My brother Jason had been in the intelligence community. He never could tell me exactly what he did, but he described himself as a spook. He told me it is vital to have a backup plan to your backup plan. So, I gathered the paper drafts while copying the files from my computer to a thumb drive. I carefully placed the file folders in my briefcase while watching the door.
Jason had said, “Always have your eyes on your exits.” I kept mine on the door and did as much as possible without looking down. Each time I looked down, I made sure no more than two seconds passed before I looked back to my office door.
As I grabbed my things, I filled out a FedEx envelope and placed it in Grace Mcbain’s outbound box after checking to ensure no one saw me. Grace had been the lucky winner of the Ancoli lottery, the annual drawing that ensured one fortunate soul the freedom to go on an all-expense-paid trip and miss the chaos of the presentation period. Technically, it’s called presentation day, but invariably, meetings and revisions get spread throughout the week.
I turned toward Ashley’s cubicle. I need to get her out as well. Whatever danger I face will affect her as well, and I cannot let that be the case. As I monitor the exits, I notice “Niles.” Is it Niles? Somehow, that name still doesn’t seem right. The image of “Niles” out of the corner of my eye sent my heart racing. I was so distracted I missed the hard-charging Tricia.
Fresh off of ignoring her a few minutes earlier, I would undoubtedly receive one of her unhinged conversations in which she expresses her entitlement to male attention. Although she is physically attractive, her personality and provocative manner were huge turn-offs.
Having nearly run into Tricia, we were much closer physically than I would have liked. I turned my head slightly and noticed the Silent Man Niles turning this way. I pulled Tricia into Ashley’s cubicle, obscuring us from his view, and kissed her with as much fake passion as I could possibly muster.
Once we separated from this disgusting embrace, I looked up to see Ash looking at us, stunned. She was too distant and too shocked for me to explain, much less get her to leave with me. I was forced to run off and exit via the stairs at the back of the cubicle farm.
I imagine Tricia walking past her triumphantly as though she had just won a prize. If only she knew how much I long to wash my mouth out with soap, peroxide, and bleach to get the stink of Tricia off of me. Yes, I said bleach. I know it’s not a real thing I could do, but that won’t keep me from wanting to.
I hurry down the stairs; as I pass the 65th floor, I notice Chatty Jimmy. Why is he on 65? And why does he have no limp? So, I need to note that “Niles” and Chatty Jimmy are not what they seem to be. I have to assume they are a part of the danger Jason warned me about. I really need to remember Niles’ name. And Jimmy, what was his last name? I’m not sure he ever gave it, but he prattles on so much I often ignore him.
I exit the stairs on the 63rd floor and head to the elevator. As I wait for the elevator doors to open, left with my thoughts, I am forced to wonder in my heightened state of paranoia who is looking for me. It could be anyone. I need to obscure my face so I am not immediately identified and then get off the grid. I reach into my briefcase and uncover a paper entitled: “Deducting unconventional expenses utilizing the McCain-Boehner exception. “Never in the history of the world has anyone been so engrossed in such a dry read as I was through that whole agonizing elevator ride.
Finally free of the Library tower, I head for Patrick James to buy a change of clothes. As I enter, I quickly grab some casual clothes to transform from a partner at an accounting firm to a beach bum—albeit a more sophisticated beach bum—but I need to get out of these clothes.
It was then that I came to two important realizations. 1: I need to ditch my tailored suit, and 2: I cannot pay for the clothes with my credit cards. Undoubtedly, the seedy characters looking for me will begin unraveling my life and trying to figure out my next move.
I rush into the dressing room and change into a pair of denim shorts, a T-shirt, and a hoodie. I stuffed my suit into an overnight bag and grabbed a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses. I retrieve $1000 from my wallet and hand all of the tags from my haul to the sales associate. “Please keep the change, and here is another $500. Please forget you saw me.” I ask him as I walk away.
I walk past several large green dumpsters. I ditch the suit, shirt, cuff links, shoes, briefcase and tie. I hope that the life I’ve built isn’t equally trashed, especially my relationship with Ash. God, I love that woman, I think to myself, clutching the box from Harry Winston.
The Collected Works of D. Alex Rhue 