Old Friends

Chiang got his start in the industry when Johnson hired him. They shared an office for five years, sitting directly across from one another, each hardly able to avoid the other's gaze.

The two were perfect opposites in nearly every way. Chiang stood a skinny five foot five, his ankles and wrists famously small. One could easily lose sight of him in a crowded room. Johnson's bulky six foot four frame towered over him as did his overbearing, often condescending presence. They worked together seamlessly. Johnson the face and voice of the enterprise, always on the phone and animated in their shared office, his temperament jumping from jovial to bellicose at a moment's notice. Chiang the quiet guy behind the scenes researching their next moves, analyzing data, uncovering new leads and passing them on to Johnson. Johnson at the bar having a few too many with their suppliers and customers. Chiang at home awake into the wee hours taking notes. Everything was peaches until Chiang got a little too comfortable for Johnson's liking. It didn't have a chance of lasting long thereafter, and when Chiang told Johnson he'd be moving to Hong Kong and taking over his uncle's trading company, Johnson felt relief that he wouldn't have to fire his daytime roommate.

Ten years removed from Chiang's decision to leave Johnson, as Johnson's business relationships teetered on the edge of dissolution, the two encountered each other at a tradeshow in Shanghai. Johnson didn't recognize Chiang at first – he'd gained significant weight. They spoke briefly and went their separate ways. Chiang displayed a confidence Johnson had never observed in him before, but Johnson sensed a falseness about his old friend, a deep insecurity beneath the surface. Johnson smiled when he thought of Chiang's rotund figure, his bulging belly hanging over a hidden belt. He laughed before suddenly feeling angry, equating Chiang's obesity with success he must've experienced since their split.

The industry had room for the both of them: their cunning, their rationalizations, their whispered conversations with others like them around the globe. But whether the world would have room for the industry, that was another question entirely, one it would answer in time.

Sweet Revenge

"Is Dan there?"

Don't people say 'hello' anymore, thought Dan. "Who's asking?"

"Name's Johnson. Is Dan there?"

"What's this in reference to?"

"I have an important matter to discuss with him. There's money involved. I'd rather not discuss it over the phone, so I'd like to arrange a meeting."

"I don't know anyone named Johnson. Well, that's not true, but you're not that Johnson."

"So is this Dan?"

"Where would you like to meet?"

"You choose."

"Aramingo Diner. Tomorrow morning, eight o'clock?"

"8:00 am sharp. See you there."

The next morning rolled around and Dan was more suspicious than curious. Something he didn't like in Johnson's voice, something seductive, made him wonder if he should even show up. But Dan didn't have a lot going on lately. He'd never met this Johnson, but somehow he knew just where to sit when he saw a grey haired man alone in a booth.

"Coffee, black," he told the expectant waitress.

"Daniel, it's nice to meet you."

"What can I do for you, Mr. Johnson?"

"Please, just Johnson."

Dan nodded and took a sip of his coffee, which the waitress had delivered within moments of his order.

"Until recently, you were employed at LDS Products, is that correct?" asked Johnson.

"Yes."

"And from what I understand, your departure from LDS wasn't made under the best of circumstances?"

"Being fired usually isn't."

"I didn't want to put it so harshly, Dan, but no, it usually isn't."

"So what do you want with LDS, or with me?"

"I'm sure you're aware that one of LDS' largest accounts is a certain retail chain with a presence in thirty seven states?"

"Of course I am."

"We have it on good authority that a top man at LDS has been bribing a top man at that retail chain for many, many years. Were you aware of this too?"

"No," Dan lied, "but it doesn't surprise me."

"I'll cut to the chase. We want you to blow the whistle on LDS."

Dan took a long, deliberate sip of his coffee.

"Why would you want me to do something like that, Johnson?"

"Fair question. Without going into specifics, I represent a firm that can offer a nearly identical product range to this retailer. When you blow the whistle on your former employer, they'll lose the account, and the company I represent expects to step in and take it."

"If you have the goods on LDS, why not blow the whistle yourselves?"

"Another fair question, but one you could surely answer on your own if you gave it some thought. One reason is that if the information leak were tied to the company I represent, this could hurt if not ruin their chances of winning the account in the aftermath of the scandal. Nobody likes to give business to people who cause trouble, and the leak could raise questions my clients don't want to answer. Another reason is that it'll all sound better if it comes from a former LDS employee, and you're in a unique position to be that man."

"So I do the dirty work, and your clients ride in to save the day."

"Precisely."

"I could easily guess the name of the company you represent."

"Maybe, but don't bother because I won't confirm it. And why should it matter to you anyway?"

"You're right, it doesn't matter to me. What does matter to me is what you're offering."

Johnson smiled and removed a pen from the pocket inside his suit jacket. He wrote down a number with four zeroes on a beverage napkin and slid it across the table top.

Dan looked down at the napkin and then back up at Johnson. "I know how large that account could be for your clients. I think the number you wrote down is missing a zero."

"Check, please," Johnson told the approaching waitress. He waited for her to walk away. "Dan, we're talking about cash. The amount we've offered is significant. Give it some thought."

"I've given it enough thought already. Add a zero or find another ex-LDS man to sink their ship."

Johnson smiled again as the waitress brought their tab. He removed a few bills from his wallet and stood to leave and extended a hand toward Dan. They shook.

"I'll speak with my client and get back in touch with you. Good day to you, sir."

Dan sat and finished his coffee. He had no doubt that Johnson would meet his demand, a pittance compared to the profits his clients would make if their plan were to work. "Waitress," he said, "I'll take some eggs and scrapple and white toast. And more coffee." He added, to himself, "I'm celebrating sweet revenge."

Johnson

The hotel barroom sang a muffled song of jilts and laughs and confident exertions. A bandbox of a space with a lone billiards table and an L shaped bar, a few worn leather chairs and sofas rounding it out, businessmen and a country club crowd filled its seats and standing room.

"Come on now, Johnson, you can't possibly have bet against the Phillies last night. And who bets on baseball, anyway?" asked Robeson.

"I only bet it when I get the urge," replied Johnson, "and last night I had precisely that."

A third man sat and listened to this exchange, unamused. A business associate of Johnson's, visiting unexpectedly from China, Johnson felt his disapproval and knew its root.

"Oh, Wang, don't be such a curmudgeon. You've traveled all this way, may as well relax and let yourself go a little."

Wang boiled. "Mr. Johnson, you are correct. I've come a long way indeed. And all day today you avoid discuss with me the reason I am here. We go to ballgame, get massage, have long dinner with your friend-" Robeson nodded "-but not once we discuss business. You know why I am here."

Johnson, slightly drunk, laughed. "Sure, of course, you're here to bust my balls."

Now Robeson laughed too. "Mr. Johnson you owe my company hundreds of thousands of dollars! We are reaching the high credit limit we can extend to you. If this balance not cleared up soon, we will stop the relationship."

Robeson cringed as he listened to Wang threaten his friend. "Excuse me," he said, and walked to the other side of the bar, where he seamlessly fell into conversation with a well coiffed acquaintance.

"You can't cut us off, Wang! Don't be ridiculous, we own the market here, your customer base. We'll work something out tomorrow. Have another drink, wouldja?" Johnson slurred a little bit. He finished his Scotch and signaled for the bartender. "Wang, whaddaya wanna drink?"

"Nothing, Mr. Johnson. I'll retire now to my room. We talk first thing in the morning. 8:00. See you then in the lobby." He bowed to Johnson and left in a brisk strut.

"Darn Chinese," muttered Johnson to himself. He hid his stress level with a forced smile – a frequent, false expression of self-satisfaction. He thought of everyone to whom he owed money: Wang's company, various other enterprises in China and some in Europe, and multiple individuals, some more demanding than others. Lacking for a solution, he ordered another Scotch and resigned that he'd find a way to appease Wang the next day. He'd come up with something, he thought, he'd always come up with something.

Robert Aches

The fire burns and Robert sits beside it. He looks at the skinny wooden lamp in the corner of the room and, for no reason at all, considers breaking it over his knee.

There are calls he should return. People with whom he should break bread. He sees himself leaning against a long, white marble bar speaking with Johnson then throwing his Scotch into Johnson's face. The damage he could cause himself and others is staggering, he thinks.

Perhaps best to get away. He's saved some money without assigning it a purpose. Maybe he'll fly somewhere warm and stay there a while, or forever. Goodbyes won't be necessary.

Above the fireplace there's a painting he made years ago. Two boys in overalls holding fish caught in the nameless lake behind them. The shorter boy looks up at the taller one with admiration, seeking approval, but the taller boy looks off in the distance. Robert used an old photo he found in his parents' house as the model for the painting. He never knew who the boys were or where the photo was taken. The trees along the lake are the colors of Fall.

Unsure how long he's been sitting there, in his study, he thinks it a good time to make tea. The tea soothes him. When he puts out the fire, his back aches, and he hopes he'll be able to sleep.