by Alan Cook
Chapter 35
As I lay on a gurney in the emergency room
I tried to remember whether I was already
covered by the Tartan medical plan or whether
there was a waiting period for new employees.
That's one of the things you don't usually worry
about when you're young and healthy and starting
a new job and I hadn't, until now. Jed had told
the admissions people I was covered in order to
get me admitted, but still I wondered.
My brain had short-circuited and was running in
circles, partly as a result of the painkiller the
nurse had given me after it had been determined
from X-rays that the only thing wrong with me
was a cracked vertebra. When I wasn't trying
to sort out the insurance problem I was replaying
the last few minutes I had spent with Stan and
wondering how I had survived.
I should feel fortunate that I had. All I needed to
do was to wear a body caste for a few weeks. It
would be applied as soon as the doctor was freed
up from taking care of a heart-attack victim who
apparently had priority over me. Certainly, he was
in worse shape than I was. With luck, I would be
out of here in an hour.
Jed had driven me all the way back to San
Francisco because I had made light of my
injury and said I could stand it. During the
trip, when we had bounced over bumps I had
rued not asking to be taken to the nearest
hospital, but now I was glad I wasn't stuck
in Salinas.
The others had placed Stan under a form of
house arrest and brought him back, also, after
tying him up with one of the climbing ropes. It
was felt that his crimes could more adequately
be dealt with here in the city than out in the
sticks.
Somebody came into my room. Hoping it was the
doctor, I turned my head to look. The flashy
sport shirt immediately told me it wasn't and
the limp looked familiar. I blinked to clear the
haze from in front of my eyes and verified that
it was indeed James.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. It must
be around midnight.
"I came to make sure you weren't going to kill
yourself to get out of working for me," James
said, patting my shoulder. "You know, most
young men would give their eye teeth to work
for Tartan, but you've played hard to get.
That's one reason I like you."
"I broke my back for you."
James looked concerned, the first time I had
ever seen that look on his face since we had
tried to find Ned. "They told me that you'll be
fine in a few weeks."
"I'll be fine." But not Stan. How much had the
guys told him about Stan?
"I'm sick about Stan," James said, reading my
mind. "I'm beginning to understand why you
thought I was involved in Ned's murder. If Stan
commissioned it, I must be behind it. But Ned
was my best friend, even though we had our
differences. I've done some things I'm not
proud of, but I'm not a murderer. But Stan...."
James shook his head, at a loss for words. I'm
sure he couldn't understand how a brain like
Stan's worked. I couldn't, either. I felt I
should say something to console him. He and
Stan had been.... Whatever it was, it had gone
beyond the usual employer-employee relationship.
Otherwise, why would Stan go off the cliff, so
to speak?
There was an awkward silence, during which I
tried to think of words that wouldn't come.
James broke it, saying, "To show you I'm not
such a bad guy, I'm going to let you off the
hook. You don't have to work for me and I'm
going to cancel your obligation on the baseball
card. I've caused you enough trouble by not
being alert to what Stan was up to."
My first inclination was to say, "You don't have
to do that," but I was afraid if I did he might
take it back. I should learn a lesson from him.
When somebody owes you, collect. And James
obviously felt he owed me.
"I'll tell you what," I said, talking slowly to buy
time as the idea formulated itself in my head.
"I'll keep the job and I'll pay you for the card if
you stop trying to take over Dionysus. Don't
solicit proxies, and divest Tartan of the
Dionysus stock it holds, in an orderly manner
so as not to upset the market."
James smiled as if I had said something funny.
"You're a smart young man," he said, "and I'm
sure you already know what I'm about to tell
you, but I'm going to do it anyway, to give
you a chance to change your mind. Number
one, if I can't get Elma's proxy, the chances
of Tartan taking over Dionysus are slim, and
at the moment she doesn't appear to be in
my corner. And I have a feeling that when she
hears a Tartan employee murdered her husband
the news will not endear her to us.
"Number two, being a part of Tartan might
actually be good for Dionysus, for several
reasons. It would certainly put your father
on easy street, financially, and I have a feeling
some of that would dribble down to you."
"My father can take care of his own financial
interests," I said. Why did I feel I had to
defend him? "I've seen you in action enough
to know that you usually get what you aim for
so I'm not sure Elma is enough to stop you. But
in addition...my father wants...that is, he wants
to continue running Dionysus. He doesn't want
to give it up yet. It's his life."
James looked surprised. "You're doing this for him,
aren't you?"
"Don't tell him we had this conversation," I said,
quickly.
"I have two daughters. I can't remember that
they've ever done anything for me. Oh, they send
me Father's Day cards and they come for
obligatory visits. But mostly it seems that they
want things from me. I think big weddings are
next on the agenda."
The conversation was headed in the wrong
direction. "I don't mind working for you," I said.
"I might even learn something."
"The good news is that Tartan will make money
on the Dionysus stock it holds." James grinned.
"As some famous investor said, 'Nobody ever
went broke taking a profit.' I have just one
question: Where are you going to get the
money to pay me for the baseball card?"
"From my Tartan stock options."
James laughed, long and loud.
Aces and Knaves copyright ©2002 Alan L. Cook
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