The Lovely Chocolate Mob

At Home

At the house that night, David and Walter and I were sitting around the small kitchen/dining room table. We were talking over drinks and chips, about the events of the past few days, and about the dilemma of the Burke family situation.

“You mean the Ceraldi hyphen Burke family situation,” reminded Walter.

“Listen, fellows,” I said, “I think there’s a solution to the Burke family disaster.”

Walter said, “I don’t think there are any fixes for that marriage; when that marriage goes, there goes the family, split-split!”

“What do you have in mind?” asked David.

“Here’s what I was thinking,” I continued. “We’ve been concentrating on Dr. Franklin Burke. So far, we’ve failed. He’s still seeing his girlfriend behind Helen’s back. But what if we turned our attention to Susan Lovely?”

David spoke up, “We’ve already made one hit on her, thanks to Walter.” He looked in Walter’s direction. Walter just grinned. “We don’t want to bring any attention to ourselves; I’ve got to lay low.”

“I agree,” I said. “You’ll be out of this. This is a one-man job.”

“Then what are we doing here?” asked David.

“I needed some feedback. From people I trust.”

Walter and David looked at each other. “Okay, shoot!” they said simultaneously.

“Susan Lovely has just inherited a ton of cash money, which Walter has …

“…borrowed,” said Walter.

“Borrowed, for a short while. As soon as Franklin finds out about this, Miss Lovely may not be as attractive to him as he thought. But along with the cash went a lot of stock in the Lovely Chocolate Company, and she’s now the top shareholder.”

“So?” said David. “What are we supposed to do, steal her stock?”

“No, nothing like that. She carries the family name, the family business, and is closely tied to and associated with the Lovely Chocolate Company. My idea, given to me by a female counselor…”--I peered at Walter, who rolled his eyes-- “… is that one of us should go and speak with the board of directors and see if they can do any reasoning with Miss Lovely.”

“Reasoning with her about what?” asked David.

“Reasoning with her about doing what’s best for the company.”

“How does having a boyfriend have anything to do with the company?” asked Walter.

I tried to answer so as to convince him. “The Lovely Chocolate Company has presented itself as a family-friendly company; it has the image of wholesomeness and trust and loyalty. It is also known worldwide and does business with who knows how many countries all over the world, mostly western, European countries, and in the Americas. If it got out that Miss Lovely was seeing someone…”

“Not just someone, a married man,” chimed in David.

“A married man with children, four children,” added Walter. “Four beautiful children.”

“Yes. Wouldn’t a scandal like this cause ripples in the Lovely Family-Oriented Chocolate Company?” asked David.

“Maybe. Perhaps. Who knows how this would affect the company,” I said.

“It might make their stock fall,” said Walter. “Call me jaded, but I doubt that people really care about that anymore.”

“Maybe not here, not as much as they would, say, 50 years ago, but what about around the world?”

“Around the world?” asked David. “How would they find out?”

“I don’t know,” I said. Then, offering possible answers: “The internet, probably. Radio. Television. Newspapers. Magazines. The Lovely Chocolate Company is a huge business, and its name means something.”

“And you’re going to walk right in to the board of directors, and tell them that Susan Lovely has a boyfriend, just like that,” smirked David.

“Not just like that. Something like that.”

“I don’t think I’d like to be there when you do,” said Walter.

“Well, I was hoping you fellows could give me a little feedback, tell me what to expect.”

“Expect to be laughed out of the boardroom,” said Walter. “They wouldn’t care if she dated a moose!”

“A chocolate moose,” cracked David.

Walter and David laughed at this. I suppressed a smile, but still felt a little concerned.

I continued, “What I’m thinking is, if they see the issue, if they hear what I’m saying, they might, perhaps, suggest to Miss Lovely to drop her boyfriend, for the sake of the company if nothing else.”

“These are businessmen. Money talks; everything else walks. If you can’t convince them it’s about the money, they won’t hear you,” muttered David.

“I was afraid of that.” I rubbed my head. “Anyway, I needed some feedback, and I got it. Thanks, fellows.”

Walter spoke up, “You know, you might have a point here, Randall. They can get in touch with her faster than we could, they have access to her, and they also have business with her. You might be on the right path.”

“I gotta get home,” said David, rising from the table. “When were you planning on seeing this board of directors?”

“They are meeting tomorrow at 2 p.m. I thought the sooner the better.”

“Will they let you into their meeting? How did you get in?” David asked.

“I contacted the CEO, a Mr. Hal Ostrander. They’ll give me three minutes, at the very beginning.”

David said, “You mean to tell me a multi-billion dollar company just lets anybody off the street come into its board meetings and talk about anything under the sun?”

“Not just anything,” I said. “About what’s best for the company. I told Mr. Ostrander what I had to say would directly affect his company’s sales, and when he heard that, he decided to give me three minutes.”

David and Walter looked at each other. “You’d better speak quickly, then,” said David. “The more information, the better.”

“Yeah,” said Walter. “You’ll have to spill all like an auctioneer, and hope they can keep up!”

“I’ll do the best I can. Thanks for coming over.” David headed to the front door.

“Wish I could help you with this,” said Dave, opening the door. “I’ll be working tomorrow. What about you?”

“I’m going to take a long lunch.” David looked at me as though he didn’t believe me. “They’re kind of used to my irregular schedules. They know I don’t miss deadlines; that’s all they care about.”

“Yeah, well…,“ said Dave, “your face is going to be known, now.”

“I’ll have to deal with that.”

“Helen once caused you a lot of grief. If she could see what you’re doing for her…”

“Helen is a victim, now.” David looked at me. I continued, “She needs our help.”

We shook hands, and he walked to his car and drove off. I shut the front door and went back to the kitchen table. Walter was still sitting, drinking from his cup, waiting for me to come back in.

“Well, you’ve got a big day tomorrow. You gonna tell that to Miss Karen Plan-ter?”

I stopped. “How did you know my counselor’s name?”

Walter grinned over the top of his cup.

“Why should I tell her?” I asked.

“You said she’d be the first to know.”

I looked at Walter. He was still smiling. “You son-of-a-gun,” I said.

“You’d better call her tomorrow before you go to the board meeting. It might help to have a counselor’s opinion on these things…”

“Maybe I’d better,” I said.

“… even if she is just a woman,” said Walter, suppressing his laughter in his drink.





The Big Day

All morning I worked, but my mind wasn’t on the job. At noon, I took off for the rest of the day. The bosses didn’t complain; they knew the job would get done, and before the deadline. Sometimes it’s good to not be paid by the hour, but by the project. It was feast and famine, but it also gave me time flexibility when I needed it. But most of the time, I was there in the office, like other 8-to-5 people, there at the drawing board, so the bosses, other engineers, and designers didn’t panic. It was good to be needed.

I headed over to the medical center where Miss Planter was employed. I’d have to talk with Phyllis the receptionist, and hopefully she’d let me see Miss Planter; it shouldn’t be a problem.

I entered the waiting area, but the receptionist was gone to lunch. I knocked on Miss Planter’s office. “Come in,” she said. I popped the door partially open, and said “Hi!”

She was with another patient, but it looked as though the patient was about to wrap up; a lady was in front of Miss Planter with her purse in hand and looked as though she was poised to go out the back door. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“We were just finishing up; I’ll be right with you, Mr. Owen.”

I shut the door, then spent the next five or 10 minutes walking around in the waiting room. I was too wound up to sit. Hopefully I didn’t cause too much of a stir in there.

Finally, Miss Planter opened the door and came into the receptionist/waiting area. I met her in the middle of the floor. “Why didn’t you call, Mr. Owen? What is it; what’s so important?”

“I wanted to tell you face-to-face, because I said you’d be the first person to know. I don’t trust phones anymore; you never know who might be listening in."

She shook her head, as though she was talking with a conspiracy theorist. “Okay, I’m listening. It’s lunchtime; I don’t have another appointment for an hour.”

“I don’t have time to eat with you; I wish I did. I’m headed up to the Lovely Chocolate Factory, and it’ll take a little time to drive in the middle of the day. I have a two o’clock appointment with the members of the board.”

“The board members at the Lovely Chocolate Factory? What on earth for?” she asked.

“I’ve got three minutes to talk to the board, hoping to convince them that Susan Lovely seeing Dr. Burke is not in the best interest of the company.”

“You hope to sway the board? How do you plan on doing that?”

“I hoped you could tell me. I have a few ideas, but this could use a woman’s touch. What would you recommend, or tell them?”

“Well, I…” Miss Planter was flustered, but also flattered that I had asked. I had come to have a respect for Miss Planter’s opinions and ideas. Maybe she could supply me some insight which might make a persuading point.

“I’ve had a lot of overstressed businessmen visit the office,” she said. “Unfortunately, the only thing that impresses their bosses and stockholders is money. How is the company doing?” she asked.

Asking how Lovely Chocolate was doing in Lovely was like asking how the Dallas Cowboys were doing while in Dallas. Everybody knows. I was surprised she didn’t, but I supposed her interests were her clients, or patients.

“This is one of the most in-demand chocolates on the globe,” I said, hoping to fill in the blanks. “Their stock is high, and they provide jobs for thousands. Everybody likes their product, if they can afford it. If you’re looking at this from a monetary standpoint, I’ve already taken that under consideration.”

“Do you know anything about the people sitting on the board of directors?” she asked. “What kind of people are they? Are they like you, with a faith reference? Are they moral men? Do they hold to a right and wrong?” Now she was making my wheels turn.

“It’s common knowledge that Cornelius Lovely was a man of faith; he may have been a Quaker, I believe. As for the board, I know nothing about them except the name of the chairman of the board, Mr. Hal Ostrander. I was finally able to reach him by phone, and he said I could speak before the board today. His work biography is listed on the internet, but I haven’t read it in depth, except that he’s spent his whole career with Lovely Chocolate.”

“Are there any women on the board?”

I hadn’t thought of that. What if there were women on the board? What difference would that make?

“What are you thinking?” I asked.

“I was thinking, perhaps if you played the family up, the ladies of the group would probably be persuaded to think about the children before the men got around to thinking about them. That sounds a little as though I’m assigning roles, but there are differences between men and women.”

“You’re saying that if I speak about the four Burke children, this will convince the ladies on the board?”

“That is my first thought, yes.”

“Thank you, Miss Planter. You’ve just given me useful information which I hope will be what I need to right a wrong situation.”

We stood there in the reception room for a moment. She looked as though she was expecting something, but I had nothing to give her. My goodness, it wouldn’t be anything for me just to lean over and kiss her face.

“I speak at two; I’ve got to go.” I turned to leave.

“Good luck!” I looked back at her, and grinned. “Oh, you don’t believe in luck, do you?” she said, correcting herself. “Well then, knock ‘em dead!”

“You’ve been a big help to me, Miss Planter. I wish you could come with me.”

“I wish I could go as well.”

This surprised me; I actually heard myself gasp. “But you’ve got an appointment, you’ll be helping somebody.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Miss Planter.” I left the reception room, walked down the hall, skipped the elevator, and took the stairs. On the walk down the steps to the parking lot, I was talking out loud and saying to myself, “She likes me. She likes me! She likes me!” putting emphasis on different words, and then I quit talking to myself suddenly when passing by the security guard, who was sitting at his station, who gave me a strange look.





The Lovely Chocolate Factory

I arrived at the huge company complex in plenty of time. The whole plant was built on a hill, known as Lovely Hill, on the north side of town, where it had plenty of room to expand on land it owned and maintained. I knew a little something about the layout since the company I worked for, Root and Bonham, had done business with Lovely, designing and installing drain ditches and pipes for their newer buildings. In the car, at the far end of the parking lot, I donned a wig, dark lenses, and a beard and mustache.

Outside the boardroom was a holding area with plush high-backed chairs, complete with leather cushions. Secretaries and receptionists were at their stations nearby, and made sure I was comfortable with drinks, cookies, and of course, chocolates. My stomach had became a wreck on the drive up to Lovely; I was walking into unfamiliar territory, and, not being much of a public speaker, felt like Daniel outside the Lions’ Den. “It’s only for three minutes,” I told myself, but those three minutes could make or break Helen’s family. I drank lots of water and had a few cookies, but didn’t think I could handle the chocolates. The secretaries must have thought I was important from the treatment they were giving me, or else everybody was treated as though they were important. I was used to hearing, “There’s the water fountain; help yourself.”

I watched the circular clocks and followed the second hand for about five minutes. At about a minute until 2 p.m., a receptionist came up to me and said, “Mr. Smith? The board is ready to see you.” I stood, and she opened the door to the boardroom, and walked me in. I expected her to introduce me, but the board meeting was already in session; they must have started early! Mr. Hal Ostrander, the board director, spoke first, saying, “It’s good to see you, Mr…. Smith. The board is interested in what you have to say. You may start speaking … now,” saying this while looking at his round, high-dollar watch.

I looked around the room for a moment and saw that all the board members, except for one, were men. The only woman was an older, matronly lady wearing a bright purple business outfit. I assumed she was wearing a dress, but couldn’t quite tell, since nobody stood up for me. I’d already used up 10 seconds.

I reminded myself I’d better get started. “Board members of the Lovely Chocolate Company, my name is John Smith, and I have come to you with an issue that may prove to be trouble for Lovely Chocolates.” Nobody moved or reacted after I said this. I did hear someone clear his throat.

“My concern is for the family of a man who is involved in an affair of the heart, with someone with whom you are closely tied. He is a married man with children, and has become closely linked with the granddaughter of Cornelius Lovely, Susan Lovely.”

At this time there was a little movement, a shuffling of the feet, a little stirring, but still nobody said anything. It was as though they were trying to stifle their reactions. I guessed that this was the way things were in the corporate business world, but I wouldn’t know for sure.

“My concern is for his family, a prominent family in the community. If his family falls apart because of his involvement with Miss Lovely, his wife and children will suffer greatly. Where you and your company come in is … Lovely Chocolates has always had the reputation for being a family-friendly company. If news of Miss Lovely reaches the tabloids as being a factor in the break-up of a family, this would make poor publicity for Lovely Chocolates. Indeed, not only would its reputation suffer as a result, but quite possibly its stock and value and sales… and employees also, in the long run.”

There was more shuffling of feet. Some of the board members looked at one another. There were a little whispering and low murmurs among a few of them although I didn’t see who was talking. At this point, I was hoping for some questions, but nobody said anything. I figured my three minutes were just about up. I had to make this fast.

“I have a suggestion for the Lovely Chocolate board members, which is that you speak with Miss Lovely and ask her to stop seeing this man, so that he can resume his life with his wife and children, and so also there would be no ripples throughout the community involving the reputation of Lovely Chocolates.”

I figured that was about it; that was just about all I could do. All eyes were upon me, and you could hear a pin drop. To break the silence, I asked, “Are there any questions?”

“I have a question, Mr. Smith,” said a younger-looking board member, probably in his fifties. “What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing. Nothing is in it for me,” I said. “Just the two things I mentioned before, keeping a family together and keeping the name of Lovely Chocolates out of the mud.”

Another voice spoke up, but I didn’t see who asked; the lenses made it hard to see. It said, “So… this isn’t a blackmail situation? You don’t want money for this information, or money to keep a scandal out of the newspapers?”

“No.” I said. “I don’t want that.” I was almost embarrassed by it, but since they didn’t know me, it was a legitimate question.

The board was quiet until the lady in purple said, “Is Mr. Smith your real name?” She had a bit of a British accent.

I hesitated for a moment. I had lied my way in there, and if I said, “Yes,” this would be another, probably obvious lie. I wanted them to know I was telling the truth.

“No.”

Mr. Ostrander said, “Why did you lie about your name, Mr. Smith?”

“Because I wish to remain anonymous.”

The board members looked at one another, and with that, Mr. Ostrander said, “Thank you, Mr. Smith. That’s three minutes, as we agreed on earlier. If there are any issues concerning this information, I suppose you could contact us, since I assume you won’t be leaving your address.”

I was a bit startled, not knowing how board members handled themselves in powerful situations; I nodded and walked towards the door. That was it, no follow-up, no more questions, no more answers. I had failed, again.

Once outside the room, I looked around the waiting area. The secretaries and receptionists were busy working; it was as though I was never there. I walked out of that room and down a hallway, towards the parking lot where I had left my car, but the sickness of my pre-board jitters caught up to me. It was time to find the nearest men’s room. I looked up and down the hall, but there were no public facilities to be seen. I pushed open a door marked “Workroom Floor” and saw lots of workers in a huge, gymnasium-sized warehouse, working near conveyer belts and putting chocolate products in packages. I guessed that this was the end of the line for Lovely Chocolates; the next step was shipping.

Looking around in the warehouse/workroom floor, I saw a door marked “Men.” I headed in that general direction, trying not to look out of place, and pushed open the door, finding a locker-room environment just inside. I walked through the locker area and found the stalls off to the left. Fortunately, nobody else was in there, and I picked the middle stall.

I entered the little stall, got situated, and while getting comfortable, wondered if I had done the right thing. I had just tattled on a high-level society girl who owned most of the stock of the company, who was a billionaire-in-the-making, and who would one day soon be able to buy and sell people like me. Was it the right thing to do, to tattle? If she ever heard that I had sullied her name, and found out who I was, she would be able to hire an army of lawyers to have me tied up in court for years. Was it the proper thing to do, to ask the Lovely board of directors for help?

As I sat there pondering the fate of Dr. Burke’s children, I heard the restroom door open. It opened again; perhaps the fellow who just entered turned around to leave. Then I heard it open a third, and fourth, and a fifth time. There must have been a shift change; the fellows were probably getting to their lockers.

Then something strange began to happen. Feet appeared at the bottom of my stall, the stall that I was in. I heard someone jiggle the lock on the stall door, and thought, “What the heck?” There were empty stalls on either side of me with no one in them; why doesn’t he use one of them? Can’t he see the door is shut? I said, “It’s occupied,” but heard no reply. Then I heard the doors swing open to the other stalls around me, and then saw even more feet appearing as people walked into these stalls. That wouldn’t be unusual, but weren’t stalls meant for one person at a time? It got even weirder when I began seeing feet appear all around the bottom of my stall, and when I say all around, I mean all around! There were people lining my stall! There must have been four people to my right and five people to my left and three people in front of me, and all the feet were situated so that the faces that belonged to the feet were against the outside walls of my stall! All the feet were there, with toes inside my stall, with even more feet behind them. I was surrounded!

One of them knocked on the door.

I thought I’d try to use humor. I said, “I’ll be through in a minute!” hoping they weren’t the security police. I began to wonder if I had wandered into the wrong restroom, one on the workroom floor? Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be in there; maybe there were some strict regulations about non-workers in workfloor restrooms. Perhaps someone noticed that I hadn’t been wearing a hairnet?

A voice with a slight accent said, “Take your time, Mr. Smith. We haff all day.” I felt instant panic; who would know I’m in here? Who would follow me? Who would watch me enter a restroom, and further, who would want to speak to me here?

I said, “What’s going on? Who are you people?” I looked at the shoes lining the stall and noticed that they were all different styles of footwear. Some were black, shiny and expensive, some were rough, dirty, workroom boots, and some of the shoes were covered with white coverings, the kind that painters put on before entering a house, so they don’t dirty up any carpets or floors. Above the different footwear were blue jeans, white work pants, and pinstriped dress pants.

One pair of shoes especially stood out, furthest to my left, as though they didn’t wish to be viewed but had to be in on the scene, were a pair of purple lady’s shoes, with older, wide ankles, since there were no hose, socks, or pantsuit. There was probably a purple dress in that ensemble, however.

I heard a voice say, “We’re all here; hit the lights.” The lights went out, and it was pitch dark.

“Hey!” was all I could say. I was getting a little more nervous at this point.

“Don’t worry, Mr. ‘Smith’,” the first voice said. “We’re not here to accost you. We just need a little information.”

“Information?” I said. “You need some information? Why don’t you turn the lights back on and ask me then?”

“This is to protect you, Senior Smith,” a South American voice said. “We know who you are, but obviously we don’t want you knowing who we are. We have lives to protect.”

“Well, I have a life to protect, my own! Who are you?” I tried not to sound nervous.

“Very well, Herr Schmidt. We will trade information, if that is acceptable to all?” The American accent was beginning to slip a bit more, being replaced with a German one, probably east German; I heard the murmuring of approval among the out of sight group.

The east German cleared his throat and said, “We represent others who are very interested in the condition and profitability of the Lovely Chocolate Company, those who would to go great lengths to protect its good name to the public.”

I sat, still stunned. Someone heard me in the boardroom, after all! “Go on,” I said. “You have my attention.”

“You possess knowledge of the company heiress, Miss Susan Lovely, as being involved in some--- how would you put it, an illicit love affair?”

“Yes, I’ve said that. I said that just a few minutes ago--“ I clammed up. I didn’t want these people guessing that I knew some of them might be on the board.

“We wish to know the name of the man with whom Frauline, er, Miss Susan Lovely, is involved.”

These people were serious.

“Why? Why don’t you ask her?”

An Italian voice spoke up, saying, “It is not our practice to embarrass the one most important person in our company. If she didn’t like our probing, at this point she might possibly go to the airwaves saying that the chocolate company was interfering with her private business. That might ‘tilt the apple-cart,’ as you Americans like to put it.”

Americans? These guys were foreigners!

“Why don’t you have the board of directors deal with her?”

“The fools!” a woman’s voice said, trying to speak in a deeper tone like a man. “They don’t listen to anyone but themselves! They are fat, lazy, complacent, and cannot see into the future. Also, they are unaware of our existence, which works in our favor.” She sounded British, but that could be from a number of countries.

“Besides,” a Spanish-accented man’s voice said, “they don’t run the company---we do.”

“We?” I questioned.

“Herr ‘Schmidt’,” the east German said. “It is time for a trade. We have given you information, and now we require information in return. It is time for you to answer our question. What is the name of the man with whom Miss Lovely is having an affair?”

“Wait a minute! You don’t exactly sound like an above-the-board type of operation here!” I said. Guess I sounded a little braver than I felt, because it got quiet again.

“Mr. Owen,” said the east German, probably trying to be patient. “We are not an above-the-board type of operation here.” I remained respectfully quiet, until he said in addition, “We are the cartel.”

I had to think for a moment. “The cartel? You mean, as in drugs?”

“No, Mr. Owen, you have assumed the worst of us. Where are we located?”

“In the men’s room.” I said.

“Think bigger, Mr. Owen.”

I thought bigger, and said, “Lovely Chocolates?”

“Precisely, Mr. Owen. Chocolates. And more.

“You run illegal chocolates?”

“That is such a distasteful way of putting it, Mr. Owen. We simply run chocolates. It’s a business, like any other.”

“You run illegal chocolates,” I said, stalling for time. “Why?”

“We run a business, and chocolate is the one thing people won’t give up! Try as they may, Lovely Chocolate is, to some people, addicting.”

“Won’t give up? Illegal chocolates?”

“Correct, Mr. Owen,” said the voice, still remaining calm and polite, but getting a little impatient. “This has been a one-way flow of information. The name, please.”

“Why should I tell you? What are your intentions?”

“Mr. Owen, do you wish to sit here all night?”

“No.”

“Do you wish to ever see your home again?”

“Yes.”

“The name.”

“What are you going to do to him?”

“The name, please, Mr. Owen.”

I sighed. My legs were starting to tingle, as though there were ants biting them. This could get worse. Then I heard the sound of a weapon being cocked, which startled me.

“Franklin Burke!” I blurted. “His name is Dr. Franklin Burke! He was Cornelius Lovely’s personal family physician!”

I heard a gasp. “That nice doctor!” said a voice, with possibly a Greek accent.

“Are you sure, Mr. ‘Smith’? Can you verify this?”

“Yes, I’m sure, and no, I don’t think I can verify it.” I sat there for a moment before offering, “However, if you are capable, I’m sure you can obtain telephone records of Dr. Burke and Miss Lovely if you wanted.”

There were more murmuring among the group in the darkness, and then a Greek voice said, “We are capable; you have told us what we needed to hear. Thank you for the information, Mr. Owen.”

I heard feet beginning to move away from the stall. I blurted out, “Hey wait a minute! What are you planning to do?”

The Greek voice said, “We plan on taking care of the problem!”

The answer sank in quickly, and I said, “You’re not going to kill him, are you? No killing!”

All the feet stopped shuffling. I must have got their attention.

A voice with a Russian sound to it said, “Vy? Vy not?”

“Hush, you’re saying too much!” said a new voice with a Caribbean accent.

A British voice said, “What’s the harm of his knowing? He doesn’t know who we are!”

The Caribbean voice replied, “He knows what we do, and that’s all he needs.”

I repeated myself, loud enough for all to hear. “No killing! No killing!”

The German voice said, “Now I am curious. Why not, Mr. ‘Smith’? Wouldn’t that solve your problems as well? Wouldn’t this be of benefit to both our parties, Mr. ‘Smith’?”

I answered, “Because killing is wrong! It’s against the laws of man and God! It’s … murder.”

One or two voices laughed, but there were others who hushed the laughter.

The lady’s deep voice said, “What would you suggest, then?”

“I don’t know. Be creative. You’re smart; put your heads together; come up with something better. I’m sure you’re bright people… but don’t kill. Nobody likes that! Think of who you’ll hurt!”

“We’re thinking of the business we’ll save, along with the jobs we’ll preserve,” said a French-accented voice.

“Find another way! Do what’s right. Please,” I pleaded.

It got quiet. Then the German voice said, “No promises, Mr. ‘Schmidt.’” The feet started shuffling again, and I could see light from the workroom floor as the door opened and shut, until nobody was left in the room but me, sitting alone in the darkness.

As I wondered about the scene that had just happened, the door popped open again, letting in a little light. An Italian-accented voice said, “Mr. Owen, no police. Capiche? Sh-h-h-h-h!” I could imagine him standing there with a finger in front of his lips. Then the door shut, leaving me in total darkness, again.

He knew my name! That means they all knew; my cover was blown!

What kind of can of worms had I opened? If they kill Franklin Burke, not only will his murder be on my hands, but his wife and children would have no visible means of support, and all the children would have lost their father!

I’ve gotten Dr. Burke killed! It’s all my fault, and it was going to be hard getting out of there, both my legs having fallen asleep.





Back to the Counselor

I was a bit unnerved, to say the least, and sure felt as though I needed someone to shine the light on what I had just experienced. I drove slowly back to downtown Lovely, weaving in and out of traffic, wandering aimlessly through the streets until I parked in the lot of the medical center. “How did that mob at Lovely Chocolates know who I was?” I thought. The only possible answer was they knew because I had driven my own car to their parking lot. It would be nothing for a giant company to determine the owner of a car by the license plate; if they had connections in this computer age, they could run the license plate through the police station downtown and get my name from the computers in the state capital. “I’ll have to remember that,” I said to myself, as I peeled off the wig, beard, and glasses.

Coming to the medical center was almost an automatic reflex, in slow motion, because I really didn’t plan on returning. However, seeing Miss Planter again for the second time in a day might prove to be beneficial. She’d know what to think about this. My mind felt as though it had run away; my heart was still pounding, and I was breathing in an almost irregular manner when thinking about the consequences of my actions. I hated to admit this to myself, but there were times I could be a wimp. Now I had stepped into a world I would rather not know anything about, the world of high dollars, business, and of murder, incorporated.

I entered the building and got on the elevator to the third floor. It was getting late in the afternoon, but Miss Planter should still be there. I entered the reception area, and there was Phyllis, the little receptionist at the desk, talking on the phone, which is where most young people seem to spend their time, but when she saw me, she said, “I’ve got to go. Talk to you later.” Then turning to me, she said, “Hello, Mr. Owen! I wasn’t aware you had an appointment…” while scrambling through her calendar book.

“I don’t have one,” I replied. “I just needed to see Miss Planter for a moment.”

“I’ll let her know that you’re here; she’s with her last appointment now. Can you wait? She shouldn’t be long.” She looked up from her schedule book, changed expressions and said, “My goodness, Mr. Owen! You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“Yes, that would be good,” I said in return, ignoring her observation. “I can wait.”

“I’ll be right back,” she said and headed towards the office door, then went inside to let Miss Planter know I had arrived. Apparently the last appointee had already left through the back door because Miss Planter came immediately to the waiting room.

“Randall! What happened?”

“Do you have a minute?” I asked.

“Yes! Come on in; come inside!”

I was so shaken up, I didn’t even realize she had called me by my first name; I think the receptionist did, though. She looked a little stunned by this.

“Miss Rozzell, you can go home early. The other doctors have gone, and I won’t need you anymore today.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”

I walked into the office and had a seat in front of the desk; Miss Planter sat in another chair next to me. She held my hands.

“Tell me what happened! What did they say?”

“Something terrible has happened.”

“What? Tell me!”

“Okay, here goes,” I said. “Are we still covered by code of confidentiality?”

“Yes, yes, of course! Now spill it!”

I took a breath, trying to calm down, and said, “I may have killed Dr. Burke.”

“Killed! What do you mean?”

“I mean dead, murdered, deceased, passed-away, post-mortem…”

“I get that! How?”

“Well, you recall this morning when I told you I was to see the Lovely Chocolate Factory’s board of directors?”

“Yes.”

“Everything went pretty much as I thought it would, except nobody on the board was interested; most of them were quiet.”

“Okay. So?”

“I didn’t give the name of the boyfriend of Susan Lovely.”

“And?”

“And afterwards, I … was in a room and found myself surrounded by a group of people who wanted the name of Dr. Burke.”

“They wanted his name? Why?”

“They want to kill him!”

“Oh, no! Who are these people?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see their faces; I only heard their voices.”

“They kidnapped you?”

“No, they… surrounded me.”

“How could they surround you without your seeing them?”

“They turned out the lights!”

“Oh, my! Did they rough you up?”

“No, they didn’t touch me. They just wanted information.”

“They didn’t identify themselves?”

“They did, in a way, but they’re a group of very bad people.”

“How do you know they’re telling the truth?”

“They’re telling the truth, all right. They’re not like us. Many of them had foreign accents.”

“If you could recognize their voices, you can identify them for the police!”

“No! Not the police. They said tell no one.”

“You told me!”

“Yes, well, you’re covered under the code of confidentiality.”

“Did you give them his name?”

I hesitated and said, “After much convincing, yes.”

“We have to warn him!”

“Yes… yes, you’re right!” I said, as the lightbulb came on in my head. “That’s right! I knew you’d know what to do! But not through the police!”

“Then it will have to be you… or me!”

“No, no, Miss Planter, not you; I don’t want you involved in this I just needed to know what to do.”

At that moment, the realization came to me that I had a grip on both of her shoulders. We looked into each other’s eyes; this was a moment of complete desperation and revelation; she needed protection. I pulled her towards me and held onto her; she didn’t resist and put her head on my shoulder. I held her until she was fully enveloped by my arms, and kissed her on the forehead. She looked up to me, and then I was kissing her all over her face and lips. This was a strange development in the almost-doctor/patient relationship. I hadn’t had those types of feelings in years. I realized that I loved her! I loved Karen Planter.