Razor Burnby O. J. Anderson |
Table of Contents Chapter 15, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19 appear in this issue. |
| Chapter 16 |
Razor picks up Kate at her hotel. She is wearing a curvy little gray number with navy pinstripes. Again with the white blouse, high collar. Black leather shoes with two-inch duty heels. Thin gold watch dropping from her bony wrist. He notices all this without even looking, trying not to inhale her citrus perfume too loudly, about to rip the steering wheel from the dash board.
They stop at a roadside snack shack on their way to the cube. Kate gets a bagel with cream cheese and a coffee, black. Razor gets a newspaper. The headline reads:
VOODOO SLAYINGS ON THE RISE!
“Another voodoo victim?” Sipping her coffee.
“Mm.”
Kate sets the cup on the hood of the truck and peels open the foil around her bagel. “We’ll never get a warrant to search ChemTECH’s records based on the rantings of a pill-popping paranoid schizophrenic running three-legged races on a mental farm.”
Razor smiles briefly, then sees something at the bottom of the page. He reads: “The Bikharmer/ Manila Drug Treatment and Rehabilitation Center. Grand Opening. Nine thirty.”
“Bikharmer/Manila?”
“Let’s go.”
* * *
A quivering croissant of reporters has formed and elbow each other for position around Sal Manila, Erskine Bikharmer, and company in front of the spanking new drug treatment center.
The center is red brick and tinted glass, a simple squared off style that looks fresh and vibrant against the chain-link and concrete gray monotone of lower Water Street. Only a few feet away from the walls of the new building: faded beer cans and a rusty bicycle with a tacoed wheel, flat tires.
Tied to the columns before the entrance of the center is a large blue ribbon. One of the Mayor’s aides is standing by with a large pair of scissors.
Mayor Manila is saying, “And I have to thank Patty Dennis for all her hard work putting this together. Super job. Really. Is Patty here today? Was she able to make it?” The Mayor twists around with a stupid smile on his face looking for the woman. “No? Okay, that’s all right. She’s probably right back to work, if I know Patty, and I think I do.”
Razor sets his smoothie on the dashboard and peels a banana. “That must be Bikharmer behind our idiot mayor.”
“Mm-hm.”
Erskine Bikahrmer stands there looking kind of like he has absolutely no idea what planet he is on at the moment.
Mayor Manila: “There he is, standing right next to me. How about that? Always the last place you look. Anyway, old Jim Brascoe here is who I like to call Mr. Indispensable, because he so, well, indispensable. I could not do what I do every day without old Jim Brascoe here doing what he does every day. You know what? A new drug treatment center just doesn’t built itself. Doesn’t work like that. It takes people like Jim Brascoe to build one. It takes lots and lots of sacrifice, long nights at the office putting the project together. Am I right, Jim? Aren’t you separated now?”
Jim Brascoe nods solemnly.
Mayor Manila puts his hand on Jim’s shoulder. “See what I mean, folks. That’s commitment to our city. You can’t talk about commitment without talking about my good buddy, Jim. I really appreciate all you did here. Really. Could... would you mind saying a few words, Jim?”
Clearing his throat, Jim steps forward to the microphone. “Thank you, Mr. Mayor. Thank you very much. That really means a lot to me. But you know what else means a lot to me? Seeing this new facility opening, that’s what. I’m anticipating a lot of good things happening here. Great things. Healing. Opportunity. Let’s work together to heal this great city of ours.”
Kate says, “This is painful to watch.”
“It’s like listening to grass grow,” Razor says. His cell phone rings.
Jim continues: “Now, I’d like to take just a moment or two myself to thank someone. Someone whose leadership, courage, integrity, and unwavering devotion to this city have truly inspired me over the years. Someone whom I am honored to call my personal role model. That someone, ladies and gentlemen, is my friend Mayor Salvatore Manila.”
The applause is less than roaring.
Kate says, “This guy deserves a gold medal in ass kissing.”
Razor presses a button and drops the cell. “Voelkler was admitted to Garden City General Hospital this morning. He’s in critical condition. Someone crushed his psyche with a field hockey stick during activity time.”
Mayor Manila steps back to the microphone. “Thanks, buddy.” He clears his throat. “I’m a little choked up right now. But... ah, keep it together, Sal.” The Mayor takes a deep breath. Composes himself. “Now I’d like to ask our distinguished quest, Erskine Bikharmer, if he would assist me in cutting the ribbon.”
Manila and Bikharner shake hands. An aide hands them the big scissors. Taking hold of the scissors, the two men pause for photographs. They cut the ribbon, smile. More photographs. Erskine Bikharmer could either be smiling or wincing, it’s hard to tell. A few people from the Mayor’s office clap.
The Mayor then says, “Okay. Do we have time? Can we take a few questions? Good. Let’s start over here.”
Razor opens the truck door. “I’ve got a few questions.”
The throng of journalists tightens around the Mayor.
“Mr. Mayor, can you confirm or deny that there is a delegation of voodoo witchdoctors on a killing spree in Garden City? Are these murders human sacrifices?”
“I can neither confirm nor deny that,” the Mayor says.
“But you won’t deny it?”
“That’s correct.”
“Is this the beginning of a drug war?”
“I sure hope not.”
Razor and Kate flank the reporters and approach Erskine Bikharmer, who is busy commiserating with Jim Brascoe. “...some really exciting new products...”
“Excuse me,” Kate says. “Mr. Bikharmer? Hello. I’m Doctor Kate Jenkins with the Walldalla Bureau of Investigation and this is Berney Razor from the SCU. I was hoping we could have a minute to ask you a few questions regarding one of your labs.”
“Sorry,” he says. “Call my office. Speak with someone there.”
“Yes, we’ve tried that. But no one ever returns our calls.”
Razor blurts, “Ever hear of the Dalls-Crik virus?”
“Razor!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’ll be begging me for a lot more than that if you don’t start talking, you little-”
Noticing what’s happening, Mayor Manila hurries over and steps into the middle of the confrontation. “Uh, Mr. Bikharmer isn’t taking any questions. That was the deal. Now if you’d kindly move along then.”
“These are the police,” Erskine says.
“Oh. Then you work for me. So you won’t mind explaining to me just what the hell you think you’re doing.”
“I do not work for you,” Kate says. “Kate Jenkins, WBI.”
“Okay. And what about this gorilla? Who do you work for?”
“Your mother.”
“Excuse me?”
The slow, rusty voice of Thaddeus Bikharmer comes creeping over the Mayor’s shoulder. “Sal, it’s okay. Calm down.”
“But...” Mayor Manila turns and sees the elder Bikharmer standing there with his bodyguard Leon.
“I said it’s okay, Sal. Leave it alone.”
“Mr. Bikharmer, I respectfully have to say that it is most certainly not okay.”
Thaddeus Bikharmer ignores the Mayor and steps forward, pushing his son out of the way with the backside of his purplish hand. He walks straight up to Kate and says, “Maybe if my son knew how pretty you were he would have returned your calls right away.”
Kate blushes and smiles. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
“You know he doesn’t even return my calls anymore. Not unless he needs something. Can you believe that? His own father.”
“Now, that’s not completely true, Father.”
Thaddeus takes Kate’s hand.
Off to the side, another situation rapidly develops. Thaddeus Bikharmer’s bodyguard, Leon, steps up into Razor’s personal space and begins a staredown. Leon is a big guy, wearing all black except for the bright yellow sport coat. He has a diamond stud in each ear and a thin, inky goatee.
“You must be Freezer Burn,” Lean says with a smirk. “Seen you on the news a few times. Funny though, you don’t look so bad in person.”
A vein pops out of Razor’s neck. “Maybe you’d be interested in one of my personalized ass kickings. See what that looks like.”
Leon: crazy eyes. “Where do I sign up?”
Thaddeus says to Kate, “Listen, dear, I’d love to talk to you about any concerns that you may have, but now is really not a good time. You can see that.”
Manila leans in. “It really isn’t. Duh!”
“Stop it, Sal. Don’t mind him, dear. Now, I’m hosting a soiree at my home tonight. Formal, of course. It’s going to be a celebration of cooperation between the city and industry. I would love it if you were there. We can talk then. What do you say? Will you come?”
“Sir, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Kate smiles. “I suppose I could pop in for a bit.”
“Good,” Thaddeus says. “It’s settled then. I’ll have an invitation sent over to your office immediately.”
“Sir, this is highly irregular.”
“Sal, don’t you have something you should be doing?”
* * *
The white ChemTECH van stops adjacent to the armed Security Force guard holding up his hand in front of the BP compound’s main gate. The two men in the van hand over their identification cards and the delivery manifest. The driver says, “Hot one today.”
The guard, scrutinizing the paperwork closely, says nothing. Holds up the ID cards. When he’s satisfied, the guard folds up the manifest, hands their IDs back, then walks into the guard house to retrieve a compound pass. Handing the pass to the driver, the guard asks, “Know your way to manufacturing?”
“Sure do,” the driver says, hooking the pass onto the rear-view mirror.
The guard nods and signals to his partner inside the guard house to open the gate. The van passes, slowly creeping over the first of many speed bumps.
The manufacturing facility is a vast, one-level complex near the center of the compound. Heavily guarded, by both static and roving security teams. The van pulls around to the rear of the facility and backs into the small vehicle receiving area. Beeps the horn.
Another guard comes out from the building and checks for a pass. “How’s it going?” he asks the two men in the van.
“Whasup?” the driver responds. The man in the passenger seat, Mr. E, says nothing.
“Okay,” the guard says, seeing their compound pass. He disappears back inside. A minute later the sliding metal door rolls open.
Inside the facility, as the driver throws open the van’s rear doors and begins unlatching the silver canisters, one of the production managers strides toward the van seeming already agitated about something. “What’s this? I wasn’t aware of any deliveries today.”
“Last minute thing,” Mr. E says. “You know how it goes.” He hands the manager the paperwork. “This one’s got top priority.”
Taking the paperwork, the manager asks, “What is it?”
“Flavor neutralizer for the liquid aspirin,” Mr. E says. “Focus groups have been complaining about a bitter taste.”
“Flavor neutralizer? Never heard of it.”
“Yeah, well, it’s new. Guys over at ChemTECH have been working on it around the clock getting it ready. Right now they’re working on cherry and lemon/lime formulas. Should have them in a few more days.”
“All right,” the manager says. “What the hell. Nothing should surprise me around here anymore.”
Copyright © 2006 by O. J. Anderson
