Termination Man: a novel (32 page)

Then the housing bubble had crashed, and the market values of homes throughout the country had crashed like so many falling dominoes. This was accompanied by a broader recession and a wave of business closings and layoffs. New Hastings had not been spared by the onslaught.

The year prior to the TP Automotive rescue, UP&S implemented a series of layoffs. Carol Bruner’s job was eliminated in the second round. Suddenly, the combined income of Dave and Carol Bruner was cut in half.

This changed their perspective on every bill, starting with their mortgage. Over the course of a season, the mortgage went from being a significant monthly expense to a major burden. They began to miss their payments—and not only the ones for their mortgage. They also fell behind on their credit cards, payments for some expensive dental work that Carol needed—even their utility bills at one point.

Until TP Automotive had come into town, bearing cash, and a plan for making the former Japanese transplant/joint venture firm in New Hastings profitable again. Within a few weeks, the company’s new management announced their decision to rehire some of the employees who had previously been laid off. When the still unemployed Carol received the phone call from the UP&S human resources department one morning, it had seemed like a voice from heaven.

And in a way, it was. The salvaging of Carol Bruner’s job had enabled the police chief and his wife to continue making mortgage payments, thereby avoiding a short sale or a mortgage default. As of now, they were still behind on their credit card payments; but they were gradually paying off the balances that had accrued during the layoff period.

TP Automotive may have also saved Bruner’s life, as well—though he would not relate this fact to the smartly dressed corporate types huddled around him. This was a secret that he kept even from his wife. And he certainly did not plan to ever reveal it to his nineteen-year-old daughter, who was a sophomore at the University of Akron (another set of bills that had gone in arrears for the Bruners over the past several months.)

Bruner knew that there was a considerable gulf between his public self and his private self. Many residents of New Hastings would have been surprised to learn that their police chief was fundamentally incapable of coping with pressure. They would have held an image of Bruner as the strong one among them—the man who stood between the safety of civilization and the encroaching darkness beyond it.

Bruner might have held an image like that of himself once, when he had first chosen a career in police work. Twenty-odd years of writing speeding tickets and arbitrating domestic disputes had erased such illusions.  New Hastings was a quiet town, where real crimes were few and far between. Bruner had never faced darkness before—at least nothing like the darkness that he had seen inside the muzzle of his own pistol one night, as he sat alone with the gun in the basement of his overly leveraged house.

Bruner had stared at the gun for a long time. He had engaged in a conversation with it, in fact. He had talked about his wife, his daughter—about what life might be like for all of them if the family’s financial situation continued to deteriorate. Finally the conversation had ended without him pulling the trigger. He had known even then that the next time he might not be so lucky.

But then Carol had been called back to work; and their bank account recovered just as it reached the verge of being overdrawn. There had been no more late-night conversations with the pistol in the basement. 

TP Automotive had come to his rescue; and now he would have to decide where the line between duty and gratitude was drawn.

“I want you to know,” Chapman said, “That Mr. Myers absolutely denies the accusations made by Mrs. Chalmers and her daughter. He was innocently talking to the girl—not laying a hand on her—when that woman attacked him with a mop handle.” Bernie shook his head. “As a matter of fact, we might need to consider charges against the Chalmers woman.”

Bruner let the lawyer talk without interrupting him. Nor did he feel compelled to respond. He didn't think that counter-charges were very likely. The company wouldn't want to do anything that would escalate the situation in any way. Their first instinct would be to throw cold water on it, to take every pain to cover the situation up.

When Bruner responded, he ignored the lawyer and spoke directly to Kurt Myers. “I have a report from a citizen claiming that Shawn Myers made an attempted sexual assault on her daughter. As I’m sure you can understand, I can’t simply ignore it. Now what you are looking at, Mr. Myers, is this: I will need to take Shawn in for questioning.”

Kurt nodded solemnly. “I understand,” he said. “And I don't want you to feel bad about this, Dave, even though these accusations are patently false. I realize that you’re only doing your job.”

Kurt removed his cell phone from his pocket and hit one of the speed dial buttons. “Police Chief Bruner is here,” he said. “Come to room 117.”

A few minutes later Shawn arrived, wearing a petulant, sarcastic expression. Bruner might have spent the last few decades as a small town cop, but he knew a troublemaker when he saw one. He had made the right decision in approaching the elder Myers first. Had he gone directly to the son, a confrontation would have been the likely outcome.

“Shawn,” Kurt said. “That little matter of the cleaning woman and her daughter. You’re going to have to answer some questions for Police Chief Bruner.”

When Shawn opened his mouth to argue Kurt raised a hand, cutting him off. “No arguments, son. We all know that girl is lying; but that doesn't change the fact that the police chief has to do his job. There are procedures that have to be followed.”

There seemed to be no way to argue with the basic premise of this command. Shawn sighed, as if the entire matter constituted some troublesome inconvenience—like being told to wait in line at the post office. Kurt uttered a monosyllabic curse under his breath. Bruner waited for his audience to either assent or make further protests.

Instinctively, Dave reached for his handcuffs. The handcuffs were standard procedure when detaining a suspect in a violent crime for questioning. Departmental rules, in fact, mandated that any suspect transported in a squad car must be properly restrained.

However, the handcuffs produced a collective gasp.

“Do you think we could at least avoid a handcuffed perp walk?” Kurt asked. “Like I said, we’re trying to establish TP Automotive as a trusted member of this community. Even though these accusations are false, if Shawn is seen in handcuffs, our workers are liable to draw their own misguided conclusions.”

Of course they would have a problem with the handcuffs
, Dave thought.
And what difference does it make, anyway?
This entire affair is already tainted. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it, not without compromising my own livelihood.

“No problem,” Bruner said. “I don’t see Mr. Myers as a flight risk.”

“Lets go, then, if there’s no avoiding it.” Kurt rose to accompany his son to the police station.

Bernie protested immediately:  “It would probably be best for you to stay here, Kurt. We don't want to attract attention. Your face is well known around town.” This last point was more than the sycophantic toadying that it might have sounded to be. When TP Automotive’s acquisition of UP&S was announced, both the company and the local press had played up the buyout’s economic significance. Kurt Myers had spoken at a widely attended town hall meeting that was held in the New Hastings VFW hall. The local newspaper, the
New Hastings Journal
, had photographed the event, and a picture of Kurt had appeared prominently on the front page of that edition.

Kurt nodded. “You’re right, Bernie. If I show up at the police station with Shawn, this could rapidly turn into a local media circus.”

“I don’t think we need to anticipate any media presence at this point,” Bruner said. “But Mr. Myers—young Mr. Myers—I’m going to need to ask you to come with me now.”

Shawn was about to comply, when Kurt spoke up again.

“Would it be possible for Shawn to drive himself?” he asked. “The police station is only a few miles away, after all. Shawn can be there in five minutes.”

Dave hesitated. Financial saviors or not, the management team at TP Automotive seemed determined to rewrite the rules of police protocol to suit their convenience.
There was a limit to this, wasn't there?
There had to be a limit.

“I don’t know,” Dave said. “Technically, he should really ride to the station with me.”

“Oh, come on, now,” Bernie said placatingly. “You said yourself that Shawn isn’t a flight risk.” Bernie laughed. “I don’t think that Shawn is going to take off with nothing more than the clothes on his back. He’s got a three p.m. meeting to attend, after all.”

Dave might have pointed out that plenty of fugitives—when facing felony charges—
did
take off with nothing but the clothes on their backs. The police chief also knew that Bernie’s assessment was less than honest: Shawn would have credit cards and cash in his wallet: And those would be more than adequate to provision him for the short term if he decided to make a run for it.

Still—there was another way to look at it: He pictured his wife, Carol. She would be working in the factory even now, while he conferred with her bosses. Bruner couldn’t see the TP Automotive management team without simultaneously seeing the numbers in his bank account—the numbers that had been moving steadily back into the black since Carol had been called back to work.

Bruner had no aspirations of being a rich man. He didn’t need to drive the sorts of cars that these people did. All he wanted was to make his mortgage payments each month, to pay his bills on time.

And most all, he wanted to avoid that snub-nosed pistol in the basement, the one that he knew would be talking to him if the family’s financial pressures were to mount again.

“I suppose we could make an exception just this once,” Bruner said. “But please, Mr. Myers, I want you to come directly to the police station.”

Kurt clapped Shawn on the shoulder. “He’ll beat you there. Shawn, get moving.”    

It was perhaps thirty minutes later that Kurt Myers summoned me to a private meeting. S
haw
n would have still been at the police station, doing his best to avoid incriminating himself while Bernie Chapman no doubt chimed in at every
opportunity.

Kurt closed the door of the meeting room behind us and motioned for me to sit at the table.

“There's been a little problem,” he said. Then he proceeded to fill me in. Needless to say, he described the accusations against Shawn as pure fantasy.

“What do you know about this Chalmers woman?” He asked, after giving me an account of Dave Bruner's visit.

“Not much,” I said.

“Do you think that this woman is telling the truth? About Shawn assaulting her daughter, I mean. There were no witnesses. Tell me Craig: What do
you
think?”

Kurt’s eyes searched mine. I wondered if Shawn had told his father about our little tête-à-tête in the hall that night—the one in which I slammed him against the wall. Was Kurt seriously asking for my opinion—or did he already know what I thought of his son?

And more to the point:
Did Kurt know that his son had a fondness for bullying
and groping
teenaged girls?

It might be best for me to remain neutral, I decided. Much as I disliked Shawn, I didn’t have a dog in this fight. Moreover, the girl did not need me for protection now, as she had that night in the hallway. The police were looking out for the cleaning woman’s daughter—as the police should. I wouldn’t be able to do anything for her that they wouldn’t be able to do better. I was now a superfluous actor in this sordid little drama, and my best bet was to remain officially neutral. The wheels of justice turn would turn without Craig Walker’s hands on their levers.

“I have no idea,” I said. “I wasn’t there when the—incident—took place.”

“
Alleged
incident,” Kurt corrected me.

“Fair enough. Alleged incident.” There had, of course, been nothing alleged about the incident that I had witnessed and intervened in. But I wasn't ready to tell Kurt about that now––not yet. At the moment, I was more concerned with extricating myself, before I became more deeply involved.

“This is all quite unfortunate,” I said. This was the most neutral way I could think of to describe the situation. “But I'm at a bit of a loss here. I don't see the connection between this matter and the work I've been assigned per our current contract.”

Men like Kurt Myers aren't accustomed to being contradicted––even obliquely. I was vaguely anticipating a surly response, and even an implied threat of reassessing my suitability as a consultant for TP Automotive. Kurt didn't need to tell me that if Craig Walker Consulting was unwilling to step up to the plate, there were plenty of other consulting firms waiting in the wings. And they would step up to whatever plate the great man offered, wherever he chose to place it.

But Kurt did not threaten me—not then, at least.

“You’ve worked in corporate security in the past, haven’t you?” he asked.