Daniel Ganninger - Icarus Investigations 01 - Flapjack (2 page)

-Chapter 1-

The sound of whirling motors resonated outside my bedroom window and I pulled my pillow hard over my head attempting to make the sound go away.  It was the 1
st
day of April and a thoughtful lawn crew was doing their daily wakeup call at my luxury apartment home, as the management chose to call it. 

I
decided it would be best to go ahead and stumble out of bed.  In the process of doing this I ran my shoulder into my bedroom wall and tripped over clothes strewn on the floor as I made my way to the bathroom.  I missed the toilet, took a five minute, slightly warm shower and shaved my face with a sub-standard razor.  It was quite a way to start another day.  Before leaving the apartment I took a quick gulp of some questionable orange juice that resided in my refrigerator and off to work I went, ready for anything. 

Possibly
some excitement or drama awaited me this day, but so far it wasn’t turning out that way.  A crappy commute through crowded freeways and rude drivers confronted me as I made way to my home away from home. 

I worked at
Tesla Technology Suppliers. It sat on a grassy knoll behind a gleaming ten story office building in an industrial park in northern San Diego, California.  The company was named after the great inventor Nikola Tesla, who demonstrated wireless communication in 1893 and was a pioneer in electromagnetism.  But Tesla Technology was not as great as the inventor’s name it used.  Tesla himself might wonder why his name was placed on a sign where the “s” had slid off many months ago, and the “T” and “e” were obscured by a mutant tree that pushed up the pavement in front of the building.  Instead we were referred to as “la Technologies”.  Either we were from Mexico, given our location in southern California, or if we were lucky, from France.  Neither of those spots helped business.

I was never sure what we
really did.  It had something to do with copper for electronics, or some such thing.  I was an Account Executive, and unfortunately, the title didn’t fit the job.  I simply made sure we got paid for this copper stuff we were selling to someone to put into something.  It could be sliced, eaten, or worn as a hat for all I cared, it didn’t matter to me. 

“
You parked in the wrong spot again,” I heard as I was greeted by Belinda, our sloth-like receptionist who peered at me over her thick glasses.  “They’re coming to pave that area today, you knew that,” she told me scornfully.

“
They can pave over my car today for all I care.  I got an envelope in the mail that says I have parking privileges anywhere in the state.  I could even park on someone if I liked.”  I strode past her, not making eye contact. 

“
Uh-huh,” she muttered, tapping away on her computer keyboard with her nicotine stained fingers. 

I
rolled past her on the way to my “office”, a six-foot by six-foot cube I had christened, “The Madman’s Sanctuary”. 

A voice boomed from a neighboring cubicle as I sat down. 
“Did you know that Elvis and Nixon had a private meeting where Elvis wanted to help with the war on drugs?  He even got a complimentary badge as a member of the Drug Enforcement Agency,”

“
That’s a fascinating tidbit of information,” I replied flatly, fiddling with things on my desk. 

This was a common occurrence between my cubicle neighbor and me.  He always attempted to stump me with little known trivia
early in the day.  We used it to decide who would pay for lunch. 

“
Don’t tell me you’re not interested in the paradox and irony of that meeting,” the voice snapped back.

“
It is quite fascinating.  But did you know Elvis also gave Nixon a Colt-45 and family photos to commemorate their meeting.  Plus, Presley requested to be a Federal Agent-at-Large in the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs.  He was concerned about the increase in drug use in the country.”

“
Yes, but why was that nutty?” the voice questioned. 

“
He had something like 5000 pills prescribed in the months before he kicked off.  I believe it was narcotics and amphetamines,” I replied smugly as I scoured the papers on my desk.  “You gave me an easy one this morning, Galveston.  Lunch is on you.”  

“
So I’m a little off my game, so sue me,” Galveston said dryly from behind his cardboard and metal partition, the sound of a clicking mouse coming from his desk.  He was cheating no less, using the computer to facilitate his questions. 

It had be
come a morning ritual with us, useless banter about useless facts of the world.  We had both become obsessed with these history tidbits that few realized occurred, and even fewer cared about.  It told so much about the way we receive and disseminate information and how little everyone knows about true history, but we mainly used it to fight the urge of putting our heads between the cubicle walls and ending it all.  So that is rather melodramatic, but Galveston had become the one saving grace in this seventh dimension of hell we kindly referred to as, “la Technologies”. 

Dan Galveston was his name, I think
, as he only liked to be called by his last name.  I always joked that he changed it to that after he threw a dart at the globe and managed to hit the Texas City of Galveston.  He would tell me it was either that or La Marque, a city up the road from Galveston, but that one sounded fruity and he didn’t want to be called a dandy his whole life.  I went ahead and believed him about his name, but not about much else.  Galveston was an enigma, only in the sense that he could change his persona in an instant to suit the situation he was in.  He was a quick thinker, quick witted, and very smart.  He was the one thing that challenged me in this rat hole.

Galveston
was officially a Sales Representative, a title he hated.  He would have preferred to be called a lackey; he felt it suited him better.  Galveston and I had arrived at this place at similar times and under similar circumstances.  We both had gone through major career changes.  I from the world of academia and business, him from the real world I surmised.

Galveston
’s voice arose from behind the cubicle wall again.  “I had a guy this morning tell me that he didn’t receive his latest shipment, and boy was he pissed.  I told him, ‘Look, Ed informed me that you didn’t want that shipping until tomorrow and out of the goodness of my heart I said, no problem’.  Of course that was a complete pant load, I had just pulled up Ed’s name off their website.  It ought to take him at least two hours just to figure out who the hell Ed is, and why vice president Ed was making these decisions.” 

We commonly worked with companies that were to
o big for their own good, and like a government they had complicated bureaucracies where little got done and one hand didn’t know what the other hand was doing.  Galveston was a master at this manipulation and for good reason, we didn’t work with the most competent of people, nor did we have a very competent structure in this place.  Taking a few liberties when in a jam only made our jobs easier, plus it was good fun. 

We were minor
slackers, not major ones.  We showed up for work and did our job every day, we just did it with a little more flare to keep it interesting.

“
You should have said that we stopped shipment because we had gotten a call from the creditors saying they’re going bankrupt, but nobody had the heart to say anything,” I quipped. 

“
Nothing like giving some poor schlub a coronary first thing in the morning,” Galveston fired back holding a grunting laugh.

I made the decision to try a little work and perused
my inbox for new items for the day.  Check on two problems with a shipment, another customer didn’t receive the right stuff, memo from our glorious leader with, one, two, three misprints.  Next was a letter from a customer about stopping future business with our company, and under it a handwritten note from Belinda about the paving of the parking lot today which I tossed into the trash, two points. 

I clicked on my computer, a
n ancient machine about a step above an abacus.  As it whirled to life I strolled over to Galveston’s “Den of Sanctitude”, as he referred to it, and peered over the wall. 

He had sheets of paper strewn everywhere, his superior filing system.  He called it A
.M. and P.M.  The A.M. he would do in the morning, the P.M. in the afternoon, and the rest would get stuffed in the inbox of Hank in the next cubicle who was usually getting over a hangover for half the morning.

“
Where’s lunch today?” I asked.  The orange juice I had earlier had already lost its punch. 

“
I have a coupon for Rusty’s Barbeque.”  He produced a ratty piece of paper, torn unevenly from side to side.

“
Pencil me in,” I replied as Galveston taped it to his calendar. 

“
Done, and today I’ll buy the water.”

The
morning passed without incident.  A few phone calls here, a bit of day dreaming, a trip to the bathroom, a drink at the water cooler, avoidance of our boss, and a return to my desk to see that my computer had almost made it halfway through booting up.  I sat down and sighed heavily. 

Galveston
grunted from behind his blue cubical wall, obviously checking his stock picks in hopes of stumbling on the next great start-up or tech stock that would take all his worries away. 

I
wasted more time by watching Stan, our esteemed leader, crouched in his office as he saved the world from its many problems.  Stan was a heavy set guy, to put it lightly.  His dreams consisted only of the next great gin and tonic he would put down that evening.  Stan was constantly hatching the next great scheme to convince his wife that he couldn’t come home on time.  I didn’t know what Stan was up to after work, and I didn’t want to know.  I needed to get a good sleep at night. 

My
morning productivity was of course, nonexistent, and when lunchtime rolled around, Galveston and I made our escape past Belinda’s sullen gaze of disapproval. 

“
Little early to be leaving for lunch, don’t you think?” Belinda snapped, again peering over the flat plastic rim of her thick glasses in her most annoying way. 

“
Actually, we were just going out to vandalize your car,” Galveston said as he strode past her. “Would you like one scratch or two?”

“
You really shouldn’t provoke her,” I said to him when we were out the door.

“
Ah, she’s non-provokable.  She’s like someone hired a gigantic rock and told it to get a personality.” 

Galveston
opened his car door and popped my side.  We slid in and drove to Rusty’s, a slightly run down restaurant with greasy tables and an even greasier staff, but the best real barbeque in town.  We got our food and sat down at the nearest table to the door.

“
I actually have something to discuss with you today, for a change,” Galveston started. 

“
If you’re going to tell me this could change my life, I’ll just walk back, thanks,” I told him in my most disdainful tone.

“
No, this is actually legitimate and serious.  It’s seriously legit.  I just got a call from an old acquaintance of mine.  I thought about it last night, wrote up a couple things, and figured you might be interested.  With or without you I’m going to try it.”  Galveston squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow, his best serious look yet.  The hair on the back of my neck stood up. 

“
My first question then, is this legal, and how much will it cost me?”  I asked with an air of suspicion.

“
It’s only slightly, just slightly, on the fringe of illegality, but only if you’re looking at that sort of thing.  I have it all worked out,” Galveston answered quickly.

I felt as if he was going to tell me he had a plan to bilk little old ladies out of their bus fare or Social Security
checks. 

“
I want to start an investigation service.  Like a private eye but a little more secret.  We would deal with things private investigators wouldn’t touch,” Galveston told me bluntly.  “I’ll explain why I want to get in this business and why I want you involved.  I have it all planned out.”

I didn’t say anything and ate my sandwich slowly. 
My interest was piqued however, because when Galveston said he had worked something out, I believed him.

-Chapter 2-

We sat in the restaurant for an hour or so as Galveston told me his awkward business plan and why we needed to quit our jobs.  I tried to think back on the many joyous times I had at “la Technologies” and failed to find any.  I was beginning to believe our lunchtime meeting could become my own personal kick in the pants.  Sometimes a person needs a defining moment to take them out of their comfort zone and plunge them into a sea of uncertainty.  This could be my opportunity to take a risk, what did I have to lose and what would be the risk?  At this particular moment, unfortunately, it felt like everything.

Galveston
began by regaling me of his personal exploits in the previous year, his need to do something different with his life, his fine automobiles, of which he had none, and his extensive overseas activities, which he curiously didn’t elaborate on.  What brought him to this place, this moment of action?  Everyone’s life has a story, poised as a drama, a comedy, sometimes slapstick as mine usually felt, but as he talked he opened up about more than I bargained for, and more than I really had wanted to hear.

“
I think I have to explain some things to you, why I want to pursue my ideas.  I’m just tired of giving up,” Galveston said.

“
What do you mean?” I inquired, tearing my napkin into tinier and tinier pieces.

“
Well, I haven’t been that honest with you.  I’m not some ‘fly by night salesman’ or some ‘big idea man’,” he said using air quotes with his fingers.  “Things happened that kind of forced me out of the life I knew.”

“
Like what?  You ran with the wrong crowd or something?”

“
Yeah, maybe.  This business is supposed to be my new start.”

“
Oh my God”, I thought as he said these words.  Was he some sort of white collar criminal, someone in the witness protection program, or worse yet, a mobster?  Had this guy started out as a woman?  My mind raced as I pictured Galveston dressed in high heels and a bad dress with his chest hair popping out, saying, “Well, I think I’ll be a dude.”

“I don’t even think I want to know.  Please tell me you’re not some long lost criminal,” or a gal named Shirley, I thought.

“
No, no.  Let me tell you,” he leaned back slightly in his chair half smiling, moved his plate aside, pulled out a picture from his wallet dated May 1999, and placed it in front of me.  “You probably thought I’d say I had a sex change,” he laughed, smacking his hand on the table not knowing he had read my mind. 

“
Yeah, no, nothing like that,” I replied shifting uneasily in my chair.

“
This ought to help with evidence of who I was,” he said tapping the picture with his finger. 

In the picture was
Galveston, in a dark blue suit and tie, shaking hands and smiling in front of a sign for the Central Intelligence Agency with the President of the United States.

“
You were a spy?”  I exclaimed loudly, holding the picture up.

“
No, no, no,” he said as he slapped the picture back onto the table, looking around as he did.  “The politically correct term is intelligence officer, and no, I wasn’t one.  Come on, calm down,” he quieted his voice.  “Let’s use a little discretion.  I was officially a private special consultant for counter-intelligence.  I wasn’t employed directly by the government.”

“
This is all a little much for me to handle,” I stammered, spilling soda down my chin.

“
Just wait there Nancy, let me elaborate a little.  If you think I’m a nuts and don’t believe every word, then I promise I’ll never bother you with this again.”

“
Well I already think you’re nuts and you’re already bothering me,” I replied while he rolled his eyes.  He began by giving me a narrative, just like a flashback in a movie.  If nothing else, he was a good storyteller.

“
Let me take you back to a time of innocence and…”

“
Hold it,” I said, stopping him midsentence of his rant. “Just get to the point, will ya?” I retorted. 

He sighed and a sly smile came
across his face as he began to tell his story.