“Did you hear?” Camille said, sliding into Paul’s office. “Janel Roberts, the director of planning at HHS, resigned Friday.” His co-worker took a seat and Paul lost sight of her long legs.
His plan had worked! “That’s surprising. Do you know what happened?”
“I don’t, but the rumor is that she’s missed a lot of work.”
“Nobody gets away with that kind of stuff anymore.” Paul shook his head and pushed aside his guilt. Janel would have been fired eventually anyway.
“I wonder who’s on her replacement list.” Camille leaned across his desk like a conspirator.
“You know I can’t tell you.”
She made a face. “That’s okay. We’ll know soon. That’s the one good thing about working in personnel. We get the scoop first.”
“Sometimes it feels like too much information.”
“There’s no such thing.” Camille shook her head playfully and stood. “I wanted to let you know I finished the monthly file purge.”
“Thanks.” Paul wondered if it was too soon to suggest another date. He stood, hoping to find the courage. “How was your weekend?”
“Lovely.” She started to leave, then turned back. “Have you lost weight?”
Paul tried not to beam. “About ten pounds.”
“It looks good.”
“Thanks.” He shifted on his feet. “Would you like to go out for lunch someday this week?” His voiced sounded a little panicked even to him.
“Let me check my schedule.” She smiled and left.
Paul didn’t know what to think. Camille had come into his office for no apparent reason and paid him a compliment, so he was encouraged. But did she really have to check her schedule? Or was she blowing him off?
After work, Paul picked up a second prepaid iCom from a different vendor in the same park. On the bus ride home, he sent a brief text to Rathmore: The position is open. I want the rest of the money by next Tuesday.
He didn’t hear from Rathmore until late the next night. He’d spent the evening reading a new crime fiction novel, but he’d been distracted and worried that neither Camille nor Rathmore had responded to him. At nine he put down his Dock and turned on the big screen for his hour a day of video programming. Isabel always said that any more than that would ruin a person’s mind.
The prepaid iCom beeped and he snatched it up. The text from Rathmore was as brief as the one Paul had sent him: Not until the job is mine.
Paul keyed back: That wasn’t the agreement. I guaranteed the opening and that you would be interviewed. Did they call you?
Rathmore responded: Yes, but I’m not paying the rest until I get hired.
Damn! Paul debated his next move. What leverage did he have? For starters, he knew who Rathmore was and where to find him. He also knew how to get people fired. Adrenaline surged into his chest at the thought. He had power. Paul keyed back: I can also ensure that you’re NOT hired.
He paced the house, waiting for Rathmore to respond. After thirty minutes of distress, Paul settled down to watch a few talk shows in his queue, then got ready for bed. What if Rathmore never paid him the rest of the money? Paul decided he would go ahead with the surgery. He’d pay up front with the cash he had and put the rest on credit. He might also spend some time in the database, looking for another matchup between a vulnerable Level C employee and an ambitious climber.
He stayed after work the next day to take another look at the personal information for the other two candidates in line for Janel Roberts’ old job. There had to be a way to help Rathmore secure the position and guarantee the additional ten grand. He really needed it. Paul decided if everything went well with this arrangement, he’d set up another one and get a chin implant too. He hated the way his face disappeared under his mouth.
If he had any money left over, he’d get some caps too. Women liked straight, white teeth, and he was tired of smiling with his mouth closed. He worried Camille thought he was too somber. Paul knew if given the chance, he could be a fun-loving guy. He’d mentioned the commissioner to Camille that afternoon and she’d agreed to have lunch on Friday. She’d suggested a restaurant a few blocks from their building, saying she had an errand to run on the way and would meet him there. He worried at first she didn’t want to be seen leaving with him, then he remembered Camille always ran errands on her lunch hour.
Paul opened the database and pulled up everything he could on Trevor Jamison. The candidate was already employed by HHS, so Paul also had access to his performance reviews, which, to his dismay, were stellar. Paul stared at the digital photo in the corner of the resume. The man was ridiculously handsome. How to sabotage him? Paul considered the simplicity of letting the air out of Jamison’s tires and making him late to the interview, but he soon realized the difficulty. The interview would take place in the HHS office on Independence Avenue and Jamison already worked in the building.
Could he alter the man’s records in some way? Of course he could. A chill crawled up Paul’s spine. He’d never considered anything so devious. The change would be temporary, Paul told himself. He’d put a few minor glitches in Jamison’s performance reviews, then change them back later. It was no guarantee Rathmore would get the job, but Paul felt like he had to do something.
The second candidate, Ashley Summers, had an impressive resume and currently worked for JB Pharma in its community health division. Would she even consider the position? Paul wondered. Pharma companies paid well and offered high-end med cards. Paul predicted Ms. Summers would interview for the position and use it as leverage to squeeze more money or stock options out of her employer. He scratched her off his mental list for the moment.
After work, Paul took a walk and sent another text to Rathmore: I’ve done what I can. The position is yours if you don’t blow the interview. I’ll send instructions for the drop later. Have the money ready by Tuesday.
On the way home, he thought about their pending transaction, hoping to come up with a better, more foolproof idea, but creativity had never been his strong suit, despite all the fiction he read. He finally decided to use a plan similar to the first one because it had worked well. Or mostly, anyway. This time he would insist on a sturdy plastic bag that didn’t smell like food. Paul also chose a small restaurant for the meet. After the incident with the dog, he was reluctant to conduct the mission outside. Changing it up was safer.
He sent the information to Rathmore and hoped for the best.
Back in his apartment, he tried to put it all out of his mind. He spent an hour surfing the net, looking at cosmetic procedures. Nose jobs, eyebrow lifts, cheek implants, chin extensions. They could do almost anything to improve a face. Mesmerized by the before-and-after photos, Paul kept clicking and staring at the complete makeovers. He touched the space between his teeth and vowed to get some caps.
As he got ready for bed, he stared in the mirror and tried to visualize himself with a stronger chin. Why not? Everything seemed possible now. He heard the prepaid iCom beep and checked the message. Rathmore said simply: I’ll be there.