Termination Man: a novel (37 page)

No—I would have to put myself on the line, even though many in corporate circles would interpret my next steps as a severe breach of client-consultant trust. But Shawn Myers should not have laid his hands on the girl. He had forced me into this position.

I killed the email. I cursed Shawn Myers, and I felt more than a little annoyed with Donna Chalmers. I had wanted no part of any of this. I had not asked to be anyone’s savior.

I paid a visit to Dave Bruner during my lunch hour the next day. The police chief's office was located only a short distance from the factory, within the town proper of New Hastings. I decided that I could discreetly stop by, make my statement to Chief Bruner, and get back to business.

That would be the end of it,
if
I was lucky.

Stepping inside the police station, I saw that Dave Bruner was in his private office—a glass enclosure that was situated behind a partition. I was about to walk back and tap on the door of the little mini-office when a voice halted me.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Things were set up to channel me through a gatekeeper, naturally. There was a dispatch officer at the front desk––a young man with a prominent Adam's apple. He had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

As soon as I asked to see Chief Bruner, the officer pulled out a notepad and began firing questions at me. He was determined to elicit my entire spiel prior to any audience that I might have with the chief.

“How can we help you, sir? Are you here to file a complaint or report a crime?” The young man’s Adam’s apple bobbed with each syllable.

This was not what I wanted. If I had any hope of keeping this conversation confidential, I would need to talk to Chief Bruner—and Chief Bruner only. I couldn't announce to every municipal employee in New Hastings that I was turning whistleblower.

But I was more than prepared for this. The corporate world is full of gatekeepers––administrative assistants, right-hand men and women, and other officious underlings. No matter what their title, the job of all such gatekeepers is to make sure that the boss’s time isn't wasted––and to make sure that the boss is protected from uncomfortable or embarrassing questions.

And I was having none of it. Not today.

“I really need to talk directly with Police Chief Bruner,” I told the young man in the New Hastings police uniform. “It's a rather sensitive matter.”

He smirked, and I immediately knew that the officer wasn't going to be an ally. “Most police business is. I’ll take down your information. If Chief Bruner needs to get involved, he will.”

I stood my ground. “I'm sorry. I really need to speak directly with Chief Bruner.”

He saw that I was not overawed by his police uniform. In the microcosm of New Hastings, this young man had probably never been challenged before.
So he had a decision to make:
Was he going to yield, or was he going to escalate?
I had bluffed public officials before—but never one who wore a badge and a gun. I figured my odds were fifty-fifty.

Then a lucky break. The cop sighed, put down the clipboard on which he had begun to jot down his notes, and lifted the receiver of his telephone. He dialed three buttons—the chief’s extension.

“Man here says he's got a ‘sensitive matter’ that he needs to discuss with you. Wouldn't give me any more information than that.”

As my questioner hung up the phone, I watched Chief Bruner hang up his phone.

Bruner looked at me through the glass walls of his office. I didn’t think he recognized me; but I couldn’t be sure. He waved me in.

“Chief says you can go on in,” the officer added unnecessarily.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Yeah. Sure thing.”

I passed through the little partition that separated the office area of the police station from the visitor’s lobby. As soon as I stepped into Bruner’s office, the chief began to busy himself with some paperwork that was on his desk blotter. This was a deliberate tactic, I was sure—one designed to inform me that my visit was not his most important priority. I was an interloper here, after all. I had blatantly refused to follow police department protocol. The chief was tolerating me, but clearly there was a price to be paid for my impertinence.

“Have a seat.” The chief gestured to a small visitor’s chair in front of his desk. “Wait—close the door first, please.”

I did as I was asked. At length Bruner looked up and said:

“Haven’t I seen you before?”

“It’s possible. I’m an employee at UP&S.”

“Oh, yes. UP&S.” That bit of information caused the chief to miss a beat, though he quickly recovered. This man wasn't eager to talk about UP&S.
But why
, exactly
?

“You got a name?” he asked.

I decided to give him my assumed name for now. “Craig Parker.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Craig Parker. I believe that you already know my name and role in this community.”

“Yes I do, Chief. And I appreciate your taking time to meet with me.”

I glanced down and noticed a business card on Bruner’s desk: The card bore the name
Kurt Myers, Vice President of
Strategic
Planning, TP Automotive.
Partially obscured beneath it was another business card that belonged to Bernie Chapman.

It might be nothing
, I told myself. In the course of arresting and releasing the younger Myers, it wasn’t completely unusual that Bruner should have obtained the older Myers’s business card. And Bernie—as the only readily available legal counsel—would have been a part of that business as well.

I decided not to say anything about the business cards—for the moment, at least. Bruner leaned back in his chair. “Well, Mr. Parker, what can I do for you?”

“I’m here to discuss the Shawn Myers situation with you.”

This caused an exaggerated frown that was clearly intended to convey puzzlement. I thought:
Maybe I am overstepping my bounds
by
even
being here.

“I see. Are you a lawyer retained by either party in this matter, Mr. Parker? Are you the parent or guardian of the girl involved in the alleged incident?”

“No and no. I’m not a lawyer. Nor am I anyone’s parent or guardian.”

The chief leaned forward and folded his hands atop his desk blotter.

“Then this is most unusual, isn’t it? What is your relationship to this matter, Mr. Parker?”

I could detect that Dave Bruner was not going to be an easy audience for me. Nevertheless, I took the plunge. I was here now and I had no other choice.

“I think, Chief Bruner, that you—the town, that is—may have made a mistake in releasing Shawn Myers. I suspect that Shawn Myers may be lying. And I believe that the girl was telling the truth.”

“Oh? And why is that? Were you present at the time of the alleged incident?”

“No. But I was present a few weeks ago, when a similar incident took place. Another incident between Shawn Myers and the girl.”

I ran through a brief summary of what I had seen in the hallway that night. I left out the part about me slamming Shawn against a wall.

When I was finished talking, Dave Bruner raised his eyebrows. “Did you see Mr. Myers touch the girl?”

I wanted to tell him
yes
—because I knew that this had been Shawn’s intention, the next step that he would have taken had I not been there. But I had to answer truthfully.

“Well, not exactly.”

“Yes or no?”

“No.”

“Did you hear him say anything
obscene
?”

“Not exactly—No. But I can tell you that he was speaking to her in an inappropriate manner. And he was making her feel uncomfortable.”

Dave nodded. “What did you actually hear him say? Tell me again, please.”

I remembered most of the verbal exchange from that evening—the one that I had overheard just before I grabbed Shawn by the collar. I repeated my story again, this time focusing on what Shawn Myers had said. I did my best to deliver a word-for-word transcript.

“Mr. Parker. Perhaps you can understand that none of this sounds precisely sexual in nature.”

“It wasn’t what he said,” I began. “But rather the way in which he said it.”

“Uh-huh. ‘
The way in which he said it.
’”

“And his body language.”

“You’re an expert in body language, are you, Mr. Parker?”

“No, but I saw what I saw. He was leaning close to the girl.”

“But he didn’t touch her.”

“No, but he was going to.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I could tell.”

“You could tell.”

I could feel my own frustration rising. “Listen, Mister—Chief—Bruner. I’m just a concerned citizen discussing an important issue with you—one that may involve illegal acts against a minor. Do you want to hear me out? Or do you want to mince logic with me?”

Dave Bruner’s face reddened. I could see that I was going to have to handle him carefully. The man might already be thinking about locking
me
up instead of Shawn.

“No—I don’t want to mince logic with you, Mr. Parker. As a matter of fact, I have a police department to run. And you still haven’t told me exactly what you heard Shawn Myers say to this girl that was incriminating. Nor have you related any incriminating actions.”

I took a long breath, and once more recounted Shawn’s words to Dave Bruner. As I spoke, the chief’s face registered no reaction. I got the distinct impression that he wasn’t buying any of it. In the daylight glare of Chief Bruner’s office, a verbatim transcript of what Shawn had said could be interpreted either way. Depending on what you wanted to believe. Or—more to the point—
who
you wanted to believe.

“Let’s go through this one last time, Mr. Parker. Mr. Myers stated, in so many words, that the girl lacked social graces and manners. And you interpreted that as sexual harassment.”

“Yes—or, no.
Yes.
”

“I see. And what did
you
do? Did you intervene in any way? Did you inform Mr. Myers that you found his behavior, or choice of words to this girl, to be inappropriate?”

“Yes, I intervened.”

“How did you intervene, Mr. Parker?”

This was the part that might ruin whatever credibility I had. But I had to reveal it. Otherwise, it would come out later, and the focus of attention might shift from Shawn’s conduct to my omission of all the relevant facts.

“I slammed Shawn Myers up against a wall.”

“Ah—
now
it comes out. Let me get this straight: You’re an employee of UP&S, and you slammed Shawn Myers up against a wall?” The police chief shook his head. “That sounds like the sort of thing that a man would be fired for. It could also be an assault charge.”

This was Bruner’s first sign of indignation about anything that had taken place that night. The chief paused deliberately and stared at me.

Have the Myers gotten to this man
?
I wondered.
Does he already know about the confrontation between Shawn and me?

“Excuse me, Chief. Could we get back to the topic? I’m not on trial here.”

“No,” he allowed. “You’re not. Lucky for you that Shawn Myers didn’t fire you and then file an assault charge.”

“Let me ask you this, Chief: Did you already know about the confrontation between myself and Shawn Myers?”

Once again I had overstepped my bounds. But I didn’t care. The chief froze for an instant; and I knew that his next words would in all probability be a lie.

“No,” he said.

“Because I sort of get the feeling that you have.”

“You’re calling me a liar?”

The answer was obvious, wasn’t it? Of course I was calling him a liar. Because everything that this man had said so far added up to that conclusion.

“You tell me, Chief.”

The skin around Bruner’s collar visibly reddened. Some diplomat I was.

“You’ve just stepped over the line, Mr. Parker.”

The chief stood up, like a man in a bar who has just been told that his wife is sleeping around behind his back. I thought:
Surely, he isn’t going to take a swing at me, is he?
Yet everything about the chief’s body language told me that this was exactly what he had in mind. 

Almost against my own will, I got to my feet as well.
Not a fistfight with a police chief
, I thought.
Anything but that.
I had a momentary flash of myself
making
license plates at one of Ohio’s correctional facilities for men.

Then I heard the door click open behind me. The young New Hastings policeman.

“Is there a problem, in here, Chief?” he asked. His tone indicated that he rather hoped the chief would answer in the affirmative.