Funhouse (21 page)

A rare flush of guilt raced down his spine, and in his mind’s eye, he saw his wife of ten years, Melanie, and his children – Alice and George – swim out of the darkness. He thought of them now, and what they would be doing. It was almost seven, which meant that the kids would be watching television, and Melanie would likely be washing the dishes from their evening meal. He loved her of course, but as he supposed was natural, the spark had gone from their relationship, and even if it hadn’t, it had been a long time since she had been able to excite him, which was the exact opposite of  his dozing travel companion.

The more he thought about it, the more the guilt took hold. As always, he tried to convince himself that he shouldn’t see it as an affair, but as a way to save his marriage. He got the warm, genuine love from his wife, and his thrill seeking excitement from his lover, and as long as the two remained separate, he was happy to continue with his deceit.

Johnson turned his attention back to the road, and his mind to the reason for his journey out into the boonies.

He had been head of quality control for Randell's toys for the last seven years, doing his part to assist in the growth of a company that had started out as a local business run from a shed in the late sixties, to what it was today - A global multi-billion dollar business and undisputed leader in the toy industry. When seventeen-year-old James Randell first had the idea to start a toy business, he was an unemployed farmhand who most said had no future. When he died sixty-three years later, he was worth close to seven hundred million dollars, and counted several high profile celebrities and politicians (and two former presidents) amongst his close friends.

Johnson had joined the company in 99’, and had clawed his way up the corporate ladder until he reached, what he thought, was a secure and, more importantly, a financially stable role. As head of quality control, he would be required to make sure that the products were safe to use before they went to manufacture, and if Johnson was honest with himself, the job was an easy one. Hardly anything ever came across Johnson’s desk that his team couldn’t deal with without him.

Or at least, that had been the case until Tilly.

Tilly was a new brand of doll for girls aged four to eight. It was hailed as the latest great revolution from the Randall toy company, and Johnson had to admit, the gimmick was a good one.  Each doll was essentially a micro PC, fitted with a small computer processor and hard drive in its innards, and tiny cameras inside its eyes. The idea was that the dolls would recognise gestures made by its owner, and remember certain things, and when appropriate, would respond with one of around five hundred pre-installed words or phrases. The public went Tilly crazy, and the Randell brand added a few more millions to its already swollen bank balance.

Within a week, local stores were sold out, within a month; you couldn’t find a Tilly anywhere in the country.  Desperate parents were paying up to six or seven thousand for a doll online in their desperation to deliver their children with the latest craze, and the media frenzy only served to push sales and prices even further.

The CEO of Randall, James Crockett, congratulated his staff for another big success, and Johnson, along with everyone else, was waiting for the expected fat bonus for another job well done.

But that all went out the window when he was called up to Crockett’s office earlier that day.

Crockett was a large man, always dressed in a suit that cost more than most of his employees made in a month. He had cruel eyes, and a thin handlebar mustache perched on top of a thin, pencil line mouth.

“
Get in here Johnson.” He said as he glared from behind his desk.

Johnson had complied, and for a moment, Crockett had only stared at him, and because Johnson had no idea why he was even there, he stared back.

“So Tom.” He started. “You want to tell me what the hell happened with these damn Tilly dolls?”

“
What about them?”

“
Returns, lots of them.”

“
Do we know why?”

“
Take your pick. They aren’t functioning properly, the software is faulty, it’s a god damn mess.”

Johnson nodded, but wasn’t initially concerned. Even with the greatest care, some products would slip through the gaps and be shipped faulty, and a small number of returns would be expected. He relaxed a little, and without waiting for an invite, sat opposite Crockett.

“It is to be expected sir, especially for a product like Tilly, where the construction is so complex.”

“
Then what the hell do I pay you for?” He said, narrowing his eyes “Aren’t you supposed to be head of quality control?”

“
Yes sir I am, and as I said, we would expect, even with the greatest care and attention to have a small number of returns, and assigned a two percent allowance in the budget to reflect that.”

Johnson was pleased with himself, and it seemed that he had, for the time being, silenced his overpowering boss. But Crockett's look of indifference became a sneer, and he slid a single sheet of paper across the desk.

“My math may not be that great.” Crockett said, as his sneer morphed into a smug grin. “But I would say that the number of returns equals more than a two percent margin.”

Johnson picked up the sheet of paper, and let his eyes take in the numbers as his brain crunched and processed them. As he read, he felt his heart rate increase.

“This can’t be right.” He said as he looked over the paper at Crockett.

“
Oh its right, I had the figures double checked.”

“
But this is…” He tried to work out the figure, and was almost there when Crockett said it for him.

“
Seventy three percent is the number you are trying to reach.”

Johnson looked at Crockett, and for a few seconds there was silence.

“That’s not possible.” Johnson said as he looked again at the paper clutched in his hands. “We were thorough, we always are.”

“
In this case, it seems you missed something big.”

“
Maybe it’s a bad batch of processors, or a faulty part affecting a small number of products.”

Crockett nodded, and Johnson was sure that this line of enquiry had already been considered.

“Well that sheet is just for Ridgefield. We were thinking the same thing, but now reports are coming in from all over the world of these damn dolls being returned in droves. This could cost us millions.”

“
What are the reasons given for their return?”

“
That’s the thing.” Crocket said with a sigh. “Nobody knows. Hell, some stores are getting forty or fifty back a day, some people aren’t even asking for refunds, they are just dumping the damn things.”

Johnson felt nauseous, and suspected that the blame, rightly or wrongly was about to land firmly at his feet.

“So how do we proceed with this?”

Crockett opened his desk drawer, and tossed a map towards Johnson.

“That’s one of our warehouses over in Oakwell. We are keeping all of the returns there, but the place is starting to look like some kind of damn doll graveyard.”

Johnson looked at the map, and then back to Crockett, sure of what was coming but hoping he was wrong.

“Might be an idea to send Davies over to take a look.” Johnson said, trying to keep casual. “He designed the processor chip in the Tilly range, so if anybody can find out what’s wrong it’s him.”

Crockett grinned again, and licked his thin lips.

“We sent him up there last week to try and find out what the hell is going on. This morning he calls me and resigns. No explanation, no notice, just tells me he’s done and hangs up the phone.”

“
But Davies has been with the company for years, he wouldn’t just quit for no reason.”

“
You would think not, but quit he did, which leaves us with a huge problem. The shareholders are on my ass to fix this before the press get a hold of the story and crucify us, and the power structure dictates that they give me shit, I delegate said shit out to my staff, which brings me to you.”

“
I could send some of my team out there, see if they can look into it.”

“
No.” Crockett said, shaking his head. “I want you to go personally.”

Johnson hesitated, trying to think of an excuse to get out of it.

“Okay, no problem. I can head up there next week and take a look.”

“
That’s not good enough Tom. I need you to go up there
tonight
and find out what the hell the problem is.”

“
Can’t this wait until after the weekend sir? I have plans tonight.”

“
Frankly, I don’t give a shit. Cancel them.”

“
I don’t see what the rush is here, give me a day or two and I’ll head up there and take a look, it’s almost a hundred miles to Oakwell. You can’t expect me to just drop everything and drive across the country.”

“
Eighty three miles, actually.” Crockett snapped. “But that’s beside the point. I don’t think you understand the gravity of this situation Tom, so I’m going to lay it out for you nice and clear.”

Crockett’s cheeks had flushed, and his lips were pursed together. He looked close to losing it, and so Johnson remained silent.

“What you need to know.” He started, pointing across the desk “Is that, until this problem — this major design flaw that you and your people apparently missed — is fixed, production is halted. Until it starts again, we are losing over a hundred and twenty grand per day in revenue, not to mention what we are paying out in wages for staff who are, as we speak sitting at home on their asses and waiting for the okay to get back to work. The way things are headed, we are going to be in the hole financially on this entire project before the end of the month. Now somebody has to be responsible, and so I suggest that you, as head of quality control, is to be that person.”

Crockett pointed a chubby finger at Johnson.

“So I’m giving you a choice. You can either go out there today and find out what’s going on with this damn product, or you can keep to the plans you have made, and first thing tomorrow start looking for a new job. Have I made myself clear enough?”

For a split second, Johnson had the urge to tell Crockett to shove his job up his arrogant ass, but he knew that it would be stupid, and although it would be satisfying in the short term, it was a bad idea. Instead, he nodded.

“Okay, I didn’t realise it was such a big deal. I’ll go and check it out and find out what’s going on over there.”

“
Good.” Crockett said with an arrogant smile. “I’m glad we understand each other.”

Johnson stood, picked up the map, and crossed the office.

“Oh Tom.” Crockett said. “If you don’t fix this problem, then I’m sorry to have to tell you that it could cost you your job.”

Crockett didn’t sound sorry. In fact, he was smiling, the arrogance rolling off him as he leaned back in his chair and relaxed.

Asshole.

“
Why me?” Johnson asked.

“
Because if we can’t fix it, somebody will have to take the fall.”

“
And I say again. Why me?”

Crockett didn’t answer; instead, he smiled and folded his hands on his desk, but the message was clear enough. It was how businesses like this worked. The top dogs never took the fall, it was always the little people down the chain, the ones who worked hardest that paid the penalty. Johnson realised that Crockett was staring at him, and that he in turn was still standing in the office.

“You better get going Tom, it’s a long drive. Call me as soon as you have some information.”

“
Absolutely sir. You can count on me.”

“
I hope so, because if not, we are screwed.”

Oakwel
l was one of those sleepy, one street towns with red brick buildings, and neat, tidy houses. The modern world had so far not slammed the town with corporate branding, and as he navigated down Main Street, Johnson thought that he could well have driven back to another era -Twilight Zone style- perhaps to the fifties or early sixties.