Murder Inc.: A Sci-fi Thriller: Book 1 (16 page)

Charlie had spent most of the time since his breakfast with Tom thinking about how to get Samantha off the list. In the end, he had acted on Tom’s advice and pursued Karl Atherton, the guy from the water division, for an appointment. At first, Tabby hadn’t been able to get hold of him, but she had recognized Charlie’s desperation and persisted, eventually winning as she always did. The meeting allayed Charlie’s growing fear, but knew he would have to face it soon. If Karl Atherton couldn’t help, Charlie had only one avenue remaining.

The meeting was scheduled for two-thirty, but he found it hard to concentrate so he decided to leave the office in search of lunch, knowing the array of unhealthy options in the company cafeteria would be too much for him to resist. He loved the fried potatoes, pastries, and sizzling red meat—most of the stuff that was more difficult to obtain outside of the company.

Heading for the elevator, he stopped at Tabby’s desk as he remembered he wanted to take Samantha out that night. Tabby smiled, radiant against her blonde hair toppling over her shoulders. She wore a fresh, daffodil-colored dress. “Hey. How’s it going?”

She smiled. “Good. Just finishing off the Hudson file.”

“Thanks again for getting me that meeting with Karl Atherton.”

“No problem. Anything else you need? I have to leave early—another taekwondo commitment.”

“Well, I did have something in mind.” Her eyes lit up. “Can you book me two tickets to that musical playing at the theatre tomorrow night?”

“But you hate musicals.”

“Samantha doesn’t though.”

“Aww, that’s sweet. I wish I had a boyfriend like you.” Tabby smiled. “Consider it done.”

“Thank you. And Tabby?”

“Yes?”

“Have I told you what a marvel you are?”

“Hmmm, not lately, but you did promise me a dinner some time ago?”

Charlie smiled. “One day, Tabby, I promise.”

He made his way down onto the street and along the sidewalk to a row of street vendors serving vegetables and salads grown from the rooftops of nearby buildings. With so many stores boarded up due to a lack of tenants caused by high rents, more street vendors had emerged with cheap food alternatives. He purchased a tub of mixed grill and began the trek back to the office, fumbling with the cardboard container while digging his fork into a batch of lettuce and cucumber. From behind, a voice called out.

“Charlie?
Charlie
?”

He turned, looking into a throng of lunchtime people navigating the sidewalk. A man shuffled towards him using a walking aid. “Steve White?” Charlie asked with an incredulous smile. The man was on crutches, wearing dark track pants and a white sweater. It
was
Steve White. “Hey man, how are things? It’s been a while.”

“Damn right. Where have you been? You dropped off the face of the earth.”

“Not quite,” Charlie said. He would need to be careful here. “I travelled after leaving school. Now I keep busy with work and, to be honest, I don’t mingle with anyone from school anymore. You know what it’s like.”

“Man, we used to hang around a lot when we were kids. You remember?”

“Of course,” Charlie said, widening his grin at the memories. “We played a lot of baseball in the street and basketball down at the courts.”

“Rode our BMX bikes all the time. That time we pedaled all the way across the bridge. We had such a good day.”

Charlie nodded, remembering. “What about that time we went camping upstate for the week with my parents?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, staring into the traffic. “That was
awesome.
”

“What about you?” Charlie asked. “What have you been doing?”

“I went to work for my old man, but he went bust. Kept tipping money into one failure after another. And you?”

Charlie dusted off the cover story. “Investment banking.”

Steve’s face brightened. “Yeah? You must be in some heavy coin.”

“It pays well.”

“I never figured you for an investment banker. How’d you get into that?”

“Luck, mostly.”

He laughed. “I don’t believe in luck. People make their own success. Most folks would kill for a job like that.”

Part of the job description,
Charlie thought. “No, seriously, I
was
lucky. I started off in an administration role. Couple of people left and they needed someone to fill the gap. It all happened pretty quickly.”

“Come on, man. Don’t be so modest. Your family never had money. It’s good to see you’ve turned it around.”

“My dad worked two jobs at times. It was tough, but it made me hungrier.” He smiled, unsure if he had ever told anyone that. “What about you? Are you working?”

“Not with the leg. I’m keeping an eye out, but it’s… difficult. Jobs are scarce, and people don’t want to know about a guy with a bad leg, you know?”

“Surely somebody will give you a shot?”

Steve shook his head and glanced down. “Well, it hasn’t happened yet.” A thought made him bright-eyed again. “Hey, you haven’t heard of anything going at your place? I’m happy to start at the bottom, even part-time?”

Charlie screwed his face up. “I don’t think they’re hiring at present.” He snatched at a subject change. “How’d you hurt the leg?”

Steve lifted his foot off the ground. “Car accident.”

“I’m sorry to hear. That’s bad luck.”

“Well, it all depends on how you take it. I survived.” The words caught in his throat. “But my wife wasn’t so lucky.”

Charlie tried to swallow, but his mouth felt dry. “Oh shit, man, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s been tough. I don’t even know how it happened. There was a big pile up on the freeway. We were rushing to a christening for my niece.”

Charlie wondered whether the company had orchestrated the accident, whether Steve’s wife had made the list that week. The computer-navigated driving systems in modern vehicles had reduced the risk of collisions, but the Company had their ways of getting around such preventative measures. Charlie would check when he was back in the office.

“Steve, that’s horrible. I wish I could help.” Maybe he could. Maybe he just needed to try harder. “Let me ask if anyone I know is after people, okay? I might be able to do something.”

“Really? Oh, that would be fantastic. I’d really appreciate that, Charlie. I’ve probably got another operation or two for my leg, but I should be fixed by then.”

They shook hands and parted, Charlie wincing at the knot of misery in his gut. This was the part of the job he couldn’t handle and why he had to get out. Mostly, he had been able to repress his knowledge and focus on the facts: the Company provided an essential service to the community and the world. Without it, those who endured would not have the same quality of life. That was the training, and Charlie had mostly believed it. But now, knowing the suffering was ultimately preventable, he no longer accepted it.

Charlie ate the remainder of his salad as he strolled back to the office, lost in thought. The memories of Steve White faded, replaced by the unnerving problem of Samantha. As he glanced around the street, Charlie wondered if any of the shabby dressed people might just work for the Company. It wasn’t beyond them. The depth of their reach was incomprehensible. And if the ongoing discussions with Tom had been discovered, Charlie had crossed over from the protected to the hunted.

As he reached the office, the peril of it all had taken over. He saw threats everywhere. Suddenly Friday’s decision loomed like an oncoming train, and he couldn’t get out of the way.

He bumbled his way to the hallway outside Karl Atherton’s spacious glass office at twenty-nine minutes past two. Karl was talking to an empty room so Charlie sat on a long floating sofa outside the door. He rubbed his hands together, wiping their clamminess on his pants. He tried to slow his breathing and gather himself. He had never met Karl Atherton and didn’t want to jeopardize his chances of finding out how to save his wife’s life by appearing flustered or desperate.

If this didn’t work, his last chance would be to meet with Fox. The idea stirred his nerves. He trusted the CEO, but this was a matter of company policy and he knew Fox was a stickler for the rules. But Charlie was certain Fox would respect him for bringing the situation to him if no resolution was found. Charlie wanted to deal with it, but if meant having to facing Fox to save Samantha, he would.

Atherton was still on the call, but the thin, balding man waved Charlie in with furrowed brow, and pointed to one of the seats.

The office was richer than Charlie’s, and Atherton’s blue pin-stripe suit told him he was in a higher position. Perhaps that was the source of his irritation, having to deal with a ‘grey suit’ in a lower position. Charlie repressed resentment. He sat in a plush floating chair that welcomed his frame. Atherton ended the call and rested back without offering his hand.

“Thanks for seeing me,” Charlie said, nodding gratitude.

Atherton shrugged. “I can guess why you’re here, but I’m not sure what good it’ll do.”

Charlie shifted, adjusting his watch. “How so?”

“I did some digging after your assistant called. You’re a junior executive. Good record. We’ve never had to converse before, so it can only be one other thing.” Charlie raised his eyebrows.

“You have a relative on your list,” Atherton said. Charlie slumped at the man's next words. “It must be someone close, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. A… parent?” Charlie didn’t flinch. “Your wife?” Charlie stiffened, felt his mouth betray him.

“Ah,” Atherton said, pressing his lips together, nodding. “Same as me. What do you want to know?”

Charlie opened his mouth to speak when he noticed the gold band on Atherton’s ring finger.
He’s still married.
Hope filled him, and suddenly he could move again. He sat forward, hands on thighs. “I want to know how you got her off the list.”

Atherton dropped his gaze. “I didn’t.” He held up his hand, the gold band shiny. “I remarried.”

Charlie fell back into the chair, fumbling for a response, an argument,
something
to counter the answer. Atherton stared at him. Charlie felt the stirrings of anger. His dismissal made Charlie sick. He didn’t know what to say though and, in truth, it wasn’t Atherton with whom he was angry.

Atherton’s face folded into something resembling regret. “I’m sorry, but there’s just no way.”

Charlie shook his head. “Why not?”

“They’re the rules. If your wife is on your list, it’s for a good reason.”

“A good reason? How is it a good reason? What was the reason your wife made it on?”

Atherton tilted his head. “That’s classified.”

“Then how did you approve her?”

Atherton sat forward and massaged the corners of both eyes with a thumb and forefinger. “I’ve buried this. It took me years, but I got there in the end. I suggest you get on with it and do the same.”

“Hang on a minute. That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”

Atherton nodded. “It’s a tough gig. Not many of us are stuck with it. You and I are unlucky, but we’re
lucky
, too.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I can’t say any more. You’ve put me in a difficult position. I’d like to help, but… I suggest you just approve the list and deal with the pain. You’ll get through it… eventually. Enjoy the rest of it as best you can.”

Charlie rubbed his left temple. A pain had crept in across his brow. He put a hand on each arm of the chair and stood, peering at Atherton. “How did she die?”

For a long moment, Charlie didn’t think Atherton was going to respond. Then he glanced away and said, “Botched robbery. She was shot.”

“Was it worth it?”

Atherton nodded, but Charlie didn’t believe him.

Jennings hurried along the sidewalk under a gloomy, grumbling sky, his expensive shoes clicking on the pavement. Isachenko, his best security man, struggled to keep up, his massive arms swinging low in his tan suit. They were both out of place in this section of town where buildings were boarded up, and people in threadbare clothes hid in doorways and congregated around ageing motor vehicles that were no longer fit for use. The people averted their eyes though. They knew not to stare at men in expensive suits. The smell was the worst, as the collective odor of people who hadn’t bathed converged on them. These people lived on meagre government handouts and charity food when it was available. They were the last in a long line of people seeking jobs in an economy that had never recovered from the great crash of ’32.

Rarely did Jennings visit the area, but Fox had insisted on the meeting. Had the old man worked out something was going on? Possibly. And it might even be a trap. That’s why he had brought Isachenko along. He would decide during the discussion if this would be his last with Fox.

They reached Fullerton’s bar where Jennings had once visited just after having been promoted. Isachenko reached out to open the door, but Jennings put up a hand. He paused, reached into his breast pocket to check that the package was still safe, then leaned into the door and it pushed it open with the ring of a soft bell, adjusting his eyes to the darkness.

A barman and several patrons glanced up. Jennings ignored them and pushed past a handful of free standing circular tables. Fox sat at the far end of the bar, his black suit jacket removed, white shirt bright even in the gloom. Jennings pulled out a stool beside his boss and slid onto it. Fox glanced at Isachenko sitting nearby, then spoke softly to the barman and ordered for Jennings.

“I come here every now and then,” Fox said. “When I need a moment.”

“You couldn’t have picked a shittier part of the city.”

“You’d be surprised how much of it’s like that now, Robert.”

“I don’t get out that often anymore.”

“You should.”

“I feel so fucking exposed being out here. Don’t you?”

Fox frowned. “Why? As far as the world is concerned, I’m Bryan Fox, CEO of Janefield Investments Incorporated. I’m as boring as the other hundred or so investment company CEO’s in New York.” Fox was right, but Jennings felt a growing paranoia the deeper he became involved.

The scotch arrived, sliding across the foot and a half of brown polished timber towards Jennings. He scooped it up then glanced at the barman who was already drying glasses. “So,” he said, after taking a reluctant sip. “What is the purpose of our meeting?”

“To talk.”

“About?”

Fox spread his hands. “Things.”

“Things?”

Fox stared ahead at the mirrors behind the bar and the glass shelves lined with colorful bottles of liquor. Jennings couldn’t identify one. He found Fox’s eyes in the reflection and the older man turned to face him.

“I know you want my job, Robert.” Jennings raised his eyebrows. “I’ve known you wanted it for a long time.”

“Well of course I want it. When you’re done.”

Fox tightened his gripped around the glass. “Is that it? You don’t want me out earlier? Not trying to push me aside?”

Jennings scoffed. “What the hell makes you think that?”

“I’ve got a good sense of things, Robert. Even after all these years.” He put the glass down. “Dom Curwood. Bryce Adler. I don’t think these are coincidences.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I don’t believe they died naturally; somebody had a hand in their deaths.”

Jennings face twisted with confusion. “But Dom overdosed. And Bryce died in an automobile accident.”

Fox’s hand darted out and grabbed Jennings around the wrist. He tried to pull away, but the old man’s grip was forged iron. “I’ve done everything right by you, Robert. You try and stiff me now, I promise you—
I promise you—
I’ll make sure it doesn’t end well.”

Jennings snatched his hand away. “Don’t be stupid, Bryan. What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’ve been speaking with staff.” Fox raised his glass and sipped. “They’re saying your behavior is… strange.”

Jennings tried to keep a straight face, but he felt it soften. “Who? What are they saying?”

“Have you asked any IT staff to do work outside the scope of your authority?”

He scratched his neck, the first sign of discomfort. If that prick Palinski had talked, Jennings would order his balls severed. “Of course not. I did ask one of them to do some work on Dom and Bryce for me though—after they had died.”

Fox scrutinized his expression, searching for the lie. “That’s it?” Jennings nodded. “You’ve not asked anybody to keep tabs on my movements?”

“Bryan, I’ve got better things to do than follow you around.” Fox took another drink. What did the old man know? What if Fox was testing his loyalty?

“No person—man or woman—can survive in this world alone. Even the strongest people need partnerships, Robert. I’ve done this for thirty years and I’ve always had people by my side. I wouldn’t have lasted a week without them.”

Jennings kept a straight face, watching the dark pupils of Fox’s eyes, pushing the questions to the back of his mind. “I know.”

“Remember this—even if you think you can do it alone, you can’t.”

Jennings thought of his team of loyalists. He wasn’t alone. “What do you want me to say, Bryan?”

“I need to know whether you’re with me, or against me.” He flashed up a hand, as if Jennings might interrupt. “Now I don’t
care
what’s happened in the past,” he slapped his large palm down on the bar, teeth gritted. “But from here on, you’d better be working with me, Robert, not against me.”

“Hold on a moment.” Jennings snarled. “Are you accusing me of something?”

Fox smiled, and in it, Jennings saw the cunning Chekov had warned him about. “Like I said, whatever’s happened stays happened. But moving forward we’ve all got a choice to make. I’ll be having the same conversation with everyone that matters.”

Jennings had a sudden paranoia that Chekov might have set him up. The idea that he might carry out his agreement with Chekov felt distant, in another life. Suddenly it was all about self-preservation. “You’ve got nothing to worry about from me,” Jennings said. “I assure you.”

“That’s good, Robert.” Fox licked the scotch off his lips, as if preparing for the most important statement of his life. Jennings felt a flash of fear, then disgust at himself. “Because if anybody does cross me, if anybody goes against my trust in this, I
will
kill them. That’s a promise.” Fox’s face split into a kind of painful smile. Jennings wanted to reach over and wipe it off. “Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

Fox slid off the stool and buttoned his jacket. “Bathroom calls.”

Jennings watched him leave. In the background, laughter echoed from the billiard table.

As soon as Fox had disappeared, Jennings reached into his jacket and removed a small plastic case. He opened the lid and withdrew a single pill, white, shiny and round. He reached out placed his fingers over Fox’s drink when a voice sounded from behind.

“Robert?” He snatched his hand back, concealing the pill against his stomach. Tom Bright approached the bar. “Tom?”

“Bryan asked me along to join you.”