Chapter 2
She assumed comical
pyramid shareware filled with amusing stories and jokes would follow. Rushed
for time, she typed back: Who is this, I can’t wait to share (Your Momma is so
Fat jokes)?
The mouse clicked send,
and off went her respond into cyberspace.
With her planner open,
Rosemary glanced through the day’s agenda and started to prepare each
coworker’s assignments. Her PC sounded the electronic message signal as she
inked in everyone’s lunch hour. The screen posted, Failure Notice. When opened,
she read further, I am sorry, but I tried sending your message without success.
I am giving up. This user has no such mailbox address. Please check and
correct, then resend. How strange, she thought, I didn’t type the return
address, just clicked reply. The e-mail code confirmed both matched to the
exact source, #7@japgar.com.
“No matter,” she said
to herself; she knew better than to let humorous e-mails invade her office
computer.
_____________________________
Corrections Officer Lester Anthony, at the Ash Lyn City Jail,
slouched and stewed at the PC message titled, URGENT, OPEN IMMEDIATELY. He
returned a list choked with gutter mouth four-letter word promises as he
muttered, “I’ll show this punk what ‘DO AS I SAY’ means.” Satisfied with his
point, he clicked send and watched the screen deliver his counter offer.
Even though the morning
cried 8:20 a.m., he opened a new can of Coke and gulped as he neared the trash
bucket to empty a few half-filled cans warmed to room temperature. With the
older drinks tossed, he said aloud, “Gee, what a waste of taxpayers’ money.
Maybe on my patrol, I’ll find a more proper use of the people’s dollar. What
harm is there in making criminals’ lives hell? I imagine taxpayers will see me
as an idol.”
Lester freed the
clipboard off the peg and glanced through the inmates’ most recent offenses
from yesterday. Not a day goes by, he brooded, a dozen or more of these creeps
need lessons on how to show some respect, and oh, how I love to teach. After
his checklist had identified the guilty, he placed the report sheets in
cellblock order nearest to farthest from his workspace.
As he took his time to
finish off the Coke, the officer’s PC tone signal announced e-mail. A swing of
the chair to face the computer, he clicked the new arrival and read, I am
sorry, but I tried sending your message without success. I am giving up. This
user has no such mailbox address. Please check and correct, then resend.
He yelled at the
monitor, “Resend? I typed all those promises, and I get back resend? What an
ass. Who the hell does that guy think he is? If I ever find out, he’s
history.”
______________________________
David Chapman, Ash Lyn City mayor, showed little interest or
concern amidst the Ways and Means Committee meeting. Included for the first
time, a few appointed managerial staff from each city department requested
their presence to help voice their fears. News media publicized the matter,
making the Downtown Nemperor Hotel’s Grand Ballroom top choice as host.
Tables sized three by
seven feet butted together via skirt-decorated linen had been constructed,
supporting coffee or tea dispensers and free bottled water courtesy of the
hotel. These tables enclosed the rows of chairs like a frame so every seat
became easy access to the taker’s beverage. All welcomed the donated liquids
since the City Purchasing Department required the largest hall, and it was
mandatory to pay the room’s standard rental fees.
Earlier, the
round-robin proceeded smoothly. Most every city concern the committee held in a
grievance last quarter, managerial staff took ownership of each and provided
ingenious strategies that power-housed the panel to silent approval without
objection or debate. The committee then voted they move to the next issue.
Local reporters and
out-of-town media, including Heath Wilson, straightened their backs, honed in,
and faced the battle reporters came to cover. Just the topic necessary to give
Heath his second wind. All the same, who doesn’t nod off between meetings hours
after jet lag?
Mr. Chairman spoke with
authority. “The floor recognizes Madame
Cynthia Powell, City Administration Services Director.”
“Thank you, Mr.
Chairman,” said Cynthia. “To make this difficult topic a little easier to
unveil and address, I have grouped by responsibility the entire collection of
offensive feedback each department received. And with the approval of all
appointed staff managers invited here today, I will present their concerns in a
generalized outline.”
“Acceptable, Madame
Powell, however, this committee may wish to address other managers assigned to
troubleshoot and hear their take on the challenging matter.”
“May it please the
committee, no one will refuse to take the seat I now secure and welcome your
questions.”
“Thank you, Madame
Powell, you control the floor.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chairman. I wish to say this
outline is not arranged by most important to least because all divisions and
subdivisions share equal value. If one suffers, we all suffer; if one succeeds,
let the others follow their pattern of workmanship, and all succeed.” She
lifted high above her a King James Bible. “From the New Testament, the Apostle
Paul wrote: ‘We are all part of one body. If the whole body were an eye where
would be the sense of hearing? If the whole body were an ear where would be the
sense of smell? And the eye cannot say to the hand I have no need of you, or
again the head say to the foot, I have no need of you. So, in a related manner,
we city workers, too, are one body with many parts fashioned together all for
the purpose that Ash Lyn will thrive and grow. That said, I will start with my
own division.”
Her aide illuminated
the PowerPoint presentation, and Cynthia plowed in. “Many elected officials
have received threats of invaded homes with physical harm to family members. Yes,
we beefed up patrol in their neighborhoods, but as we all know, this alone
provides little assurance. Neighborhood Watch programs will deliver new hate
crime guidelines within 72 hours.”
A series of slides
depicting a deranged man shooting a lawyer dodging bullets popped on the
overhead screen. “The City Attorney’s Office has received payback threats for
incarcerated loved ones, yet no names surfaced nor signatures connected to
these threats ever appear. A cowardly sign, and yet, a buddy system for
attorneys, correction officers, court personnel, and independent contractors
who service the court, jail, and prison has our consideration as a safety
measure response.”
Another slide emerged of
men pouring tar and filling potholes. “Our Public Works Department Road
Maintenance has an extensive list of road-rage threats toward repair crews plus
possible damage to our major streets via explosives. Strategic surveillance
cameras mounted along our busy avenues, and new portable cameras on order,
should be able to document any misgivings that hinder our dedicated highway
workers.”
A new slide appeared of
cups and plates soaking inside a kitchen sink. “The Environmental Utilities
Department has received many threats to contaminate particles within our water
and sewer treatment. We can also confirm our Parks and Recreation Department
received this exact threat to all public pools. Even the Department of Animal
Control received many warnings about baby alligators tossed into public toilets
then flushed. This breach will produce long-term civic safety risks as the
creatures grow in size and in numbers.”
Mayor Chapman stood,
his voice raised. “Enough.”
The Chairman craned his
neck with a twist as his face distorted into a scowl aimed at the disruptive
agitator and banged his gavel for order. “Madame Powell has the floor, Mr.
Mayor. You will take your seat or be escorted out.”
The forceful mayor
continued, “Request to speak, Madame Powell.”
Cynthia, unsure of any
consequences, replied, “I yield to our Mr. Mayor.”
“Thank you, Madame
Powell; thank you, Mr. Chairman. I offer my apologies to the whole room.” He
approached one from many wireless microphones. “Madame Powell, just what are
these terrorists’ demands?”
Cynthia took a breath.
“We don’t know. Not a single ultimatum or command has appeared within the text
on any duress written messages.”
The mayor invited Peter
Brown, Ash Lyn’s police chief, to stand alongside him. Heath set pen to
scribble pad and noted the mayor’s character¬––pushing thirty, fit and trim, a
pillar of strength with heroic qualities, but looks approachable and agreeable
to listen to.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,”
the mayor said, “as your leader, I will do all within my executive power to
squash this abrasive movement that has brought you unmanageable anxiety. The
resignation letters I’ve accumulated from your own coworkers stagger the mind.
For the time being, I refuse to accept every call for dismissal of duty. A sad
day erupts if civil war among city official and resident comes to fruition.” He
placed his hand on the man next to him. “Chief Brown has assessed each
department’s many fears. Yes, his findings disturb us. However, if it’s a war
they want, then it’s a war they get. Our police will not, I repeat, will
not––fight alone. My efforts for a call to arms has secured Special Weapons and
Tactics and unlimited access to agents from Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms;
plus, as of this morning, we have also placed the Eleventh Coast Guard District
on special alert, if required. Their determined involvement will advance by the
acts of the residents.”
Heath cast his wavering
eyes across the room to gauge the crowds’ facial reaction and increased his
hand written speed thanks to the adrenaline boost from the public speaker’s
caution.
“I am sickened,”
carried on the politician, “by the terms of speech that verbalize a
them-against-us attitude. We both are residents, we both are neighbors, we both
are Americans, and we both will inflict pain. The police chief and I wish to
make this final point damn clear, so you reporters listen in close. Any person
apprehended in whichever compromised position, matched or linked to the many
threats our employees succumb to, shall inherit charges with all threat
allegations acknowledged by Chief Brown. Such person or persons will stand
trial and be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Police Chief Brown
documented 17 different threats. 17 counts, all felonies, my friends, is
equivalent to a long-drawn prison sentence.”
A low murmur slithered
into the air then died at the chairman’s insistent gavel thump.
Silence restored, the
mayor continued, “Today, Madame Powell offered solid sound wisdom from the Good
Book. Therefore, I too, offer its wisdom plus its promise. I quote Numbers
chapter 32, verse 23b: You can be sure; your sin will find you out. You media
members can take my word as a campaign promise accomplished. Now I must return
to my office, but I’m confident our determination for liberty will overthrow
any aggressor. I yield the floor back to Madame Powell.”
Heath watched as the
mayor hurried past many attendees who supported him with pats on his back as
others applauded the man to the exit.
Before the giant hall
grew quiet, the gavel once again pounded the desk. “Order,” said the chairman.
“Please take your seats and give us order. You may continue, Madame
Powell.”
______________________________
A lost cause atmosphere hung throughout City Hall. Workers no
longer desired to excel or pride themselves to place their best foot forward.
Even humorous, lighthearted gabs around the water cooler stopped. The brass
hats tried to relieve tension and bring back hope, but employees failed to
initiate drive for advancement, heaved into a trapped lethargic day-to-day
routine pushing endless papers from one pile to the next.
Patricia Clapton, the
mayor’s secretary, once again typed into the city’s payroll procedure form that
a senior civil worker surrendered an ill-timed, unanticipated demise. Her blue
puppy dog eyes and habit to test the strength of her right index fingernail
with teeth caused many a male coworker to drift into mischievous fantasies.
However, the crème de la crème pièce de résistance surpassed not just her
highlighted blonde hair with bangs, but the cute way her nose crinkled every
time she asked a question.
“What’s up, Pattie?”
asked Eppy from the mailroom. He plopped a rubber-banded cluster filled with
letters on her desk.
“Oh, hi, Eppy,” she
said in a dark, dismal sigh.
“That’s it? Oh, hi,
Eppy is all you can say? Sheez, so I’m not the knight in shining armor sent to
rescue you from this dreaded despondent tower, but I’m also not the evil beast
dragging you to the decrepit torture chamber.”
“I’m sorry, Eppy; for
sure you’re still the sweet and considerate guy I appreciate. I was just
thinking how death causes more pain to friends and loved ones than to the one
dying.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know, probably
because of this form letter addressed to our Finance Department. Another
librarian passed away.”
“You don’t say. This
librarian was your friend?”
“No. I never met the
woman, but I realize how awful I would feel if my mom or dad suddenly passed.”
He lifted her chin to
support eye-to-eye contact. “Hey, girl, think how marvelous it is that it
wasn’t your parents, and feel bad for the librarian’s children.”
“This woman had no
children, not even a husband. Our records showed her next of kin points to a
90-plus-year-old aunt somewhere along Scotland’s western coastline who suffers
from Alzheimer’s.” Her busy, typing fingers paused. “So, Eppy, which of the two
do you think suffers more pain, the librarian or the 90-plus-year-old aunt?”
“If I had to guess, I’d
say neither.”
“Huh?”
“If the aunt has no
memory and no recall with family, and thus of love, joy, peace, sorrow, hope,
or need, then how can pain, unless it’s physical pain, intrude? And with the
librarian, how can emotional pain of being alone trouble her while dying?
Physical pain, if any, could inflict her at fading, but once she’s gone, so
goes the pain. They both, in a way, get off scot-free. The ones who suffer more
are those who miss each loved one in remembrance or guilt.”
“I see what you mean.
That makes perfect sense.” Pattie gestured for him to take a seat. “Want to
hear something weird? This marks the third librarian loss in as many months and
doesn’t include the library director who committed suicide. Three librarians,
all never married, all without family, all more than 60, and all lifeless by
heart attack. Freaky, don’t ya think? Like it’s some conspirator’s vendetta
against librarians.”
Eppy rolled his eyes.
“Yes, a conspirator traumatized as a young boy, somewhere in the rustic black
mountain back wood hills of South Dakota, by a cranky old maid librarian. So,
for that reason, he hates to read, and as a result, theorizes he’ll give us all
a favor by ridding librarians from the world. Old people die, Pattie. Heart
attacks happen to them more than not, and above all, those with no family.”
“Why, Eppy?”
“I don’t know, maybe
because they don’t eat right, or no one tells them they should see a
doctor.”
Unexpectedly, Mr.
Chapman arrived, and Pattie offered her usual warm welcome. However, the mayor
darted past her desk with a gruff, “Hello, kids,” as he hoofed straight into
his office and closed the door.
“I hate it when he
calls us kids,” said Eppy. “He’s no more than 10 years our senior.”
“If the law says what I
gather it says, I became an adult two-and-a- half years ago.”
“Right on, fair
maiden.”
“Eppy, your mail route
visit is my favorite part of the work day, but while Mr. Chapman sits in, I
better open and sort this bundle.”
“I understand, Blue
Eyes; I couldn’t live with myself if Grumpy gets upset at you because of me.
See ya tomorrow.”
___________________________
Lester escorted a shackled jailbird to, as some called it, the
Water Hole. Paraded while chained brought fun for Les, who was certain it
caused more than half the fear to wax on the offender’s mind. He never tired of
forcing the men to pace his near impossible stride or to use the stun gun with
his target practice promise on a foot-dragger. “Where to, Officer Anthony,”
said the prisoner.
“Schoolhouse.”
“Schoolhouse? What’s
that all about?”
“At the Schoolhouse, we
teach you how to behave.”
“Yeah, you got a
problem then, cause I don’t read so good.”
“I don’t have problems
at the Schoolhouse.”
“Why, you always bring
an apple to some sweet, sassy, hot mama teacher?”
“I’m the teacher.”
“Well, why don’t you
bring in lady teachers and make school time, playtime?”
Lester yanked the
wrongdoer to an abrupt stop and turned him face-to-face. “You want lady
teachers?”
“You know I do, dumb
ass.”
“No problem, now turn
around and walk.” As they both picked up the pace, Lester triggered his two-way
radio. “Anthony to Central”
“Go ahead, Anthony.”
“Request Officers
Brambell, Rossington, and Junkin meet me at the Schoolhouse.”
“Ten-Four.”
“Ready to learn your
prison school ABCs, tough man? Let me give you a simple what to expect from
your three lady teachers and me. Subject A requires a painful, yet tolerable
for a real man, strip search.”
“Now wait, Officer
Anthony, I played ya a snow job. I ain’t gonna give ya no trouble.”
“Subject B requires the
essential power wash.”
“Please, boss, you
don’t gots to do this. I’ll do right from now on; I don’t want them lady
officers, okay?”
“Negative, I need them
to assist with your lessons, and the power wash.”
“What’s a power wash?”
he asked wide-eyed.
“A four-way hose down
on your body. Don’t worry too much; we don’t use fire hoses, but we also don’t
use fancy massage showerheads either. Subject B will hurt some. And last,
Subject C requires the most difficult course to pass.” Again, Lester yanked the
restraints and forced the prisoner to turn. Nose-to-nose, Lester continued,
“While still dripping from your power wash, you squat with nothing to keep your
balance but your toes. Then you must hold your arms straight out from your
right and left shoulder unbent and palms up. If any arm lowers or bends, your
right palm shall get a severe blow from this club. If the ball of either foot
touches the floor, or you lose your balance and your toes no longer provide the
sole source of your equilibrium, your left palm shall receive like punishment.”
Desperate to tender one
last plea, the man begged, “Anything I can do boss, please tell me.”
“You can tell us when
you’re balanced. Then we clock you at five minutes, but don’t sweat it, man;
nobody gets it right the first time.”
_____________________________________
“I don’t know the answer,” confessed Madame Powell. “May I refer
you to the city’s I.T. Supervisor, Mr. Gretsch?”
The chairman called for
Mr. Gretsch to come up front. “State your name, please.”
“Fredrick Gretsch.”
“Thank you, Mr.
Gretsch, we appreciate your attendance. For the continuity of the minutes, will
you, Mr. Hessy, please restate your question addressed to Mr. Gretsch?”
“Glad to, Mr. Chairman.
My question is this––why in this age of electronic development and its advanced
stages of trace and locate, don’t we insist senders fill in ID requirements
before they launch messages to our city departments?”
“Mr. Hessy, this
question has risen in my personal sessions with I.T. managers seeking defense.
Each Ash Lyn website functions for the community’s hand-carry simplicity to
contact us for whatever reason, and those reasons, initially, were defined by
customer service, such as pay online ability, expertise helps, suggestions, and
acceptance for questions and concerns. User-friendliness drove our purpose of
guaranteeing public input. Because personal info is unnecessary, privacy to all
residents remains by rights, counted on and secured.”
Hessy double-pounded
his tabletop with both fists clenched. “We mustn’t promote secured privacy to
radical threat contributors and hate crimes. I insist required Personal ID be
taken to a vote by the Council, and we put a stop to these offensive, fearsome
messages to our government team.”
“But, Mr. Hessy, a yes
vote won’t stop, as you put it, hate crimes. Many public places offer internet
access where the user could fill in an imitated e-mail, or worse, forge a name
pertinent to an innocent bystander, yours for example, and you become strained
to answer charges that can sooner or later end in a jury trial trapped with
simple mistaken identity.”
Mr. Hessy folded his
hands and in part lowered his head with a sigh. “Your point is well received,
Mr. Gretsch. I have no further questions.”
“If nothing
further,” said the chairman, “we stand adjourned.”
___________________________
As Rosemary helped replace the last few chairs used by young
mothers from pre-school story time, her name sounded followed by, “Telephone
for you.”
“Tell them one moment.” Satisfied the
children’s room looked in tip-top shape, she asked which line held for her and
headed to her desk. “Hello, Rosemary speaking, sorry to keep you.”
“Rosemary, so nice of
you to apologize, but in truth, the wait lasted minimal to the least.”
“Excellent. How can I
help you?”
“Your help is vital.
Three months ago, I learned the $100,000 grant for the main library arrived
from the Chicago American Library Association.”
“Yes, isn’t it
phenomenal?”
“More than you know. It
will please me further if confirmed the Dennis O’Dell Memorial Branch also
received your $25,000 grant punctual ten weeks ago as had the other six
branches.”
“Right again; the
grants arrived like clockwork, as promised, from Chicago.”
“Magnificent news.
Please listen carefully and treasure my few words to the wise till we’re
together . . . do as I say, or get it wrong but still might think everything’s
all right. This is the phone call my e-mail promised.”
“Oh, as in some mystery
spam prank? How did you get my e-mail, and what’s with your return address
problem, Mr., um Mister––”
“Pang. My name is Pang,
not Mr. Pang, just Pang. As I said before, please listen.”
“Okay.”
Pang shuffled a pencil and paper from his shirt pocket. “I
necessitate the account number and its password that secure the Dennis O’Dell
grant funds.”
“Yeah, right, and I
necessitate the man of my dreams to propose, but we both arrive empty.”
“I abhor your
insubordinate tone. You have a simple choice; I remove either 20% from the
Dennis O’Dell grant account balance or 100% from your private reserves at Wells
Fargo. To date, the grant fund holds close to $51,000. Your nest egg, on the
other hand, contains $197,000. Tell me, which one will it be?”
“You’re a fraud,” she
said. “Just because you somehow finagled the accounts’ correct totals doesn’t
mean you can remove them.”
“You try my patience;
let me prove my extract promise. 20% from your savings account equals $39,400.
Please take a look at your funds online.” The keyboard strokes click-clacked as
she brought her account info onto the monitor. Stunned into silence, she
couldn’t believe her eyes as they unraveled the scandalous affair . . . Wells
Fargo account number 909-14-753: Transfer $39,400 to Ping Gou You Han Gung Ci
Bank of Hong Kong. Transaction completed and accepted today at 12:08 p.m. local
time. New Balance: $157,600.79.
“I know this behavior
is unwelcomed,” he said. “However, with your alliance to supply me the grant
fund secret code, your money will return, and if you put your imagination to
work, an idea how to conceal the 20% total I do take will come. Agree?”
No return answer.
“Must I remove your entire balance and bid you good day?”
“No, no,” she said.
“Please, Pang, tell me again what you want me to do; I’m shaking so bad I can’t
think.”
“Give me the account
number and password to the Dennis O’Dell Grant Fund.”
“Okay, I have it here
in my file, give me a few seconds.”
“Take twenty seconds if
you must.”
“I found it, Pang, ready?”
“Ready.”
A cold sweat shivered
down poor Rosemary’s spine. “Use number 909-28-111 and password Slaggers, with
a Capital S.”
“Slaggers? What is
that, dear woman?”
“My favorite night spot
40 years ago.”
“Ah-ah, pining for the
good old days, are we?”
“In a way.”
“Here is how this will
work, Rosemary; I remove $10,200 from the library grant account. After I’m
successful, I will return $39,400 back to your reserves. If I fail, your entire
savings will evaporate, plus another misfortune shall befall you.” He could
hear her dread. “Can you see, next to your desk phone, the snow globe
paperweight?”
“Yes, Pang, I see it.”
“Raise it above your
head and remove the tiny packet underneath. Don’t touch what’s inside; keep it
sealed.” She did as instructed and stared at the transparent aquamarine capsule
no larger than a sunflower seed. “If you look close, Rosemary, you will notice
a liquid encased within my pretty blue pill. This liquid renders odorless,
tasteless, and most honored for its absolute untraceable talent when swallowed.
The fluid was designed by a chemist who focused his research on painless
methods of pet euthanasia, and he hasn’t a hint how the human heart reacts to
his new lethal substance. But I can enlighten you. When given this little blue
pill, stomach acids take less than two hours to break the sheath. Then, the
heart, aware a dangerous foreign essence has entered the bloodstream,
surrenders its will to pump. The result appears quick, painless, and branded by
medical examiners as Sudden Cardiac Arrest. I tell you this because three
librarians didn’t believe me and since passed on to their maker, diagnosed with
heart failure. Will I fail again with the facts you have provided me? Or do you
believe in my ability?”
“I believe you, Pang.
You won’t fail; I swear you won’t.”
“Good, but if you ever
disappoint me, Rosemary, or breathe a word to anyone, my little blue pill will
somehow enter your bloodstream like it found its way underneath your
paperweight.”
“I won’t disappoint
you, trust me.”
“Thank you, Rosemary.
If you’re still coupled to your bank account web page, click refresh, and your balance
will show as before we spoke.”
“How did you ever find
so much about me?”
“I’m privileged to have
known just a little extra.” Click.
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