That’s how I kept off management’s radar. But on this particular Monday morning, I flirted with danger. Distracted by my work outside the office, irritated that I had to drag myself into work on a Monday just as the sun was creeping over the horizon, pissed off that they had yet to replace the half-and-half in the break room, I walked into Pat’s office without an agenda.

“Whatcha got for me, Chuck?” Pat chirped a level or two louder than was needed in the empty offices.

“What a week,” I stumbled. “I’m barely keeping my head above water.”

Pat nodded but he didn’t like it. “Busy” was an acceptable reply in elevator banter but not in a touch base.

“Well, that’s why they pay us,” he reminded me.

We bandied about a couple of things I was working on but we never quite got into a good rhythm. I was distracted and my words showed it. Pat grew frustrated and decided to take the lead.

“What do you think of this whole obesity thing?” he asked casually. I was taken aback. All along I never felt my co-manager Paul’s relentless focus on eradicating obesity from the firm ever garnered much support but here was Pat taking up the mantle. He either believed in the cause or it was just a ploy to stir the pot holding the two people about to duke it out for head of the group. “The health costs are becoming prohibitive,” he added. “We really need to help these poor people.”

Now I was nervous. Pat was quoting verbatim from Paul’s messaging plan. When you can get someone to repeat what you say, you have won the game. I knew not to dismiss Paul’s idea outright — that would never be received well, even if the receiver was not a fan of it. I had to tread carefully.

“It’s a real concern,” I started solemnly. “It’s something that’s going to take the full attention and resources of our group.”

I foolishly hoped that would be enough. It wasn’t.

“So what would you do?” he asked straight out.

“There’s no silver bullet solution,” I began tentatively, “but more a series of smaller efforts and initiatives.” I babbled on like this for a minute plus which must have felt like twenty. It was all empty jargon, and Pat wasn’t buying a word of it. “Anyway, it’s something I’d need to get my head around and put out a recommendation, or something.”

I had flown under the radar in enemy territory for a long time but it felt like I was about to be discovered. My reputation was built on being an innovator but the truth was I hadn’t had a fresh idea in over ten years, ever since I invented the Stoplight System for dealing with sexual harassment. And no one seemed to notice or care as long as I played along and talked a good game. The real concern wasn’t that I had no ideas, it was that management would figure it all out. But reputations, once built, are very hard to undo. Thankfully, no one ever looked that closely.

“Chuck, you haven’t had a fresh idea in ten years.”

My heart skipped.

“If you’re going to take this group to the place it needs to be, you’re going to have to bring a new perspective, a new vision.” The lecture that ensued was as direct a dressing-down as the corporate world ever saw. They were very rare, and that did not bode well for me.

“You’re right,” I mustered like an already defeated man.

There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

“Nothing for me?” he asked like the seventh kid after a six pack of sodas has been passed out.

“No,” I answered, though I wished I did have something. “Not this week.”

“Thank you, Chuck,” he dismissed without getting up.

I scurried out of his office before anything more was said and nearly ran over Paul on his way in.

“Hey, Chuck,” he smiled. “Little touch base with the boss?”

“Yeah, we just wrapped up.”

“Did you touch them all?” he laughed at the same joke he’d been telling for fifteen years.

“Yes, Paul, I touched them all.”

“Hey Chuck,” came the earnest voice, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about all this…craziness. I just want to say ahead of time that there are no hard feelings.” Why would there be any, I thought to myself. “No matter how this turns out, whether it’s you running the group or me, I’m going to be happy. Because at the end of the day, it’s the group that matters, and with you or me at the helm it’s going to be a huge success.”

It was a terrific speech, and I didn’t believe a word of it.

“Paul, thank you for those kind words. You have to know that I feel the same thing about you. And if put to a choice,” I said placing a hand on his shoulder and mustering up the same level of unctuousness to match his, “I think you are the better man for the job.”

“I believe you, Chuck, when you say it.” The bastard somehow got a tear in his eye. I could compete with Paul on many things but false sincerity was not one of them. If he went in for hug I might have punched him.

“There are my boys,” Pat smiled, watching over the proceedings like a spectator with a fistful of crumpled bills. “Sizing up the competition, are you?”

Paul and I played it off like good sportsmen do, but I resented the cockfight element of it and the way Pat stood over us with that glib smile at his “boys” who were about to be pitted against each other for a fight for their corporate lives.

Pat never had to fight for anything and was kept around for fear of an ageism lawsuit. And still he clung on despite the firm stripping him of any kind of responsibility. I hated that old man because he was a dithering fool who believed the opposite. I hated him because he made it and men like my old boss, Bob Gershon, didn’t. I hated him because this was the man who controlled my destiny. And it was at that very moment that I decided I actually wanted the job.

I didn’t want the responsibility of the role, or the bump in salary, or the juicy title that came with it. I didn’t want the A-level parking spot or the secret double-bonus opportunities that opened up once you entered this rarified layer of upper management. I wanted it because I wanted to shove it down Pat Faber’s throat.

“Make sure you touch ‘em all,” I advised Paul and stormed off.

***

Despite any misgivings I had of ever using Badger for any work assignments, I needed him for some personal use because, even though Valenti fired me from the job, I was nowhere near ready to quit. For some reason I simply felt like I owed it to Jeanette to find her and make sure she was safe.

I had placed a call to him the night I was dismissed by Valenti with a request to track down the real name and address of the gossip blogger who wrote the story about Jeanette. These sorts of mentions were universally placed by sources with motives — mostly public relations hacks but also people with personal grudges to grind. Perhaps there was value in knowing what motivation drove the person who placed this particular story. Badger told me he would have the information to me in a few hours. But then I never heard back.

After several attempts to reach him and having his phone go straight to voicemail, I decided to make the short drive over to his office/home in Echo Park.

I found parking in front of the building. A few spots down I spied Badger’s car and I got a dry tickle in my throat. In my previous dealings with him, the one constant was his reliability. Like many of his self-proclaimed merits, his “Johnny on the Spot” moniker was consistently accurate. My mind raced at the possibilities and the growing fear that I, and my amateurish sleuthing, had set him on a course that brought him into harm.

I looked apprehensively at the large bay windows but couldn’t see past my own noon-day reflection in the glass. I crossed the ten feet of sidewalk to the front door and entered the office.

It was ten degrees hotter inside than out. The air was still and rank. I didn’t see Badger but the half-opened curtain leading to the back room sang out that if I wanted my answer, I needed to cross through it. My feet sank in the gold-plush carpet as I moved towards the back of the room. Passing the desk, I lifted up the yellowed newspaper. The gun was not there.