanns to Christine, who cradled in her arms a brown cardboard box stuffed with her father’s professional possessions.

“Excuse me,” he said to Zanns, “I was here to meet Christine for coffee.”

Zanns turned Jason by placing a hand on his elbow. “Just a moment. First, I want you to meet Sam Fairing, our staff pharmacist. Sam, Jason Rodgers.” The small, dark-skinned pharmacist had ended his phone call, and now turned to meet Jason.

Fairing stood as if his spine was rigid steel. On closer view, Jason could see his dark brown hair was trimmed tight to his scalp, while the cuffs of his navy pants were creased expertly with a medium break over polished black wingtips. Intelligent dark eyes devoid of emotion blinked slowly. Fairing forced a smile and extended a less-than-enthusiastic hand. “Ms. Lily is a very difficult woman to refuse,” he said.

Jason cast a sideways glance at Zanns. “What are you talking about?” he asked. Behind the millionaire, Jason saw Christine’s eyebrows hop. She shrugged. Zanns waved off the confusion as if it was a gnat.

Jason heard a cell phone chirp. Christine placed the box on a counter, pulled her phone from her purse, and turned away for privacy. Lily took the opportunity to introduce Jason to the young black pharmacy technician.

Christine returned to the group and looked directly at Jason. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to reschedule. I’m needed at work right away, it can’t be helped. Sorry.”

“You and Ms. Christine,” Zanns interjected, “can meet another time, then. Since you are here, Jason, there is something very important I would like to discuss with you.”

“You are divorced from your ex-wife, Jenny Johnson, who remarried four years ago. Her new husband is an architect. Your son’s name is Michael. He is eleven, plays baseball and the drums. You see him about four times a week.” Lily closed the dossier on Jason, from which she’d been regaling him with precise, disconcerting details about his professional and personal life. She placed a dark, slender cigarette to her lips and took a long draw.

“How did you get that information?” he demanded for the second time.

Lily held up a hand, asking for his patience as smoke was ejected from her nostrils. “Jason, in my business, which is buying distressed businesses and making them profitable, it is very important that we have timely and accurate information. My business partner and I have put together a network of resources that allows me access to information quickly, before anyone else.”

“My personal life is none of your damned business!”

“It’s my business to know if the people I’m hiring are up to the job. I need to know what their distractions and weaknesses are.”

“Did you say ‘hiring’?”

Zanns simply nodded.

“I assume your resources for gathering this information are very nontraditional.”

“You mean illegal?”

“I didn’t say that.” Jason paused.

She stood. Her perfume cut through the smoke and tobacco. “No, but that’s what you meant. You see, I couldn’t rely on you or anyone else to fill out an application accurately. My system is much more dependable.”

“I’m not sure I like your system,” Jason muttered. Did she know why he’d been forced to leave the Colonial? Did she know about the one-night stand that had ended his marriage to Jenny?

“Let me assuage your fears. You are a good father. You do not have any major vices, like drinking or gambling. That tells me you are a good risk.”

“You managed to gather all this in twelve hours?”

“As I said, it is important to get information quickly.” Zanns leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Would you like to get in on the ground floor of a new venture and help me build it?” She did not pause for a response. “We will be expanding the Colonial Pharmacy brand into a chain of stores across the Peninsula, the Southside, and the entire state. After that, who knows? I call it the ‘Colonial concept.’ We will restore the soda fountain which Thomas removed years ago. The design will attract patients and customers, give us a corner drugstore feel. We will also provide delivery service, which patients crave desperately and the big chains refuse to provide. Is this something that would interest you?”

She walked to one of the filing cabinets, pulled out a bound report, and handed it to him. As she sat back on the edge of the desk, Jason noticed the heavy amulet hanging around her neck. It was of old silver that had been smoothed by years of handling. The round, kneaded design gave Jason the impression it was European and from another century.

“This is an outline of the project. Schematics, financials, and a business plan. Review it when you have a chance today,” she said.

He accepted the booklet and shifted in his seat. “Aren’t you trying to replace Thomas Pettigrew?”

“Yes and no. I do not want your talents wasted in one pharmacy department. I need someone who can get out and find suitable locations, hire staff, prepare budgets, and oversee construction of stores. I want to open four new stores in the next year. And six more the year after. I don’t want it getting out yet that we are expanding. We will purchase the land through a series of holding companies. Thereafter, we will announce our intentions.”

“Sounds aggressive,” he declared. “Where will the money come from?”

“I have substantial assets, and as I said, I have a business partner.”

“How much will all this cost?”

“Real estate, construction, and inventory for the first four pharmacies will cost anywhere from thirty to fifty million, we estimate. It’s all outlined in the report.”

He let out a long, slow whistle.

“It is aggressive, and I want you to be my new vice-president of operations for this new venture.” Lily looked Jason dead in the eye.

He peered back at her, shocked, but did not flinch.

Zanns grinned. She walked back around the desk and sat down. Opening the small drawer in front of her, she withdrew a large desktop checkbook and flipped it open. As she scribbled, she said, “To show you I’m serious, I am giving you earnest money on this position.” She tore off the check and handed it to him along with her business card, on which she had scribbled a cell phone number.

He read the figure, and his heart skipped two beats. “Are you sure you didn’t accidentally add an extra zero here?” The business named on the check was Cooper Venture Capital. The check was for fifty thousand dollars.

“I don’t make mistakes with money,” Zanns said coolly. “That is yours to keep. If you choose to take the position, I will add another one of equal value to it.”

“I have questions. First, what is Cooper Venture Capital?”

“That’s the firm financing this operation. Steven Cooper is a venture capitalist, a friend and colleague. Technically, you will be working for him until we make the transition to the Colonial brand. They will issue your checks.”

“I see,” he said flatly. “What’s the salary?”

“You currently make about a hundred thousand dollars. Your salary here would be two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, along with an annual bonus of up to half your annual pay if we meet our goals. You’ll get a full benefits package, completely paid for. Medical, dental, retirement, stock options. The works.”

Jason pursed his lips in thought. “So if I’m this new vice-president, won’t you still need a pharmacy manager here at the Colonial?”

“That’s correct. And your first job will be to hire that person,” said Zanns. “After that you will be meeting with me weekly to get your assignments, and I expect results. Make no mistake. You will be working very long hours. In the beginning, eighty or more a week. That’s why you will be paid so well. Failure to produce results will not be tolerated. Do you understand?”

“Completely.”

“Good. I have other candidates I am considering,” she said. “I need your decision quickly.”

Jason wondered if she was telling the truth. How could she have gathered candidates so quickly? “When do I need to let you know?” He expected Zanns would give him a few days.

“I need an answer by nine o’clock in the morning.”

“That’s not much time.”

“I want to move on this.”

“I need to think about it,” Jason said flatly. “I’ll let you know.”

“Daddy was forced to sell the business,” said Christine. “It’s not a well-known fact. Lily came along with a lot of money and bailed him out. He resented her for it.”

“Bailed him out? The Colonial is a cash cow,” Jason replied. “It’s one of the few independents left that makes money.”

Jason was nothing if not persistent, Christine told herself. He’d called her again this afternoon, thirty minutes after she arrived home from work, insisting they get together after their aborted rendezvous this morning. She grudgingly admitted to herself that she enjoyed his tenacity. It was a quality she’d admired in him many years ago.

They were sitting in a corner booth of Kevin’s Place, a quaint, dark Irish café tucked at the far end of a strip mall on Warwick Boulevard. A half-empty glass of Long Island iced tea sat beside the empty first one in front of her. The long workday and the anticipation of meeting Jason required liquid strength. The waitress arrived with a second tumbler for Jason. Two wedges, one lemon and one lime, floated among the ice.

Jason had slid into the booth only moments ago. She’d spotted him as soon as he walked in, but hadn’t waved, preferring to really see him for the first time since his reappearance.

He’d aged, looking thinner but with an athletic mien.
Must be working out
, she thought. His hazel eyes revealed a pensive quality not present thirteen years ago. Faint wrinkle lines had formed at the corners.
How much of those are from our past?
Jason Rodgers’s smile was cute and crooked, curling imperceptibly at the right corner. Coupled with his crinkled eyes and thick mane of dark hair, the effect was self-effacing and comfortable, as if a joke was only a few syllables away. His demeanor said, “Talk to me.”

“I ordered you a drink,” Christine said. “It’s been a while. But you always liked gin and tonic with a lemon and lime. Gordon’s Extra Dry, if I remember correctly.”

“You do.” Jason sipped. “Thanks. It’s been awhile since I treated myself to one of these.”

Christine wasted no time getting to the important question. “So what happened today?”

Jason ignored her question, cocked his head to one side, and studied her. The pupils of her caramel eyes were wide and beginning to glass over. He glanced at the iced teas on the table. “I see you don’t share your father’s abhorrence of liquor.”

“I’m not my father. And apparently, he didn’t abhor it. He died driving drunk, remember?” Christine bit her lip and took a healthy gulp of her drink. “So, you met with Lily?”

Jason’s expression told her he was bothered by her comment about her father. “Lily made me an incredible offer. I told her I wanted to think it over. She has big plans for your father’s pharmacy.”