Remember Me (27 page)

I still wore my wedding ring. It would still be on my finger the day of my death. Mom’s gift had been nice, but after two days of the ring being on the necklace around my neck, I took it off and put it back on my finger. I had a cover story ready should I ever need to use it. I know my new persona, as paid for to the Chicago group, stated I had never married. I just couldn’t make myself take off my ring, not even for a second.

To do so seemed like I was giving up all hope. The real truth ran even deeper inside of me. By wearing my ring it solidi-fied me. It made me proud of whom I once had been and still believed I was. So like many of the ladies, my story would be simple. I wore it to keep the women from falling all over me.

I’m sure anyone I had the opportunity to share my alibi with, would look at me and laugh. I’d laugh right along with them. If it needed further conversation, I would get the most somber look I could. And if a tear should happen to fall, that would be okay. I would have dug deep into that very personal place in my soul where Amy still thrived. My answer to those who asked—I wear it as a testament to the one who got away…all S 200 S

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the way to heaven. I had no doubt that would end the discussion. What they wouldn’t know is how close to the truth it really was.

The day had turned warm and my suit was hot. I took off

the jacket and hung it on the hanger, securing it to the hook in the Blazer behind my seat. I opened the driver’s door and let the hot air inside the Blazer vent out for a few seconds. I laid the manila folder, with the faxed documents on the passenger’s seat. The baseball bat and duct tape were still behind the passenger’s seat, on the floor. Seeing them instantly raised my hackles. I just as quickly shut off my anger; it would do no good to have anything inside of me other than placating optimism.

As soon as the engine fired up, I set the air condition button to “max” and turned the fan to the highest setting, instantly, cold air wafted out of the vents. This was one of those past blessings, soon to be lost in the future, as regulations put an end to Freon. I took my time driving back to the house where Tom lived. Again and again I ran the upcoming encounter through my mind. I tossed and turned it every which direction. God help me if Amy was there, she might be my undoing. I turned north on to Lexington and parked directly across from Tom’s house. His Mustang was there in his driveway. I didn’t see any other cars parked close by, a good sign. I sighed and took several relaxing breaths. Before my nerves could cause me to turn tail and run, I opened the door and got out of the Blazer.

I opened the rear passenger door and took my suit coat off the hanger and slipped it on. I reached across the driver’s seat and scooped up the manila folder. Closing both doors, I turned in the direction of the house. I mentally had to will my feet to move forward. My heartbeat started to accelerate, and I could feel the perspiration dampening my new shirt under my arms and around the neck of my collar. “Hold on…you can do it,” I S 201 S

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silently said to myself. It came out more like a prayer.

I made my way up the sidewalk. I mounted the three steps to the front porch. A couple of the porch deck boards were spongy as I walked across them. I noticed just how much the house was in a dilapidated state. There was only a gaping hole where the button for the doorbell should have been. A screen door protected the old heavy wooden door to the inside of the house. There were no peepholes bored into the wood of the interior door. There was a window immediately to the left of the door as I faced it. The porch was nestled into the corner, part of an L-shape that formed the house. There were no other observation points other than this window. I beat loudly on the door before I could come up with a thousand excuses not to do so. I stepped as far towards the wall and away from the window as I could.

I didn’t have to worry—the drapes never fluttered, nor

did I see a face trying to peer out at me. Instead, the inside door forcibly swung open with a deafening creak, and I stood face-to-face with Tom. There was only a dirty metal screen between us. I smiled the biggest, brightest, I’m so happy to see you smile, I could muster. Tom returned my smile with a fierce stare. His brown eyes and hawk-like nose gave him the ominous look of a vulture. I’m sure it was only my personal opinion of him, but he could make you feel extremely uncomfortable by just looking at you.

This was one time in my life when I truly wished I was

twenty-five years younger. As men go, I was as average as average could be, especially for someone fifty years old. Even in my prime, I never had a body-builder’s physique. I had held my own in a few high-school scuffles I got into. Over the years, I even occasionally joined a gym to, “get back in shape.” The man on the other side of the door wasn’t anyone I would want to take on at any age. It wasn’t the well defined muscles of S 202 S

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his chest and arms that impeded my thoughts as much as it was his ego that earned my caution. Tom had one of those obsessive personalities. Amy shared with me how he relentlessly worked-out and had a self-dedicating need to stay fit. He carried a certain air of “Superman” about him. That kind of person was never far from stepping over the edge and into dangerous waters.

Tom’s brow furrowed slightly, and his eyes became more

intense, if it was possible for them to do so. “Aren’t you the jerk-wad from the bar?” he sarcastically threw out at me.

“Yep, that would be me,” I contritely responded, keeping the smile plastered on my face. “I have to apologize for my previous intrusion. I was hoping to get a minute to talk with you. And quite by coincidence, I might add, I came upon you at the tavern. I most certainly didn’t mean to interrupt your little soiree. You sure looked like you were in the middle of something very interesting,” I added, broadening my smile ever larger. Inside I was seething at my ruse, but I was determined to stay in character and play my part.

My comments must have had the right tone of contrition,

because Tom began to ever-so-slightly smile that knowing smile. “Definitely a good day,” he muttered. Still staying on the cautious side he asked, “Now, Mr.…”

“Warren, Peter Warren,” I interrupted.

“Ok, Mr. Warren. Just what the hell are you doing on my

front porch? And on a Sunday, no less!” Tom had regained his vulture-like stare and his voice now contained more than a mere hint of annoyance.

“Ah…the million dollar question,” I chuckled at him. “I’ll cut to the chase. To put it simply; I’m in the process of starting an electronics company, and I’m in need of a mechanical engineer.”

With my statement, I had completely caught Tom off-guard.

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His eyes narrowed and he shifted from one leg to the other. He lifted his right hand and brushed his hair back from his eyes.

With his left hand he reached behind and scratched the back of his neck. It was another one of his body language signs that Amy had informed me about. It was his deliberation gesture.

He was deciding what course of action he was going to take next. “I’ll bite, but your approach is completely out of the ordinary—so excuse me if I maintain my skepticism.”

“Not at all,” I replied. “I would be wondering the exact same thing if I was standing on the other side of the door.” My words had the desired effect; Tom raised his left hand to the door knob and released the latch. I stepped back as he swung the door open.

“You might as well come in; I’m in the mood for some

entertainment. The afternoon hasn’t been nearly as exciting as yesterday,” he said giving me that patented man-to-man wink.

I nodded and slid past him into the entryway of the home.

The floor was a dingy-yellow. It looked like it might have once been white linoleum. The pattern was marred by years of

scratches and stains. The interior had an obnoxious smell. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. It wasn’t pleasant at all. A hallway led back to what I assumed was the kitchen. Off to my right was the living room and to my left the stairs leading up to the second floor.

Tom let the door swing shut. He stated, “Let’s go into the kitchen, we can talk there.” He pointed down the hallway.

I followed him like an uncertain puppy, not knowing if I was going to be rewarded or punished. The kitchen was spot-less, which utterly surprised me. Amy had told me many times that Tom never did any of the routine housework the whole time they were married. He was a true chauvinist to the core.

A thought brushed the surface in my head, “Amy had done it.”

I could be wrong, but doubted it. My glance into the living S 204 S

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room as we had walked past told another story. It was a major wipeout and that was more than being polite.

Tom headed to the Formica table, pushed back against the wall and situated under the largest window. He sat in one of the two mismatched chairs. The one left for me had a gaping hole in the front where the padding was now missing. In the past, someone had tried a quick fix on it with Duct tape. I could see the sticky residue, to one side of the hole, where the Duct tape had once been. I pulled the chair out and away from the table. I sat down in it like it was the King’s own throne.

Two could play at this game. I just called his bluff and raised his bet.

It was hot in the kitchen, but I kept my suit coat on. Tom sat across from me. He had on a Rolling Stones tee shirt and a pair of jeans. His eyes said all I needed to know, “Cut to the chase!” He didn’t offer me anything to drink and I could tell I had just been put “on the meter.” I wouldn’t get the chance to add additional change to extend my time—it was now or never.

Tom didn’t like to waste any air so he started our conversation, “I’ll skip the initial idle chit-chat of asking you how you came to be here, or at the bar, or why you came to the conclusion that I would even be slightly interested in what you have to say. I already have a great job lined-up after graduation. So in my book that makes you a day late and a dollar short.”

Now it was my turn, “Did they offer you a hundred—

thousand dollar signing bonus, complete discretion over

product manufacturing design, and a five percent stockholder’s position?”

Tom never batted an eye. He also didn’t respond either. I waited to see if his hand would search out the back of his neck.

It didn’t. It made me wonder if I had played my cards wrong.

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to the intensity of his gaze with a cocky determination of my own. I laid the manila folder, I was holding in my hand, on top of the table. Opening it, I pulled out one of the faxed sheets of paper. My eyes never left his face while I extracted the fax sheet. “I have to apologize for the print quality. I made this decision yesterday and needed my corporate lawyer to fax me the necessary documentation.”

Tom’s eyes averted to the paper on the table. He still

hadn’t said a word or moved a muscle. If I could have put his mind under a microscope, I’m sure I would have seen the car-toon version of wheels and gears turning in synchronization.

Inwardly, I began to relax. I let that salesman within me begin to flow with the tide. “Before we even begin to discuss anything else, I’ll need you to sign this confidentiality form. I will still only talk to you about generalities today, but even in what I have to share, there is much that needs to be protected from infringement.”

Tom’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. I had sufficiently hooked him as he bit at the bait. Now all I needed to do was to reel him in. “I will tell you this much. I have the technology today that once patented and put into production will make the big boys envious!” I have the capital in place, but no production capabilities—as of yet. I need an innovative thinker and someone who stands to gain a lot by working with me. In other words, someone who is hungry and realizes what they can attain by coming on-board. I believe it best to hire a newcomer rather than an established individual who may find a way to steal my original concepts for their own benefit.”

Tom finally decided to join the conversation, “Why me?”

“Why not you?” I threw right back at him. “I’ve done my

research and asked around. Dr. Thurington is also a member of my team of consultants.” I instantly felt anger at myself for revealing this pertinent fact. Hoping that it might slide by S 206 S

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Tom, I kept going. “Iowa State is known for its prestigious Engineering program. I’m also a Midwesterner. I want to setup shop in Des Moines, if possible. I know that my ultimate success could hinge on the quality of the man I choose to hire.

That person is going to be in charge of the production phase and setting up the mechanical processing of my product. If he fails—then so might I.”

Tom shifted back in his chair and let his legs slide forward.

It was a power move on his part. Next, he crossed his left leg over his right leg with the ankle resting on his right knee.

He let his body sink down into the chair, presenting a relaxed posture to me. When he had taken his time and let the silence hang sufficiently in the air, he asked, “What type of salary and benefits are we talking about?”

I smiled. Tom was always going to be about the money and his ability to gain power. I wasn’t a fool either. I saw the mutual benefit that he would bring to the table. He would keep Amy close, and my company would prosper under his efforts.

All I had to do was keep him hungry and in check. That was going to be no small task. “Your choice,” I responded. “You can have the big salary, or we can negotiate a bonus structure based on the profits realized by the company. As a five percent stockholder, you would already have entitlement to dividend distributions, if and when they are paid.”

“Will I have the opportunity to choose after learning about the technology you claim to have?”

Tom was always the player looking for more. I answered,