By John Leatherman
The operational excellence awards leer at me as I creep through the executive suite lobby, a satchel slung over one shoulder of my gray business suit. I pause before a door with the words “Robert Burgle, Undermine Global CEO” before pushing my way inside.
Burgle, a powerfully built man, slouches in an ergonomic swivel chair behind a varnished mahogany desk. He faces away from me, attention fixed on the large flat-screen TV dominating the west wall. Remote in hand, he replays a clip from today’s news.
“Family, friends, and well-wishers thronged the steps of the courthouse in Sheol Valley after the jury failed to reach a verdict in the trial of 34-year-old Maggie Curtis.”
In the clip, Curtis waves to her supporters on the way to the microphone stand. The crawl drifting along the bottom of the screen summarizes the case.
District Attorney Sheridan Alonso is unlikely to seek retrial, citing inadequate evidence. Employed at Undermine Industrial Tooling, Curtis allegedly operated her turbo-press in an unsafe manner that crushed plant manager Paul Jensen to death on May 14 last year.
Burgle rewinds and pauses the playback on the words “unlikely to seek retrial” and reaches for a bottle of brandy on his desk, stopping as he becomes aware of my presence.
“Are you lost, miss?”
Pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, I speak with a calm but forceful rasp. “No, I’m right where I need to be.”
“How did you get in here?” Burgle reaches under the desk with his right hand.
“Don’t bother with the panic button.” I wag my finger. “Your security team won’t be joining us tonight. Their union lead is on my payroll.”
From the satchel I produce the steneuropad Mom gave me. My memories materialize on the top page, showing the factory’s security logs. “You’re no stranger to security gaps, are you, Mr. Burgle? Particularly at the Sheol Valley plant? Every surveillance camera went offline around the time of Jensen’s death.”
Burgle winces but offers a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, that could be a good thing.” He gestures toward the frozen image of Maggie Curtis on the flat screen. “Inadequate security footage is a big part of why that woman’s walking free. Her innocent children don’t have to become orphans over what was clearly a tragic accident.”
“But what about the next accident? I understand Sheol Valley is something of a deathtrap.”
Ripping off the top page of the pad, I reveal an Outlook schedule, cribbed directly from my memory.
“The Agency of Workplace Enforcement had an appointment with an anonymous whistleblower the morning of May 15 to discuss unsafe conditions at the Sheol Valley plant. This whistleblower was a no-show and has had no further contact with AWE.”
Burgle balks. “I’m sure he or she chose not to talk to the authorities because our safety team so effectively deals with workplace conditions internally.”
I shrug. “I hope you took care of that turbo-press. The gears jammed on Jensen’s skull, yet somehow, his trachea had also collapsed.”
The steneuropad crafts a diagram from what I recall of the coroner’s report, showing the contrast between Jensen’s damaged cranial cavity and largely intact jaw. Below that, arrows indicate Jensen’s throat, constricted by a necktie.
The page adds an image of Jensen’s almost pristine checkered ascot. Red circles highlight indentations shaped like fingernails.
“Did you know our skin leaves microscopic particles on everything we touch? I wonder what one could do with the DNA on the tie.”
Burgle lowers his tone. “If you really cared about all this, you’d have brought the police. What do you want? A percentage?”
I reply with a dismissive wave. “We can talk numbers later. For now, through my friends in the machinists’ union, I have worked out a way to ensure things will improve in Sheol Valley.”
The next page draws from my imagination, showing Burgle in a Sheol Valley jumpsuit operating the turbo-press.
I smirk in satisfaction. “Maggie Curtis will be taking over Jensen’s job. Until further notice, you will report to her as a front-line worker on the factory floor.”
After a moment of tense pondering, Burgle reaches into his desk and pulls out a pistol.
I frown. “So, this is your solution?” Though I hope to reason with him, I’m already spinning the selection wheel in the sole of my right shoe with my left toe, ready to take defensive action. “You expect to fix one murder with another? Please be worthy of those so-called excellence awards.”
“I didn’t get where I am by leaving the job unfinished!”
As he fires, I tap my right heel, activating the shoe’s power spring mode that catapults me over Burgle’s desk.
Another tap, and a blade emerges from the right toe, just in time to nick Burgle under his left cheek.
He jerks in pain, squeezing off another shot that ricochets off the desktop and plunges into his eye.
Meanwhile, my instep stabilizers guide me to an upright landing.
Staring at the credenza splattered with Burgle’s brain—still in better condition than Jensen’s—I don’t know what to think.
But the steneuropad does.
You have to commend Burgle for finding the only way to be free of Ethel Grieves.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Well done, John! Now, only if Ethyl and AWE could fix the GI horrors inflicted by Jack in the Box, and Home Depot’s lack of a knowledgeable worker when you need one.
Glad you enjoyed it! This one was a bit darker than what I usually write.
Dark stuff, it’s true. Using the word “union” twice is a single story would scare anybody.
Another tragic workplace injury that could have been prevented with the proper eye protection. Whether you’re on the factory floor, or in the offices trying to cover up a murder, wear your PPE.
Love the term “steneuropad”!
Ethel has quite a few tricks up her sleeve (or in her heel) in this story.
I can recommend a few places here in Japan that Ethel and AWE might want to look into.