Deadrock (9 page)

Planetary Earth Date: 18.7.2015

Monday morning
Ted barely entered the office before he left again. Max looked for Bird and found
him hunched over his laptop, checking from a paper
file
to the screen and back again. Max rushed to him.

"What are
you doing? Ted's leaving!" he said.

"Oh?
Okay, I'm on my way," said Bird who slammed his laptop shut and crammed
the file into a drawer. He bounded along the corridor and slam-dunked the nose
of the giant rat swinging from the ceiling. "Keep an eye on the office for
me, Big Red!"

Nickie waved
to Bird as she passed him in the doorway. "Morning, Max. Where's Mr. Bird
going?"

"He's…he's
going after that donated Bowflex."

"You
know, he is really amazing. He's only been here a few days but he's already
gotten more things donated than I did in a month. Just look at this desk!"
She sorted through the mound of objects on Bird's desk.

"Speaking
of desks, have you been to your office yet?" he said.

"No, why?
Why are you smiling like that? What did you do?" She followed his gaze to
the floor where a line of bunny stickers led around the corner. She laughed and
followed the stickers to her cubicle. Max climbed on a chair and watched over
the wall as she found the stuffed bunny on her desk.

"Max,
this is really sweet. Just like
The
Runaway Bunny
, huh?"

He nodded.

"Thank
you, Max." She smiled at him and patted the bunny. Max lowered himself
down into his chair. Alllright!
he
thought. He raised
his legs to put his feet up on the desk and banged his knee on the partially
closed drawer.

"Gnartz,
Bird!" he said, rubbing his throbbing knee. Always leaving drawers open,
always dropping his towels on the floor. Always getting into things he shouldn't,
thought Max. Huh, like that file. With the pain subsiding, Max's curiosity
grew.

Okay, Bird, he
thought, what's so interesting about that file? He pulled the file from the
drawer and saw the heading: ONLINE AND MAIL ORDER SHIPPING RECORDS. He flipped
open the laptop and brought up the corresponding file, scanning down the
figures for the last six months. He checked the hardcopy against the figures on
the screen.

Hmmm, pretty
steady growth, he thought. Let's see, by March the totals were 936,908 tiny
time capsules shipped, in April 954,871 had shipped, by May 962,324, June…wow,
June was a good month – 987,543 had shipped.

The air conditioning
kicked in and Big Red began to sway gently in the breeze. It seemed to Max that
the sinister rat was rotating in his direction to poke his nose over his
shoulder and into his business. Its black, beady eyes seemed to know he was an
imposter. Max uneasily turned his back to the mammoth rodent and bent back to
the laptop. Now, by July, he thought, we should see that millionth capsule
shipped. Yep, there it is, on both sets of records. So why is Bird so curious
about these records? And why is he doing independent investigating? I'm
supposed to be in charge!

He closed the
laptop and thought. "Put yourself in the crook's mind," his dad had
taught him. "Find his motivation and you can find his method and identity."
Okay, thought Max, in this case, Bird's the crook. Why is he sneaking around?
Well, he's got a zaybomby record, he's just coming off a suspension –
hey,
that's
it! He wants to solve this case himself
and gain some glory back home! No way, Bird! From now on, I'm keeping a closer
eye on you, you freak!

He threw the
file onto the desk and July's page flew out and lilted momentarily in the air.
Max grabbed for it, squashing it face down. As he quickly smoothed it out on
the top of the desk, a lightly penciled notation at the bottom of the page
caught his eye.
Doesn't match daily count.
Matches yearly account?
The thin, slanted script didn't look like Bird's
bold scrawl. So who else is doing some independent investigating, he wondered.

"Max, are
you there?" Nickie's voice floated over the partition. "I want to tag
those things on Mr. Bird's desk."

"Uh,
yeah, c'mon over," he said, grasping the file and hurriedly sitting on it.

Nickie
appeared and the two silently began the tedious process of listing and tagging items.
Max couldn't keep his mind off that mysterious quotation and how to unravel it.
"Ask the expert," his dad had taught him. Time to couch interrogation
in the guise of small talk. Max cleared his throat.

"So,
Nickie," he said, "I've been just so
fascinated
with this whole process of manufacturing and shipping
and all."

"Fascinated?"
she said, eyebrows
raised
.

"Well,
yeah, I mean, I was wondering how you keep track of all that's been shipped in
one day."

She stopped
working. "That's funny. Mr. Bird just asked me about that yesterday. You
two must be psychic."

"Yeah, we're
psychic alright. So how do you keep track?"

"Like I
told Mr. Bird, it's a really simple process. I can give you the whole tour,
just like I did for him, if you want."

"I want,"
he said rising. As she went through the cubicle door, he slid the file into the
desk.

They took the
elevator down to the first floor and they passed through swinging wooden doors
to a large room lined with long rows of tables. Each table was divided into
several workstations where
two dozen
women from 25 to
65 years old worked. Wire strung overhead the length of the room served as an
eyelevel hanger for the unfilled order forms that were attached to the wire
with clothespins.
Loud Latin music blared over the women's laughter
and joking.

"Wow.
Really state of the art technology," Max said.

"It works
out just fine. Our ladies here are super fast," said Nickie.

"Nickie!
Girl, who's your new man-candy!" called out a middle-aged woman. "If
you don't wan' him, my granddaughter will!"

"What
your name, honey? You Nickie's new boyfrien'?" called another.

"Ohhh,
she got a cutie boyfriend!"

Max noted with
pleasure that Nickie blushed but didn't protest as much as he expected she
would. Nickie ducked her head and led him to the shipping end of the room away
from the women.

"Oh, I
see, she taking him away from us – too much competition, yeah,"
called a woman. "Don't you worry, honey, I won't take you boyfrien'!"

Nickie took on
a business-like air and showed Max the process of receiving the manufactured
capsules, filling the orders, and recording the daily shipping tallies. At this
point, Max suddenly got more involved.

"So, they
mark the daily tally and each day send it up to the clipboard next to the
entrance?" he asked.

"Right.
That way, Dad or Powers can see how we're doing on a day-to-day basis."

"They do
it by hand - they don't log it into a computer?"

"Gloria
takes each day's record and enters it into a monthly record, and those are
logged into the yearly account. So, you want to see the loading dock now?"

"Sure,
but where did you say the yearly accounts are?"

"Well,
online, but those are only accessed by Dad, Gloria, or Powers. We also have
back-up ledger books but nobody uses them – they just sit in the old
Records Room, next to the women's bathroom.

"I see,"
he said, heading for the door. "Well, thanks for the tour. I've got stuff
to do upstairs. But you stay and visit with your friends." And without
further explanation Max bounded out the door.

Nickie
hollered after him, "But I thought you wanted to see the loading dock!"
She shook her head in confusion.

"Ohhh,
your boyfrien' is dumping you, Nickie. Don't worry, honey, we fin' you another
one!"

Max sprinted
down the hallway to the space between the doors of the
men's
and women's restrooms. He stood in front of the women's door and looked back
cautiously. There, just beyond was the door marked RECORDS. Suddenly, the door
of the men's room swung open and Powers stepped out.

"Wrong
bilge hole, kid," said Powers, motioning him into the men's room.

"Uh,
thanks," said Max. He hesitated at the door while Powers moved to Records
Room. Hand on the
doorknob,
Powers gave Max an
encouraging little gesture, urging him into the restroom. Max smiled weakly and
went in. He waited a second, popped the swinging door open a crack, and saw Powers
enter the Records Room.

Gnartz! I'll
have to try later, he thought. When he stepped from the elevator into the
office, Nickie was waiting for him, a little breathless from the stairs.

"Max,
what's going on?"

"What do
you mean? I was just curious about the business and now it's time for me to get
back to work."

"Right,"
she said unconvinced. "Are you hiding something?"

"You know
the saying, Nickie, 'Time is Money'!"

"Good
attitude, Matt," said Ted, moving along the corridor, laden down with bags
from the grocery store and drugstore, some wrapped parcels, and a gold wrapped
box of Godiva chocolates.

"Uh, my
name's Max, sir," Max said as he passed. He looked around. Ted's back, so
where is Bird?

Hearing Ted's
voice, Gloria appeared from her cubicle and dashed to him, her thin, pinched face
floating in a moon of hair. Nickie and Max watched from a distance.

"Ted,
dear, I would have been happy to run those errands for you if you had just asked,"
said Gloria, fussing over the packages.

"Thanks,
Gloria, that's thoughtful of you but-"

"I guess
Nickie's just too busy to do those kinds of things for you anymore," said
Gloria, taking a bag from his arms.

"Hey!"
Nickie looked ready to pounce on her but Max held her elbow and dragged her
beyond the corner and out of sight. He put a finger to his lips and the two
listened.

"Well, it's
not really Nickie's job, and she's been working around here so much," said
Ted.

"And you
know, Ted, you look a little thin," cooed Gloria. "Has Nickie been cooking
at all? I realize she's young and flighty, but anybody can heat a microwave
dinner," said Gloria.

"Sure,
but I've been working late."

"Say no more!"
said Gloria. "I'm going to start bringing you home-cooked meals for lunch.
I can't stand to see a good man neglected!"

Nickie
strained in Max's grip.

"That's
awfully nice of you, Gloria, but-"

"Don't
thank me, Ted! Just call on me anytime. I'll be happy to do anything for you,
just name it!" she said.

Nickie could
take it no longer and steamed to Ted's cubicle, Max in tow.

"Uh,
thanks, Gloria, could you take this before I drop it?" said Ted. He handed
her the box of candy slipping from his grasp.

"Oh, Ted,
you darling!" she squealed and ripped into the box. "You know what a
sweet-tooth I have!"

Nickie, hurt
and surprised, stepped out of the cubicle, into her father's view.

"No, Gloria,"
said Ted, "that's for Ni-"

"Isn't
this man just a prize, Nickie?" Gloria said, popping a truffle into her
mouth. "Someday soon some smart girl is going to snap him up! And just
think, then you'll have a new mama!"

"Max!"
growled Nickie, "Let's
get
back to work!"
She nearly knocked him over with a shove to move past. She fairly flew to Max's
cubicle, grabbed the rolling cart stacked with half-packed boxes and barreled
down the corridor to the elevator.

In the
elevator, Max gave her lots of room to fume.

"I knew
it! She's after my dad! And I know it's just for his money!"

"Nickie,
maybe you shouldn't hit the elevator door with the cart," he said.

"She used
to be Powers' girlfriend until that reporter did an article on my dad and how
much the company's worth."
           
"It
might damage the door or jam it or something."

"Powers
is so cheap, all he spends his money on are bigger and better boats. I guess
she figured Dad would be a better catch."

The elevator
doors parted and she gave the cart a shove. It sailed across the cloudy,
yellowed linoleum floor and crashed into the open steel vault door. She yanked
things off the cart without looking and threw them into the vault.

CRASH!

"Nickie,
I think you broke that juicer," said Max.

"She's
trying to replace me, Max!'

GAZOONG!

"Now I
know you broke that electric guitar!" he cried.

"I won't
stick around if they get married, Max, I mean it!"

Max ran around
a pile of empty cardboard boxes and positioned himself in the line of fire to
catch the flying objects, or at least to cushion their fall against the steel
floor. He ducked the latest edition of
Ripley's
Believe It or Not,
an Edgar Allen Poe shower curtain, a set of rowing oars,
a Spiderman lunchbox and a box of sunflower seeds.