L Sellers - The Suicide Effect

The dozen or so male customers ranged from twenty to seventy. A few were dressed in suits like him, but most were in some variation of jeans and work jackets. There wasn’t much heat in the place.

Rudker stood at the end of the bar and ordered a Jack Daniels and coke. He wasn’t a big drinker-too much alcohol slowed his mind-but some social situations required a drink in hand. He made obligatory chit chat with the bartender about the Mariners’ prospects for a good season, then kept to himself until it was time.

At nine-thirty a door in the back of the bar opened, and the men gathered up their drinks and moved through it. The next room was slightly larger than the bar but equally devoid of windows or features. The brick walls sported a few graffiti scrawls but that was it. A small boxing ring filled the center of the room, and platform with bench seats surrounded the fight area. Rudker was one of the last to enter, and he took a seat near the door. Memories of his first time in the club flooded him, and his breath became shallow with anticipation.

In a few minutes, the fighters entered and passed within a few feet of him. An intoxicating mix of sweat and shampoo hit his nostrils. The girls were both in their early twenties and reasonably attractive-for fist fighters. The blond was outfitted in a skin-tight black workout suit with a white sports bra showing underneath. The other girl, with black spiky hair, wore a red halter top with tight purple shorts. She reminded him of the girl in the airport.

The bartender doubled as the referee and entered the ring. He announced the contenders without much ceremony. “Tonight’s match is between Felicia the Fearless,” he said, pointing at the blond, “And Badass Brenda.”

The dark-haired girl with black eye makeup pivoted in a full circle and waved. The bartender held up a small cow bell, gave it ring, then quickly stepped out of the way.

The girls circled each other for a moment, then Felicia lurched forward and smashed her bare fist into the side of Brenda’s face. The blow glanced off as Brenda pulled away. Rudker’s pulse began to accelerate. After a few wild swings, Brenda connected with Felicia’s nose in an audible smack. Blood trickled down onto the girl’s pale lips. Rudker felt himself get hard.

Then the girls got with it, raining blows on each other with an unexpected ferocity. Brenda went down, and Felicia jumped on her, pummeling her in the face and chest. Rudker realized he’d been holding his breath and gulped for air.

He wanted to be in there, swinging away, fists crashing into tender flesh. Girls, guys, it didn’t matter. It was all about release. But his executive position in a conservative industry didn’t allow him to live that close to the edge. Showing up for work with a black eye and a fat lip could derail his career. He had not fought with anyone in years. The other night in the parking lot didn’t count. That skirmish had been unexpected and accidental.

The fight only had three rounds, each five minutes long. At the end, the audience voted for a winner with applause, and Felicia was the clear favorite. Brenda gave them all the finger and stormed out. Felicia circled the ring twice, arms raised in victory, blood running from her face, then left the room. Rudker wished it had lasted longer, but still, it was the best seventeen minutes he’d spent in a long time.

Thursday, April 15th, 7:59 am

Sula went through the same routine morning she’d carried out the day before, only today, she felt more panicked. First she called Warner’s extension and got no answer, then she called Steve Peterson, who still had not seen or heard from the doctor. She called Warner’s cell and home numbers. No answer and no room left to leave a message. Something was definitely wrong, and it was time to call the police. Still, she hesitated. Once the cops got involved, it might be impossible to search Warner’s office for the suicide data.

Sula was angry with herself for not doing it yesterday afternoon. She had thought about it obsessively, even formulating several plans. One had involved stealing the master keys to the R amp;D building from Bob Wurtzer, the building maintenance guy. She had immediately rejected the idea as insane. It had occurred to her Marcy had keys to all the offices because she was the one who gave people keys when they were hired. Sula had tried to come up with a workable plan for borrowing Marcy’s keys, but both ideas were so out of character for her mode of thinking and acting that she had become paralyzed with fear.

Now it was too late. Her priority had to be about Warner herself. The doctor was clearly missing. Sula took the elevator up one level to the human resource office on the third floor. She checked her watch: 8:27.

Serena’s first words were, “Have you heard anything about Diane Warner?”

“She’s not in again today. Is Marcy in her office?”

“Yep. Go on in. I think she’s expecting you.”

Marcy was on the phone, so Sula waited in the doorway. Marcy signaled her to sit. The HR director was listening intently to someone on the phone. Her legs were crossed and the one on top swung impatiently. Finally she said, “You will try to reach him, though?”

A pause.

“Thanks. Give him my number please.” Marcy hung up and turned to Sula.

“Diane’s son Jeff works for Doctors without Borders. Right now, he’s in a remote village in Somalia. That was his answering service. They said they would try to track him down and give him my number. I didn’t tell them his mother was missing, because we don’t know that for sure yet.”

“She isn’t here again this morning. I think we should call the police.” Sula sounded more confident than she felt.

“Did you try her house?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” Marcy heaved a big sigh. “I’m supposed to fly to Seattle today for meetings with JB’s human resource department.”

“I’ll help in any way I can.” For a second, Sula was tempted to suggest that Marcy let her check out Dr. Warner’s office, but she chickened out.

Marcy grabbed a phone book and looked up the non-emergency number for the Eugene police department. Sula stood to leave.

“Please stay,” Marcy pleaded.

Sula sat back down. While Marcy explained the situation to someone at the police department, Sula casually looked around the office for where the director might keep her set of master keys. A desk drawer was the most likely spot, but maybe a filing cabinet. Sula noticed a set of dark brown luggage leaned against one wall. Marcy was traveling; she would be gone later today. Sula suddenly realized that the woman was talking to her.

“When you went to her house, did you notice if her car was there?” Marcy held her hand over the phone as she talked.

“I didn’t see it, but it could have been in the garage.”

Marcy relayed the information, then listened for a minute. “I’ll send her in right away.”

A wave of panic passed through Sula’s chest. Marcy hung up and announced, “They want you to come in and fill out a report.”

“Why me?”

“Because you noticed she was missing. You went to her house.”

Sula’s hands instinctively went to her stomach, so she could feel her breathing at work. She could do this. “Should I go now? ”

“Yes. Officer Rice is expecting you. Thanks, Sula. I appreciate all your help in this matter.” Marcy looked relieved.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Only two days. I’ll give you my cell phone number, and I want you to call me with any updates.” The HR director jotted down her number on a yellow sticky and passed it to Sula.

She sucked in her breath for nerve, then blurted out, “What if the police want to search Dr. Warner’s office?”