The Cold Cash War

16

Wolfe! Big Bad Wolfe! So he was finally going to talk to Wolfe.

Pete took the corner with an almost military precision. As usual, the executive corridor was empty. Bad for one's image to be caught loitering in the corridor. Without people, all efforts to make the hall seem warm and friendly through the use of pictures, hangings, or statues failed miserably. It always looked like you were on your way to a fallout shelter or a secret underground military installation.

After three days, Wolfe had finally sent for him. Well, Petey boy'd have a word or two for him.

He winced at his own false bravado. Who's kidding whom, Pete? You're scared. No...not scared. Nervous. Okay...admit it. Drag it out and let's have a look at it.

Something's wrong. Very wrong. Not just that I didn't get the number one spot. Something else. After three weeks as acting head of the section, Wolfe shows up. Wolfe, of all people! Wolfe is notorious as a trouble-shooter and axeman here at the corporation. His stay in any job was usually brief and always bloody. So what? I've survived purges before. Yes, but he's been here three days and this will be my first time to see him alone. Usually a second in command works close with the new chief, shows him the ropes and points out the rough spots. Panic tactics. Yes...that's it. Let me sweat it out for three days, then the mysterious summons and I'll open up like a steamed clam, rat on everybody. That must be what he's doing. Well, it's working!

Okay! You've admitted it. Now take a deep breath and play it with a little style.

Right! Wolfe's door loomed before him. He took a deep breath, raised a knuckle, and tapped twice softly.

One...two...three heartbeats. Five. The light above the door flashed green. He turned the knob and entered.

Wolfe beamed at him as he rose from the desk. California casual and used car friendly.

"Come in, Hornsby. It's Pete, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's Emil. Please, no formality."

They shook hands and Wolfe waved him into a chair.

"Sorry we haven't gotten together sooner, but we've got quite a problem here."

"That was obvious when they called you in." Pete smiled back at him.

"Oh?" Wolfe seemed both surprised and amused. "How so?"

"Well...you...that is, you have a bit of a reputation..."

"...As an axeman?" Wolfe dismissed it with a wave of his hand.

"Quite exaggerated, I assure you. A bit annoying, actually. Makes people shy away from me."

"Oh, sorry I mentioned it."

"Quite the contrary, always glad to get a little feedback. Now, where were we?"

"The problem."

"Oh, yes! We have quite a problem. That problem, Pete, is you!"

"Me, sir?" Pete felt his hands starting to fidget.

"Yes. This is the second time you've been passed over for promotion, isn't it?"

"Well...yes...but I've been moving up. Slow and steady."

"Still, it's not a good sign."

"I've been pretty tied up on this war thing."

"It seems to indicate you aren't developing as fast as we hoped, or you hoped, for that matter," Wolfe continued as if he hadn't heard.

"But I haven't had a chance to get to know..."

"So we've worked up a plan for your leaving. It involves six months on full pay and another..."

"Now just a damn minute!" Pete was on his feet.

"Sit down, Peter. There's no need to shout."

"If you aren't happy with my performance, there are other alternatives, you know! I've been thinking of putting in for a transfer."

"Pete, I'm trying to be pleasant about..."

"What about a transfer!"

"Look, Hornsby!" Wolfe's face was grim. "I've been trying to get you transferred! For a week before I came and for the last three days! Nobody wants you! Now sit down!"

Pete sank back into his chair.

"Now, as I was saying." Wolfe was again the pleasant salesman.

"Why?"

Wolfe pursed his lips for a long moment, then sighed and leaned back.

"Basically because of Eddie Bush."

"What about him?"

"Specifically the circumstances surrounding the way he died so conveniently for you."

"Now look! If you're trying to say..."

"If we had any solid proof, Hornsby, we'd turn you over to the authorities and that would be that. As it stands, there are just suspicions, perhaps unfounded, but enough that no one wants you working under them. I don't want you, and no one else wants you."

Pete's eyes fell before his gaze.

"Now then, as I was saying, you'll get six months..."

"How long do I have?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"You know what I mean."

Wolfe sighed. For the first time he looked sympathetic.

"There's an armed guard waiting in my reception area to escort you out. Your files and office are being placed under lock and key as we're talking now. If you come back Saturday, a guard will meet you at the gate and escort you to your office where he will watch while you have half an hour to remove your personal effects."

"Has my staff been told?"

"A memo was distributed as you entered my office."

Pete thought for several moments.

"Then there's nothing else to say, is there?"

"Well, you could let me tell you about the separation plan we've worked up for you. I think you'll find it more than fair."

"Save it. Send me a letter. Right now, I just want to leave."

"Very well."

Pete rose.

"You'll understand, sir, if I don't shake your hand?"

"Frankly," Wolfe's eyes were cold, "I hadn't planned to."

He strode through the common corridors, head high, ahead of his guard. He had a disembodied, unearthly feeling, like he was walking in a dream.

He was screwed! No one would hire him now. Job hunting at his pay level without a job or a recommendation!

C'mon, Pete! You can work it out later. First try to put a little style into the exit.

He forced himself back into focus and began to look around him. Maybe a few casual nods or a wink or a wave at a couple of people on his way out. He suddenly realized he didn't know anyone in the halls. Nobody looked at him. Not that they were avoiding his eyes; they were all busy and their eyes passed over him as unimportant. Just a few curious glances at the guard. He didn't see any of his staff. Usually there were a few of them around.

The window! One of the office windows overlooked the executive parking lot! They would be watching from the window. Some to wave goodbye, some from morbid curiosity, but they'll be at the window! Okay, Petey boy. We'll show them bastards how Peter Hornsby goes to meet his fate.

He cleared the door, forcing a jaunty air into his walk. He found he couldn't whistle, but decided it didn't matter.

As he reached his car and fumbled for his keys, curiosity forced him to sneak one peek at the window.

No one was watching.