The Lovely Chocolate Mob

Firewall

We all filed out of the men’s room and back onto the workroom floor, where the sounds of rushing feet were heard. “You can look up, Mr. Owen,” said ‘Agent Huebner.’ “You need to see where you’re going.” I looked up to see the workers all exiting towards the front of the building, creating a running sea of people pouring out the doors. They were carrying equipment, like hammers, tools, buckets, anything that would take up room and space and cause noise and confusion. Then someone pulled an alarm, and the confusion only got louder, and more workers poured toward the exit and to the hallway and reception room area, which was packed with people pushing and yelling at each other.

There I was, surrounded by men whom I didn’t know, and they were taking me in that same general direction, out of the workroom and into the hallway which connected to the reception room. The men weren’t allowing me to walk freely by myself; I was hemmed in on all sides by them. “Keep your head down, Mr. Owen,” said ‘Agent Huebner.’ “You might be seen by the police, and we wouldn’t want that.” I ducked low so as to not be seen by the blue sea of policemen who had poured into the reception area. I heard voices yelling at each other, and one was a voice I recognized, chairman of the board Hal Ostrander, who was saying, “I don’t care if you were sent here by the mayor. This is private property, and unless you can produce a search warrant, you have no right to be here. Look at what this is going to cost us!” I guessed he was referring to the workers leaving their posts. I heard the voice of Lieutenant Bond saying something about finding the murderer of Cornelius Lovely, but by that time I was in the stairwell being hustled up the stairs, probably heading to the executive offices. Since I wasn’t being turned over to the police, I began to wonder what exactly was going to be done with me. Maybe I’d be murdered and shipped out as little pieces in boxes of chocolate. Oh well, it had been a good life, and I had resigned myself to my punishment. Everybody dies, and I began to hope for a quick and painless death.

We kept going up the stairs, and by the time we got to the fifth floor, I thought, “This is it!” All I could hear was my own breathing and felt my heartbeat pounding, and I looked hard into my own life. Maybe they’ll kill me and stick my body in a janitor’s closet with a mop over my head until the cops left; even so, Lord Jesus, here I come! Then I saw that we had bypassed the fifth floor, and were headed up to the ceiling, where I’d be thrown to my death. On the other hand, five floors wasn’t really that high; if I landed in a tree or a bush, maybe I’d survive. Hopefully they wouldn’t shoot me on my way down.

We reached the top of the building, and all of us poured out onto the ceiling top, all the feet who were in the men’s room meeting, including the purple lady from the board of directors. Someone had evidently called a fire alarm in the building, or called in a bomb scare, which was all I could figure at the moment since there were all kinds of emergency vehicles down in the parking lot. Maybe I would be blown up or set on fire and be given an ambulance ride with a police escort to the morgue. But there were too many suits standing around me for a bomb, and so far no one had come forth to do me in.

I finally spoke up, “Is this where it happens? Is this where I get it?”

The lady from the board of directors looked at me, now speaking in her normal voice and saying, “Nothing is happening, Mr. Owen. You’re not going to get it. We’re trying to get you out of here. We don’t want you caught by the authorities.”

I was puzzled at this and said “Why? Don’t you want to punish me for all I’ve done, for what I’ve cost you and the company?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Owen,” she said. “You’ve done nothing to hurt us. You’ve only helped us.”

I stopped looking around and said, “How so?”

“You see,” she started, “After our first meeting with you, we took a vote and decided that killing wasn’t the way to solve business practices anymore.”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

“Nein, Herr Owen,” said Heinrich. That’s against our by-laws now. We’re a reformed cartel and haff turned over the new leaf, thanks to you!”

“What did I do?”

“It was your belief in God, His rules, His laws, and you said to ‘Get creative!’ is how you put it,” said the Russian ‘Agent Carter.’ “Saying that forced us to face ourselves, and we did not like what we saw! Nyet!”

“Obviously our ways were the old ways; we no longer murder, or kill, as a means to solve problems. Enough of us decided that there had to be a better way,” said the British voice, a dapper-looking man with a trim haircut, pencil mustache and pin-striped suit.

“Good thing our organization, it is the Democratic model. We took the vote!” said the Spanish voice, a man in workpants and white shirt and tie, complete with hardhat. He looked like a floor room supervisor.

I couldn’t take it all in; it was happening too fast. “I’m not going to die? I’m going to live?”

“Yes!” “Si!” “Jah!” “Da!” came all at once. “Keeling you would be like keeling Cornelius Lovely, our founder! We owe you; you’ve reformed our organization!”

“Then what are we doing up here, if you’re not going to throw me off the building?” Everyone laughed at this, then turned at the sound of a helicopter approaching, bringing with it lots of noise, dust, and wind. We backed up to give it room to land, and I thought it was all over for me again.

“Thanks for the effort, fellows, but it looks like the FBI has me after all.”

“That’s not the bureau, Senior Owen; that’s our helicopter!” said the Spanish member.

“Lovely Chocolate has a helicopter?” I asked.

“Let’s just say… an unnamed Lovely Chocolate subsidiary has a helicopter,” said the Brit, with a grin. “When we have to make ‘special deliveries… sometimes it’s best to bypass the railroads and highways, and border checks. It’s more efficient, old boy.”

“You’re still into smuggling?” I said. “But what about the reform movement?”

“One vice at a time, good man. These things take time.”

“Then what are you delivering today?”

“We are delivering you, Mr. Owen, delivering you to freedom, and back to a normal life, we hope.”

Things were still moving too fast, but not too fast for me to say, “Thanks!”

“You are welcome, Senior Owen,” said the Italian member. “But don’t get the idea we’re doing this out of pure motives. We still have need of you.”

“You have need of me? Still? How?” I didn’t get it, and wanted answers before I disappeared.

The Caribbean member stepped forward, saying, “Your drains, Mr. Owen. How do you think we move our special products in and out of the Lovely Factory? When we start modernizing the plant next year, we’ll have even more need for a good drainage system, in and out of our factories. You design the best drains in the east Texas area. Thanks, Mon.” And with that, the Caribbean gave a knowing grin.

I was being led and guided towards and into the helicopter, with the realization that I’d already been an unknowing accessory to a multinational smuggling operation. Along with me came ”Agent Huebner,” “Agent Belken,” “Agent Carter,” Heinrich, and the purple lady, which made seven of us, including the pilot. We piled in, buckled-up and lifted off; as we went up, I could see perhaps over a hundred workers, businessmen, and executives waving at us from the top of the building, or were they waving goodbye to me?

We flew over the parking lot and away from the two dozen police cars below and three firetrucks and two ambulances and the one S.W.A.T. van, leaving behind some frustrated snipers, probably. I also thought I spotted the KDBC news van down below, but couldn’t be absolutely sure.





Airborne

“That’s a lot of police hardware,” I said, pointing to the squad cars below. “What if they decide to open fire on us?”

“Let’s hope for our sake they don’t,” said “Agent Belken,” “It’s a long way down.”

“Where are we going?” I asked.

The Russian answered, “We are headed to your friend, Walter Dale. We have business with him.”

“You’re not mad at him, are you?”

“Da, we are mad at him, but do not worry. Remember, we no kill no more.” He turned to me, smiling, “Mebbe we just bust him up.” I think he was joking.

“How do you know where he is?” I asked.

“We planted bugging device on him, in jail. Then we tip off police, let them find to bring you in.”

“Who tipped me off?”

“We no tip you off. You have friend at station?” said the Russian, giving me a curious look.

I remained quiet, hoping I hadn’t compromised anyone.

“I guess Walter will be surprised by us,” I said.

The pilot took a circuitous route, in case we were being observed from the ground. We went north from the Lovely Chocolate Factory and were soon over the country until we lost sight of the tallest buildings in Lovely. Then we turned west and, after a few minutes, turned south, circling the east side of Lovely, without being seen by anyone in the city. Then the helicopter veered east and into territory I was vaguely familiar with but hadn’t seen very much in the daytime.

Down below was Estella’s bar and grill, along with many motorcycles parked outside, with a few cars, and one brightly colored convertible… or was that a convertible? We got closer and passed over the building and could see that the convertible looked two-dimensional, as though it were flat.

“That’s our target,” said Heinrich, looking at instruments and pointing below.

“The convertible?” I asked.

“No, look again,” said Heinrich. “If it were night, we might be fooled, but in daylight we can see better.” I took another look, and as we neared the bright red convertible, I could see it really was a picture, pasted or taped on top of a larger, flat-topped vehicle, an RV.

“We need for you to call your friend so he doesn’t shoot us out of the sky again,” said “Agent Belken.”

Things were coming into focus, but I was still a bit confused when I asked, “That was you?”

“Agent Belken” grinned and said, “The FBI aren’t the only ones with air power. I thought I recognized you from some place.”

Taking my cell phone from my belt, I called Walter’s number, but it was too late. We saw the bright red convertible with the RV base take off from the parking area and onto the road, throwing dust up behind it, with the helicopter giving chase. The RV picked up speed going through the country and headed north towards the city where Walter might have better luck losing us. Little squares of the red convertible were flying off the top of the RV, pieces about the size of 8” by 11”; now I knew why Walter needed my printer.

“We’ve got to stop him before he does something desperate," said “Agent Huebner.” “We’ll use the megaphone; can you reason with him?”

He handed me a megaphone, and the pilot opened the door next to him. I leaned out the door as far as I could, held the megaphone to my mouth, and said, “Walter! Walter! Stop! This is Randall, Randall Owen, your friend! It’s all over! Stop so we can talk!”

The RV came to a screeching halt. We watched it for a moment, and I tried calling Walter again on the cell phone. This time he picked up.

“Fancy way to make an entrance!” said Walter. “What’s going on? Why are you with the feds?”

“No,” I said, “It’s just me and the chocolate employees. They’re not dangerous; we’ve become allies. They just want information.”

We landed the helicopter in a field near the RV, which had moved over to the side of the road. Walter got out and walked towards the helicopter. All of us, except the pilot, left the helicopter to walk towards Walter.

“Agent Huebner” asked, “Where’s Dr. Burke?”

Walter said, “I don’t know. He left in Kim’s van in the other direction after I took off in the RV. We thought you bureaucrats were going to shoot first and ask questions later, so I was the decoy.”

“Agent Belken” looked back in the direction of the bar and grill, then smiled. “Pretty slick, Mr. Dale.”

“What did you need him for, anyway?” asked Walter.

“We really don’t need him at all anymore,” said “Agent Huebner.” “We just wanted to get Mr. Owen here out of a jam and deliver him back to you. Also, we’d like to talk to you about how you managed to tap into Susan Lovely’s account. We may be able to use a man like you…. in chocolate.”

Walter’s eyes lit up. “You mean a job? Employment? A nine to five?” He looked at me. “Randall! Now I can be like everybody else, a working stiff, a normal person, a man with a mission, a chocolateer!”

”Agents Carter and Belken” laughed between themselves, but not in a derisive way.

“Agent Huebner” said, “We have need of men with technical skills, as well as special skills, making sure we get our products to well-paying clients on time. Think you’d be interested?”

“Interested? Where do I… who are you?” said Walter, changing gears in mid-sentence. “How do you get to hire me?”

“I’m in charge of recruiting and training for the Lovely Chocolate Company,” said “Agent Huebner.” My real name is unimportant right now. For Mr. Owen’s sake, I’ll remain a mystery; the less he knows, the better for him. He’s already helped our company into the new era; we don’t want to cause him any harm. The job pays well; would you be interested?”

“I get benefits, okay? And no killing and no stealing; that’s bad.”

“Yes, benefits,” said “Agent Huebner.” “Paid vacations and holidays, health insurance and a retirement plan. No killing, no stealing. Maybe a little ‘borrowing,’ but we always pay people back, with interest.”

“Why me?” said Walter.

“Your technical savvy, your loyalty to a cause, to your friends, and…” “Agent Huebner” smiled and turned to his team, “I have a grudging admiration for a man who doesn’t shoot us out of the sky with heat-seeking missiles!”

The rest of his crew let up a cheer. The Russian “Agent Carter” finally spoke, “We thought we were the dead meat when we saw you with bazooka! We scream like leetle girls; thank you for showing mercy!”

“Aw…” said Walter, looking at the ground. He was actually embarrassed, having been caught doing something right.

He was even more embarrassed when the big Russian picked him up off the ground in a bear hug, turning circles and shaking him all around, to the amusement and laughter of the helicopter group.





Excuses

Heinrich spoke first. “Before we leave, Herr Owen, remember that you have never met or seen any one of us. You will have to disappear for a day or two before returning home. Rest assured that we will never forget you or your friends, but we feel it’s in your best interests to live a quiet life, seeing how you are mostly a quiet man. Do you have any questions before we leave?”

“Yes, I have a few,” I said. “How am I going to explain all of this to the community? My face has been on television as a wanted man in connection with the latest Lovely developments.”

“Our public relations department will take care of most of the damage to your reputation. We have been doing this for years, with excuses, alibis, and cover-ups, etc. You will have to weather the storm until the worst blows over. If the media ask where you’ve been lately, tell them that you were out looking for your friends in the country. They were, after all, close to an explosion!”

That sounded somewhat reasonable. There were a few other loose ends that needed tying up, though. Turning to “Agent Belken,” I asked, “How did you manage to find out about Miss Planter?”

“We have eyes everywhere,” said “Agent Belken.” All we have to do is keep them supplied.”

“Supplied?” I asked, somewhat hesitantly.

“Agent Belken” smiled. “Supplied with chocolate. Most of our informants are blue-collar workers, who trade information for what we offer, a chocoholic’s dream. The man-on-the-street can’t afford our best products.”

I could just see Miss Planter’s secretary dropping a dime on us. I don’t think she ever liked me, anyhow.

The group started walking back to the helicopter, leaving me and Walter standing there. I still had questions. “One more question!” I yelled. Heinrich stopped in his tracks and turned around. I walked closer to him. “If you have paid informants spread through all society, who can be trusted?” I asked, not really expecting an answer.

He looked at me with a steely stare and said, “You will survive if…”--I leaned forward to hear clearly what he had to say-- “… you trust no man in business.” While moving his hand down across his facial scar, he added, “and when business is chocolate, trust no woman.”

A lady’s voice could be heard from the helicopter, “Heinrich! Macht schnell!”

“Yes, dear!” he said as he turned to run and, then looking over my shoulder, said, “Valter! Come mit us!”

“Looks like my job starts right now!” Walter said to me. “Here, take the RV back to your house; I’ll get it later, after I get situated at work!” And with that he tossed me his keys and ran after the others, and when he caught up to “Agent Belken,” pulled a small device out of his pocket, handed it to him, and said, “Let’s get off on the right foot. Here’s your bug.”

“Agent Belken” looked surprised, then laughed as he pocketed the device.

Now all the Lovely employees were inside the helicopter. Walter sat where I had sat; the copter started and rose, everyone waving to me, and I could see Walter grinning from ear to ear, looking forward to starting his new life.





The Wait

I drove Walter’s RV back to Estella’s bar and grill, and asked them if I could park it out back for a day or two. Since I was a regular customer now, they knew me, and seeing how I was watching Walter’s RV, they didn’t mind. They seemed glad to have a customer who would be eating breakfast, lunch, and maybe dinner for the next full day, maybe even longer. They said that Walter had a regular spot out back, complete with a water hose, electricity, a line which ran from the bar and grill, and even a sewer connection, which tied into the bar and grill’s own sewer line. Evidently he had spent more time here than I thought.

I thought about calling Helen and explaining the situation to her, but thought better of it since I was still a wanted man. I took the batteries out of my cell phone and got comfortable in Walter’s RV, and fell fast asleep.

The next full day I rested, relaxed, and did absolutely nothing except shower, shave, read, and eat; I read and ate in the restaurant. I tried to keep away from the rest of the patrons, and ate in a booth in the shadows and kept a newspaper in my face. The papers had it all wrong, still, but hopefully with time any misunderstandings would be straightened out. Maybe they’d print a retraction, clear our names, and take our pictures off the front page. There we were, four of us in separate photographs, all lined up in a row… Cornelius Lovely, Susan Lovely, Dr. Burke, and me. Walter had somehow escaped the line-up; maybe it was because he was smarter than all of us. They used my driver’s license picture; couldn’t they have used the portrait I had on the wall at work? At least I appeared to be five years younger.

That night I sat alone again in the grill, and the patrons were playing the television above the bar, when a live news report broke, saying that there had been no murder of Cornelius Lovely, that the missing Lovely inheritance funds had been found, and that Dr. Burke had been the bombing victim of a disgruntled hospital patient.

Pictures of Dr. Burke were shown, with him arriving at his own home, meeting Helen on the front porch. There were multiple videos, with a the reporter explaining that Dr. Burke had been near his car when it exploded, and he’d been walking around with amnesia for a few weeks, until he saw himself on television and realized who he was. Evidently a hospital patient, angry with his bill, had rigged an IED and placed it under a car in the doctor’s parking lot, taking care to pick the most expensive looking one. The mystery bomber was still at large, and the news had labeled him as ”the Doctor Bomber,” and warned other hospital workers to walk or take the bus or bicycles to work.

Photographs were shown of Dr. Burke kissing Helen and then the children coming to the porch to meet their father, and Dr. Burke was videoed kissing and hugging all the children. It looked as though the good doctor was off to a new beginning with his family.

The news then cut to the home of Susan Lovely, who was shown sitting on her couch in a low-cut dress, eating bon-bons and drinking something that Julio was bringing her. In the interview she said, “I’m glad that Frank … Dr. Burke has been cleared of all wrongdoing. I knew he was innocent all along, and I’m also glad that my grandfather died of natural causes and that my inheritance has been restored to its rightful place. Thank you, Julio,” she said as she took a drink off the platter he was holding.

Gregory Jouglard appeared on screen, saying, “We now take you live to the administrative offices of the Lovely Chocolate Company, where KDBC news anchor Darla Bell is speaking with some of the administrative staff.”

The television screen flickered, then showed Darla Bell standing in a room surrounded by official-looking staff members of the Lovely Chocolate business. “Hello, this is Darla Bell with KDBC news at the public relations office of the Lovely Chocolate Company, where company technician Walter Dale will explain the missing funds mystery. Mr. Dale?”

The men at the bar all looked up at the same time when Walter’s name was mentioned, and a few remarked, “Walter! Hey, that’s Dale!” Kim also looked up. Men started walking towards the bar, getting closer to the television, so Kim turned up the volume for them, since a few of them were hard-of-hearing.

“Yes, thank you, Miss Bell. What happened at the Lovely Chocolate Company was a technical, financial mix-up, causing the inherited funds of Miss Lovely to suddenly vanish, or to disappear from her account. What in actuality happened was that, since Cornelius Lovely’s bank accounts are so closely connected to the funds of the Lovely Chocolate Company, when it came time to switch the funds from one account to another, it automatically downloaded the funds from Mr. Lovely’s account into the research and development funds here at the Lovely Chocolate Company. Our computer bookkeeper had been on a leave of absence for personal reasons, so these misplaced funds in our various accounts were not discovered until a few hours ago! They were never stolen, merely misplaced, all because of automation gone wrong.”

Darla Bell: “Wouldn’t you say this is a good reason to have all monetary funds handled manually in the future, especially when the amount of funds is so huge?”

Walter Dale: “Yes, yes, you are absolutely right, Miss Bell. There are some things that machines cannot improve on. And I have a question for you if you don’t mind.”

Darla Bell: “And what is that, Mr. Dale?”

Walter changed demeanors on the spot, leered at her, and said, “Is there a Mr. Bell in your life?”

The men at the bar started laughing, Kim shook her head with a grin, and I smiled when I saw the news reporter do a double-take at Walter and the camera before saying, “This is Darla Bell signing off from…” and then stopping since she had forgotten where she was.

By that time, Walter was walking around her, almost strutting, and saying, “As you can see, I’m gainfully employed!”

Miss Bell quickly recouped to say, “Back to you, Greg!”

All the bikers laughed even louder, drowning out the news anchorman with the follow-up story.

There it was. All loose ends had been covered, except for mine. I could go home tomorrow and try to get back to normal.

After all this, I didn’t know if I wanted to get back to normal. Normal was boring.





Home

The next day I unhooked Walter’s RV and thanked the owners of the bar and grill, promising I’d be back for more meals and drinks, and drove toward the city. I listened to the radio all the way back in, but nothing was mentioned of the Lovely murder or missing inheritance or Dr. Burke; only weather and sports and traffic were the big news of the day. I pulled up into my street to find my house, windows shattered and police “Do not cross” tape tied from tree to tree, but there were no police cars around. I ignored the tape and went into my home, which was made easy since my doors had been kicked in. I made a mental note to look into purchasing stronger doors.

There was glass all over the floor, and the carpet and furniture were stained red, probably from the smoke and tear gas that had been shot into my house, as I found out later from the neighbors. They had really enjoyed watching all the developments.

I called the police department, telling them who and where I was. They asked me to come down and give a statement as to where I had been the past few days. I said I would but that I would like to clean up my house first since they had managed to smash it to pieces. The policeman became much nicer after I said that. I told him I didn’t blame the department, since they were only doing their job, and I wasn’t going to hold them liable. I was a big boy now and could buy new doors and windows myself. I guess I was feeling a bit guilty since I had, after all, probably broken the law a few times and led them on a wild goose chase on Lovely Hill. It wasn’t the insurance company’s fault either, so why make them pick up the tab? Good thing there really wasn’t too much damage. It’s just things; they can be replaced.

I decided to quit sweeping up in the middle of the house cleaning, and get a shower and cleaned up and into some clean clothes, hopefully some clothes that didn’t smell like tear gas, and drive downtown to see Miss Planter.

I headed downtown and stopped at Gary Byers’ Florist and picked-up a dozen roses. Gary smiled over the counter and asked, “What’s this for?”

I said, “Oh, nothing,” not wanting to share my personal life; after all, perhaps this might blow up in my face, as things had with Helen.

He replied, “That’s too bad; I thought they were for Miss Planter.”

“They are for--hey, how did you find out about…?” I asked.

“From somebody I don’t know,” smiled Gary, then he added, “On the house. If you like this girl, we don’t charge for classmates.”

I thanked him and told him that was a nice gesture on his part. While I walked towards the exit he said, “Anything I can do for a man on the run!” I laughed at that. I could afford to laugh, now.

I headed towards the medical center and wondered what the heck I was doing. I had never married. I’d never been seriously involved with anyone since Helen. This was new and strange territory for me, but somehow I felt it was a journey that must be traveled.

I parked the RV next to my car; nobody had discovered it yet. There next to my car was Miss Planter’s car. How did it get here? I had the keys, and the last place it was located was at the Lovely Chocolate Company… oh, never mind. They took care of that, too.

I entered the building and decided to be different and take the elevator up to the third floor. I walked down the hall, turned into the mental health area, and greeted Phyllis the secretary, who seemed surprised.

“Why so startled to see me?” I asked. “You act as though I were dead!”

“I thought you were … a wanted man!”

“That was yesterday,” I said. “Things have changed. Is Miss Planter in?”

“Yes, but she’s with a patient right now.”

“I can wait,” I said and made my way over to a chair to sit and relax. I didn’t even bother to read anything; it was just good enough to be here, in one piece.

The phone buzzed at the secretary’s desk, and she answered it. She was talking to Miss Planter and told her that I was here waiting to see her, and that I was happy to wait. I sat there for maybe 10 more minutes but somehow was content. I was content to wait. I had no place better to be at that moment.

After 20 minutes of sitting, Miss Planter finally opened her door and gave me the “okay” to come in. Her patient took the back door out, so we were alone. She was curious to know what happened, but first I presented the dozen roses to her. Her eyes got big for a moment, and then she looked at me as to ask, “What are these for?”

“You’re fired,” I said.