The Consultant (16 page)

Regus Patoff
, he thought, and the idea sent a chill down his spine.  

Elaine had said after the weekend meeting with Scott that she was sending out résumés, and for the first time he seriously considered whether he should do the same.  

It was nearly lunchtime, and while the others remained behind to discuss what had happened, Craig accompanied Jenny and Alex to the kitchen, where Robard’s wife was waiting for them. “Make da sandwiches,” she said in an appallingly offensive yet indefinable accent and cackled to herself.  

The sandwiches were as bad as Craig knew they’d be, and, as planned, he ate chips instead. Around him, employees were complaining about the food and leaving most of their lunch on the plate. The dog hunt was the primary topic of conversation, but Robards was not there to hear it, having grabbed a sandwich from the kitchen and taken off to…what? Bury the dog’s body? Stuff it?  

He didn’t know and didn’t want to know.  

Even as he, Phil, Elaine and the other division heads around them discussed and relived their horrible experience in the woods, Craig kept one eye on Austin Matthews. The CEO spoke to no one and actually ate his entire lunch, wearing an unhappy expression all the while. It was probably too much to hope that he would fire the consultants, cancel their contract or do whatever it was he needed to do to get rid of them, but the man’s dour demeanor, and his question and response during last evening’s game, gave Craig hope.  

The scavenger hunt was poorly planned and amateurish. They were expected to find everything on the list each of them were handed, but the items were all generic objects easily rounded up in an environment such as this: five pinecones, a piece of granite, two twigs, a wildflower. It reminded him of Dylan’s treasure hunt, only not as fun, and thinking about his son made him realize what a complete waste of time this weekend had turned out to be and how much he would have rather been at home.  

Nearly everyone finished quickly, and when they were done, a distracted Matthews handed each of them a pencil and lined notebook paper on which they were to write a story that mentioned the objects they’d gathered. Craig’s was a horror story about a science camp that turns into a prison run by a torturing psychopath.  

He had long since turned in his story and was outside next to the stage, talking with Phil, Elaine and Alex Mendoza. They were discussing getting a group of senior staff together to complain to Matthews and the Board not only about the retreat but about BFG in general, when Group One returned to the camp, Robards carry 

ing a heavy burlap sack over his shoulder.  

Another dog?  

The expressions on the faces of those behind the guide told him that it was, and Craig turned away, sickened, but not before seeing a dark stain on the bottom of the sack.  

Blood.  

There were no houses nearby, no sign of civilization out this way save for the camp. So how did the dogs get out here? He was suddenly certain that the animals had been kidnapped by Robards and brought up to the mountains specifically to be hunted. Somewhere in a Southern California neighborhood, children were looking for their missing pets.  

Once again, Robards was whistling happily, and he nodded in greeting as he passed by.  

“We’ve gotta do something,” Alex said.  

Phil smiled thinly. “Mayday, mayday. Company going down.”  

Robards took his sack somewhere and reemerged ten minutes later washed and wearing new clothes. He gathered everyone from both groups into a standing circle around the fire pit and said they were going to work on their communication skills. He whispered something to Scott Cho, and told him to whisper it in the ear of the person to his right, who would then whisper it into the ear of the person to
his
right, until the message had gone all the way around the circle, at which time it would be spoken aloud to see how close it was to the original.  

Really
? Craig thought. This grammar school party game was their communication exercise?  

He stood there, shaking his head at the uselessness of the activity, until Alex said something in Phil’s ear and Phil, grinning, leaned over. “I have a big dick,” Phil whispered.  

“Asshole,” Craig whispered back and turned to his right. He had no idea what the real message was, but he knew it was nothing close to this. Phil was just fucking with him.  

He turned to Elaine. “The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog,” he whispered, and she passed the message on.  

It finally came full circle, and Jack Razon, the last link in the ring, was urged by Robards to speak the message aloud. “The quick brown fox jumped over the lady dog,” he said, and Robards grinned. “See what happens when we don’t listen? What I originally said was, ‘I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream.’ Twenty-two retells later, it’s changed into ‘The quick brown fox jumped over the lady dog.’”  

Phil was still chuckling to himself.  

“We’re going to do it again, this time from the opposite direction, and I want all of you to listen carefully and repeat what you hear exactly. Let’s see if we can get this right.”  

The new message came around, and Elaine whispered in his ear, “Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of their country.”  

Craig passed along to Phil, “Your mama gives one hell of a B.J.”  

As if he’d said nothing out of the ordinary, Phil nodded and turned his head to the left. Moments later, Scott Cho said loudly, at Robards’ prompting, “Your mama gives one hell of a B.J.”  

There were snickers among the employees, as well as expressions of shocked outrage. Phil was staring calmly straight ahead when Craig turned to look at him.  

Robards was furious. “How did that happen?” he demanded. “Who changed it to that?” He looked around the circle and when no one responded, he said, “Fine. We’re going to keep doing this until you get it right. You are going to learn how important communication is in business and in life, and you will stay here as long as it takes you to figure that out. Do I make myself clear?”  

Elaine nudged him with her elbow. “I know it’s you two,” she said under her breath. “Knock it off or we’ll be here for hours.”  

Craig kicked Phil’s shoe in turn, and though there was no outward reaction from his friend, this time the exercise proceeded smoothly and the message repeated at the end was identical to the one spoken at the beginning.  

“Good,” Robards said. “Now we’ll do it again.”  

It was late afternoon by the time they finished, and they were given two hours of free time before dinner. Elaine went back to the cabin, but Craig and Phil headed over to the lodge, where Phil sorted through the records until he found one that he wanted to play: an album called
Caravanserai
by Santana. Craig had been hoping to talk to Matthews about the consultants, but the CEO was on dinner duty and was working in the kitchen. Phil sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the record player, listening to the music, and Craig looked around for someone he could talk to about the dog hunt, thinking he could recruit some brave souls to his side. No one wanted to discuss it, however, and he ended up sitting glumly on the couch flipping through a decade-old
Time
magazine.  

Phil put on a new album, something Craig didn’t recognize, and came over, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “I don’t think it’s legal to kill someone’s pet. And that dog definitely had a collar.”  

“Yes!” Craig said. “That’s what I’m talking about.”  

“We could probably report this to the cops or something.”  

The conversations nearby had stopped, the department and division heads who had wanted nothing to do with any talk of the hunt, now listening carefully. Before Craig could bring them into the discussion, Robards appeared in the entrance to the dining room. “Dinner is served!” he announced loudly.  

Reluctantly, Craig stood up from the couch. Phil went over to turn off the record player, and everyone made their way into the dining room. The lights seemed dimmer than they had yesterday, and Craig wondered if the generator was going.  

They sat down on the benches, and Garrett Holcomb, the head of Phil’s department, brought plates of food to their aisle. Even in his peripheral vision, Craig could see the wide grin on Phil’s face as the department head served him. “Uh, Garrett,” he said, “can I get some coffee to go with this?”  

“I’m not in charge of drinks,” Holcomb informed him.  

Phil leaned over. “It’s so hard to find good help,” he told Craig.  

The food on the plate was supremely unappetizing. Soggy string beans sat between an overcooked biscuit and a chunk of deep fried meat approximately as big as a hamburger. Craig took a bite of the meat, which was chewy, tasteless and almost impossible to get down.  

“What are we eating?” he asked suspiciously.  

Robards, nearby, overheard and answered the question. “You should know. You hunted it today.”  

There was a clatter of silverware as shocked diners dropped their forks on the table. Matthews and Jack Razon, who, along with Robards’ wife, had been responsible for making the meal, had made no attempt to eat the food, and neither of them looked up, both staring guiltily down at their plates.  

Had
they
butchered the animals? Craig wondered. Or had they merely watched while
Edna
did it?  

He stared out the window. This retreat had turned violent and ugly. There were no skills they had learned here, they hadn’t grown closer, and there was nothing any of them would take away from the experience that they would ever use in their jobs or in their real lives. Not for the first time, he wondered about the
real
reason BFG had sent CompWare’s senior staff into the mountains. It was obviously a pretext for something—but what?  

They would find out when they returned, he assumed, but he did not think it was information he was going to be happy to learn.  

There was a talent show scheduled after dinner. Each person was supposed to get up and do some sort of act: recite a poem, sing a song, tell a story. But no one was in the mood, and it was Matthews who got them out of it, saying, “I think we’ll skip the talent show tonight.” Craig was grateful, and once again he was hoping to have an opportunity to talk to the CEO about this whole bizarre weekend, but Matthews announced, “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning,” and headed off toward his cabin. He sounded tired.  

Somewhere nearby, a dog howled, a lonely sound that made Craig think of an animal that had lost its mate.  

Craig and Phil were the last two remaining, everyone else going into their cabins for the night. “Parvesh is going to be impossible to live with now,” Phil said. “I dread going in there.”  

“We’re heading home tomorrow.”  

“Thank God.”  

“I wonder if Matthews is going to rethink the consultants after this,” Craig said.  

“I wonder if he’ll be allowed to.”  

“You noticed that, too, huh?”  

Phil nodded. “It’s like, after the merger fell through, he panicked and handed over all power of decision to BFG. Maybe he regrets it now, but I’m not sure what he can do about it at this point. CompWare’s probably locked in by contract, and if we hope to stay alive in the shark-infested waters of Wall Street, we’d better not show any weakness.”  

“You sound like Matthews.”  

“I’m just taking it from his point of view.”  

Craig smiled wryly. “And on that dispiriting note…” With a lazy wave, he started toward his cabin, leaving Phil to decide whether to hang by himself for a while or go back in with Parvesh.  

“Bastard,” Phil muttered.  

“Sorry,” Craig said. “I’m tired.” And he was. It had been a long fucking day, not one that he wanted to remember but one he knew he wouldn’t forget. He knocked on the door of the cabin to make sure Elaine was decent. “Elaine?” he called. He heard no response, and used his key to unlock the door.  

The room was dark and empty, but the bathroom door was closed, a sliver of yellow light outlining the edge of the frame. She was obviously in there, and immediately after he’d stepped into the cabin, she called out, “Craig? Is that you? I forgot my underwear and pajamas.” She opened the door a crack and held out her hand. “Could you hand them to me?”  

He closed and locked the front door behind him, turning on the battery-powered light. He couldn’t pretend to be asleep; she’d heard him come in. And now she’d seen the light go on. Besides, he didn’t want her to come out naked or partially wrapped in a towel in order to get her clothes. So he said, “Okay. Hold on.” He looked around, frowned. “I don’t see them. They’re not on the bed.”  

“Just open up my suitcase. They should be on top.”  

They weren’t on top. What
was
lying on the carefully folded clothes was a bright red vibrator in the shape of an erect penis. Embarrassed, he moved it aside, picked up the folded pajama top and bottom, then grabbed a pair of lacy silk panties. The panties, he saw instantly, were crotchless.  

Moving the vibrator back into place, he closed the suitcase, making no mention of any of this as he handed her the bundle of clothes and said, “Here you go.”  

“Thanks,” she told him, closing the door.  

As soon as she saw the underwear he’d given her, she would know that
he
knew they were crotchless. She already had to know that he’d seen her vibrator. Had she
wanted
him to see it? He wasn’t sure. But he didn’t want to deal with any of this, and for the second night in a row, he quickly changed into his pajamas, turned off the light, got into bed and closed his eyes, facing the wall, pretending to be asleep.  

“Craig?” she whispered when she came out of the bathroom. “Are you awake? Craig?”  

He didn’t answer, didn’t move, kept his breathing believably even, and, eventually, he drifted off.  

He awoke shortly after midnight, prompted into consciousness by an exterior noise that broke through the artificial world of his dreams. He opened his eyes, staring upward into the darkness, hearing a shuffling in the gravelly dirt outside the cabin. Though the window next to his bed was closed, the silence was so all-encompassing that, even through glass, the smallest noise seemed amplified.