T. Bunn - Winner Take All

“This is not happening.”

“Wrong again, sport.” Amos stepped closer, inserting himself firmly into Marcus’ space. “Are you absolutely certain you have a valid reason to be here?”

“I’ve been asked to represent their chairman.” He studied his reflection in Amos’ sunglasses, and saw a man distorted by a world of half-truths. “I was told it was strictly a personal matter. Then this morning they send a man around to my house. He accosted Kirsten in my own front yard, Amos. I’m fed up with being led around by the nose. I need to find out what’s happening.”

The sheriff radiated a professional disapproval. “Here’s how it’s going to play. We’re walking in there together. We’re going to find your man, we’re going to have a word, and then we’re turning around and walking out. Together the whole way. And you’re going to promise me this is the last time you ever set foot in this place.”

“I can’t do that.”

A trio of business executives passed them, the men in gray and the dark-suited woman carrying an artist’s oversized portfolio. They made round eyes at the sight of Darren, tall and dark as a latent volcano and armed with his buff-black weapon.

“It’d be right tempting to call you ten kinds of fool.” Amos extended his hand toward Darren. “The communicators working all right?”

In response, Darren handed his boss a walkie-talkie, then slipped another one into his pocket and threaded the earpiece up through his jacket. “Channel t-three.”

Amos opened his jacket, slipped the walkie-talkie onto his belt, and twisted the knob. “Testing, one, two.”

Darren gave him a thumbs-up.

Marcus protested, “This really isn’t necessary.”

“Don’t you even start.” Amos pointed them toward the headquarters. “I’m telling you the same thing I say to all my new recruits. Your first job is not to get shot.”

“They wouldn’t try anything here.”

“Course not. Ready to roll?”

The newer headquarters building had been redesigned after the court had convicted New Horizons of colluding with Chinese slave-labor factories and abducting Kirsten’s best friend. Marcus crossed a public area done in soothing pastels and Southern tweed and approached a young woman seated at an oversized partner’s desk. The inlaid leather centerpiece had been carved out to hide her phone system. The walls behind her displayed blowups of three overseas factories, as pristine and well groomed as holiday spas. The receptionist looked terrified.

Before he could speak, the rear glass doors slid open. A trio of blue-jacketed security emerged. “Can I help you, Mr. Glenwood?”

“I’m here to have a word with your chairman.”

“Mr. Steadman is not in this afternoon.” They stood an arm’s length apart, hands caught before them, legs slightly spread. “I need to ask you both to turn around and make your way-”

Amos Culpepper dangled his badge an inch from the man’s nose. “Why don’t y’all just slow down. We’re concerned about all the infractions we noticed on our way in here. We might have to write up every single car in this lot, invite them down to the local lock-up to explain all the broken headlamps and erratic driving we’re going to find when they start leaving this afternoon.”

To his credit, the muscle did not flinch. “You’re rousting the entire workforce?”

“Not unless you roust first.” Amos had the country lawman’s ability to shout at a whisper. “I’m inviting you to reconsider, is all. We want to pay your chairman a visit. You say he’s not in. We’ll settle on, who will we settle on, Marcus?”

Marcus drew out the check, and read the name printed beneath the signature. “Lynwood Hale.”

“Now, you see how reasonable we are? Why don’t you just call ahead and say we’re on our way upstairs.”

When the guard hesitated, Amos moved so fast Marcus did not even see his hand in motion. One moment he was standing there with his badge dangling in the muscle’s face. The next, and he had the badge in one hand and the young man’s walkie-talkie in his other.

Amos froze the other two guards with a look, then motioned with the receiver. “Make the call.”

The guard retrieved his radio and turned away. One of the other men demanded, “Are you carrying?”

Amos made the raising of his gaze into a polar crossing. “Sir.”

The man’s neck was so muscled it formed a continuous angle from his ears to the tips of his shoulders. But he was unable to meet Amos’ eye for long. “Sir.”

“I’m an officer of the law, son. I’m always armed.” He prodded the first man’s shoulder with a knobby finger. “We’re ready to roll here.”

The guard had turned sullen by things moving from his control. “This way.”

“That’s more like it. See how reasonable everybody can be when they try?” When one of the trio tried to step behind them, Amos halted him with “You just move on ahead there. I’ll bring up the rear.”

“But I’m-”

“Don’t get me any more riled than I already am, son. Move out.”

Heads popped out of cubicles up and down the interior hall. All five men crammed into one elevator. Amos kept his back to the doors and held the muscle against the rear wall with his gaze. The Muzak drifting down from overhead was less suited to the tension than gunfire.

The executive floor was as muted in tone as the reception area. Beige curtains hung the length of the exterior steel and glass wall, dimming both the light and the view. As Marcus gave his name to the senior secretary, Amos Culpepper stepped over and swept aside the drapes. Marcus found himself steadied by the glimpse of the timeworn church and a cemetery resting comfortably in broad meadows of summer green.

“Mr. Glenwood?” The paunchy man used a pomade on his hair Marcus could smell from across the room. “I’m Lynwood Hale, director of finance.”

“Which is the chairman’s office?”

Hale pointed to the double doors behind the secretary. “Through there. But he’s not-”

“Show me.”

Lynwood Hale waved a manicured hand toward the secretary. “Escort the man, Sandra.”

Marcus followed her back and through the doors. The lavish interior held all the warmth of an empty hotel suite. Marcus did a slow sweep, but could find nothing that indicated who occupied this chamber. Marcus stood over the polished rosewood desk, empty of even a calendar. “Does he never come in here?”

When she did not respond, Marcus crossed his arms and waited. Showing he was ready to make this an all-day affair.

“He comes.”

“How often?”

“Most days.”

Marcus swept a hand over the desk’s bare surface. “What makes him so secretive he won’t even keep his calendar in his office?”

The finance director had waited as long as he was willing. “That’s all right, Sandra. I’ll take over now.”

Marcus reached into his pocket and drew out the check. “This check was brought by my house today.”

“This is a large company, Mr. Glenwood. Despite your best efforts to the contrary, we are also very successful. My department issues a large number of checks every day.”

“Let’s talk about this one. Somebody had it delivered by way of some old-style muscle.”

“You’ll need to see our attorney about whatever …” He squinted more closely at the check being dangled in front of his face. “Where did you get this?”

“Did you order this made up? Or did Dale Steadman?”

“I’m not authorized to discuss such matters with an outsider.”

“But you’re authorized to send me money.”

“Don’t try and tell me you’re so high and mighty you’re adverse to being paid for your work.” The man made a grab for the check.