I knew the termination walk very well. I had walked it too many times with associates not to recognize that feeling of a distinct distance growing around me. The banter, if there was any, was small talk of a different sort than the kind engaged around the coffee machine or in the elevator. There, you talked of the weather and last night’s game to non-sports fans. Here, you made hollow observations on anything at all just so you wouldn’t have to listen to the silence.

“Be nice once they open up another lane on the 110 interchange,” I said, but Hector never acknowledged me.

I desperately wanted to crawl into the back seat for the remainder of the ride.

DEAD MAN WALKING

We pulled into the loop under the Coverdale Building and parked under the canopied entrance, a completely unnecessary design as the building above already shielded us from the rain and sun. Rows of exposed light bulbs lit up the space like a Broadway theater.

Inside, I was led to the antiquated dining room and pointed to a table in the corner where Valenti sat. The tuxedoed fellow who was helping me eyed my coatless frame and quietly brought over the house’s blue blazer with shiny, gold buttons. I slipped it on and made the long walk across the burgundy carpet. I slowed as I reached the table and took the coat off. I was growing tired of being told what to do.

Valenti started to dress me down before I even sat down. I held out my hand to stop him.

“No more speeches,” I said. “Not today.”

I looked around for the waiter. Valenti wasn’t going to offer me anything and I was damn determined to get a free cocktail out of the deal before being dismissed. I tried to think of one of the expensive, aged scotches but none of the names immediately came to mind so I ordered a gin instead. A double.

“What happened in 1963?” I asked after a long pull on the glass.

“That’s not what we are here to discuss.”

“Yes, it is. You pushed me in that direction.” I gestured to the area by the entrance. “You insisted that I work closely with Hector. You insisted that I talk to Gao—”

“Jimmy,” he corrected with his usual smirk.

“What actually happened that day?”

I didn’t expect him to answer, and he obliged.

I was coming to the uneasy conclusion that I was being played the entire time. All along it wasn’t about his granddaughter but it was about the museum and Gao and getting what he wanted. Jeanette might just have been a pawn in the whole thing.

“Was Hector covering up for you? Or did you cover up for Hector to gain his loyalty? Whatever this feud was between you and Li, I imagine it manifested itself in some sort of proxy war among the people down a few levels. At least you paid Hector back with some lifetime employment driving you around. I guess that was a fair bargain. The other guy didn’t fare so well.”

Valenti stared at me with no emotion.

“And now it’s all come full circle with the younger Li,” I said, being deliberately vague with the details. He took the bait.

“How do you mean?”

“Just what I said. He’s involved. And maybe trying to exact a little payback.”

I decided to leave it at that. If I was going to be dismissed, there was no reason to give him any information I had discovered. Hector would probably fill him in later anyway.

Valenti was intrigued by the developments I alluded to. I wanted to pretend that didn’t mean anything to me but it did. In a strange way I felt all along like I needed to impress this man, or the money that elevated this man to such a stature. Sometimes we look for validation wherever we can get it.

“Why’d you hire me in the first place? Look, I am my own biggest fan, but if I wanted this task done, and done right, I would have hired a real private investigator or gone to the police.”

“Ironically, you were hired for the same reason you’re being dismissed — indiscretion.”

He slid over a printout from a local gossip blog.

“You know I didn’t place that article,” I said. “But you’re pissed off or scared or humiliated or whatever it is and you’re going to relieve yourself as you have all your life — on someone else. So if it makes you feel better, have your speech about indiscretion. At least let me order another drink.”

I pointed to my glass, and the attentive waiter hurried off to bring a refresher.

“By the way,” I said when the waiter returned. “She had the baby. That’s probably what the forty thousand was for — to pay for the right to have her baby in some crummy building in Alhambra with a bunch of strangers.”

“What?” he whispered.

“Trust me that you wouldn’t want to see this place. Ten to a room, not exactly sanitary. Hector can fill you in,” I told him, somewhat uncomfortable with the cruelty of the words coming out of my mouth. “Maybe because she didn’t know where else a fourteen-year-old with no support can go to have a baby. Or maybe the family didn’t want her to have that baby. You would know why, not me.”

“I’ll make your life a living hell,” he hissed and white spittle formed on his lip.

“Too late,” I replied. “Now that I give it some thought, I think you knew about the baby the whole time. At least at the very end before she went ‘missing’. You conveniently left out those little details,” I reminded, “so before you give me another speech about indiscretion or whatever, look within, pal, look within.”

That’s when I noticed the check on the table written out to me for five thousand lousy dollars. I asked the hovering waiter for his pen and full name and then endorsed the check over to him.

“Better cash that now before he cancels payment,” I instructed as I handed the man the check.

I went out the front entrance, passed the idling sedan where Hector sat behind the dark glass, and grabbed the first available taxi for the long and expensive trip back to Eagle Rock.

HOGTIED

Pat Faber set up a six-thirty touch base on Monday morning as a not-so-subtle reminder that he was still in charge. Normally, calling in was accepted for any meeting starting before 8 a.m., but with a touch base you had to do it in person.

Touch base meetings where people just talked to each other were the darlings of the corporate world. For managers, it was tangible proof that associate feedback was important to them. For associates, it was the opportunity to talk about your accomplishments and hint at the need for a salary increase, something your manager never truly acknowledged and certainly never did anything about.

I always followed a standard approach. I would come with a list of three topics. Never more than three because that would overwhelm Pat, and when that happened he assumed that the person overwhelming him had a communication problem. At the end of my agenda of three I would always drop, “…and one thing I need your advice on.” Pat relished the opportunity to pass along wisdom, so I would quickly roll through my three items, always presenting the challenge first and then how I overcame it. We’d then spend the remaining twenty minutes of the thirty-minute touch base going over the issue I needed help on. To be sure, the issue was never a real one and if it was, I already knew the answer. But to Pat, it was portrayed as something I really struggled with. The value of the touch base was measured by the amount of time Pat talked. Sometimes he’d speak for the entire meeting and when it was time to leave, he was so energized that he’d show me to the door and with a slap on the back he’d say, “We need to do these more often.”