Anatomy of Evil (7 page)

The only work that matters is what they notice

Build a schedule, log minutes, increase face time by 90%

Campaign, posture, take credit, be sticky

Next, she circled the bottom layer of the chart, a vast wasteland of tiny boxes of anonymous colleagues. She wrote:
Stop wasting time on the lower elements. Reallocate energy to focus only on leadership. No more favors to help struggling coworkers. No more wasteful chitchat: lobby guards, cleaning staff, secretaries, etc!!

Then she circled a middle layer of managers and wrote:
De-position middle management. Build doubt around their decision-making, ethics, accuracy, leadership potential. Pit paranoid weasels against one another. Remove obstacles. Start with Diane.

Finally, the red pen trailed upward to the ultimate prize at the top of the org chart.

Carol circled the box that read Executive Vice President, Richard Stammet.

She crossed out his name in a quick, slashing stroke and replaced it with “CAROL HENNING”.

Chapter Twelve

Patrol Officer Rodney Martinez watched various scenes unfold through his windshield as if he was channel surfing a succession of bland television programs. Parked against the curb near a busy intersection in Rogers Park, he witnessed vehicles gliding through a stop sign without even a brake tap. A skittish young vandal emerged from an alley gripping a canister of spray paint, a fresh gang logo dripping behind him on the side of a secondhand shop. An agile, fully able woman parked in a space reserved for the handicapped and hopped out to dash to her appointment at the hair salon. Several cars plunged the wrong way down a one-way street, nearly hitting pedestrians. A man in a long coat quickly and smoothly pulled out a pair of bolt cutters to snap a chain and steal a bicycle from the front of a popular pizza-by-the-slice restaurant. This last scene produced a small stir from Rodney. He realized he was growing hungry. He liked pizza.

When the bicycle's owner came out to discover his bike missing, he threw a tantrum of big gestures like a silent comedian and scrambled off to find the thief, still clutching his slice. He ran in the wrong direction.

Rodney looked away from the intersection. He stared up at himself in the rearview mirror.

The eyes staring back belonged to a stranger. This same stranger held him captive in his seat, turning his butt into cement, diffusing his sense of duty with indifference. Rodney experienced a curious absence of outrage at the unlawful acts around him. Everything hummed with an equal sense of neutrality.

When Danita reached out to him on the police radio, he responded in his usual manner, crisp and polite with well-worn stock phrases. She reported a possible robbery in progress at a convenience store two blocks away.

“Headed there now,” said Rodney.

He drove to the familiar location, a common site for robberies at all hours. The owner did not own a gun. Rodney parked his vehicle and climbed out. As he approached the convenience mart, a wild-eyed, long-haired man emerged. He saw Rodney and immediately changed his course, running in the opposite direction.

Rodney entered the store.

A middle-aged employee with glasses leaned against the counter, clutching a bloody wound on his side, just below the ribcage.

“What the hell, man, you let him get away?” shouted the employee. A nametag above his shirt pocket read “Darrell”.

Rodney walked up to Darrell and looked him over.

“The fucker stabbed me,” said Darrell.

Rodney nodded. He turned and entered a nearby aisle. He walked several steps until he came upon a snack display. He reviewed his options and removed a long stick of beef jerky from a cardboard container. He tore open the plastic sleeve and took a bite.

“You're shittin' me!” exclaimed Darrell.

Rodney finished the beef jerky and then fixed himself a cup of coffee. He added cream and sugar and gave it a healthy stir.

He returned to Darrell, sipping the coffee.

“Aren't you going to call an ambulance?” said Darrell. “Can't you see I'm bleeding here?”

Slowly, Rodney reached for his police radio. He ordered an ambulance and reported details about the crime scene.

“Tell them to hurry!” shouted Darrell, placing fresh paper towels against his wound.

“You'll be fine,” Rodney told him. “We're all fine.”

Later that afternoon, Rodney was called to Sullivan High School, where an afterschool fight had broken out a few steps from the flagpole.

Rodney stood in a small crowd of students observing the increasingly violent brawl between two young men.

“Anybody want to place bets?” Rodney asked the teens nearest to him. “The big one's strong, but he's slow and getting winded. The little guy is scrappy and not afraid.”

“Aren't you going to stop them?” asked a young girl, hugging her textbooks, terrified.

“This is part of your education,” responded Rodney. “Have you studied Darwin? Survival of the fittest. You could write a paper on this.”

The smaller boy in the fight grabbed a rock and smashed it into the larger boy's eye, causing a loud crowd response—a swirl of gasps, squeals and cheers.

A pair of teachers descended on the brawling kids to pull them apart. Several students helped out.

“Show's over,” said Rodney. He began to walk away, joining a stream of students leaving the schoolyard.

“Officer Martinez!”

Rodney heard a young voice call out his name. He turned to see Jamie, the boy he had discovered prowling parked cars several weeks ago and lectured in his front seat.

“I'm doing it!” announced Jamie.

“Doing what?” asked Rodney.

“What you said. I'm going to get a B average for that ticket to Comicon. I got an A-minus on my Geometry test. I'm getting Bs in English and Science. I think I'm going to do it. I'm going to Comicon!”

“Well, we'll see about that.”

“Now I know what to do. I got a routine. I go to the library every night. I time it. I just needed a place that's quiet to help with reading and memorizing. I know how to prepare. I'm really learning about this stuff, just not doing it fast to get it over with like I used to.”

“How many hours are you studying?”

“It depends. Sometimes one, sometimes two or three.”

“Each night?”

“Yeah, can you believe it?”

“That's a lot of hours,” said Rodney. “You know, there's an easier way.”

Jamie looked at him, curious. “Really?”

“Tell me this. If you have an objective, a destination, a place where you really want to go, do you take the path that's fifty miles or two miles?”

“Two miles,” said Jamie. “That's easy.”

“Of course. The shortest distance between two points.”

“Right,” said Jamie.

“So I'm going to tell you about a shortcut. I know how you can get more of what you want…faster and easier.”

“How?”

“You're learning about science and geometry and English… Now you need lessons in economics.”

“I think I take economics my junior year.”

“Well, there's nothing wrong with getting a head start, is there?”

Rodney turned to face an area of sidewalk just outside the school yard. “Do you see those two guys?”

Two teenage males stood close to one another in a private conversation. One of them passed something small to the other in a quick, casual exchange.

Jamie nodded.

“They just made a sales transaction. This is the retail level, seller to consumer. Like when you buy a new pair of gym shoes or headphones from Wal-Mart. Wal-Mart buys them from a supplier and sells them for a profit. And they make a lot of money, right?”

“Wal-Mart? Yeah, they're rich.”

“It's a pretty good deal for Wal-Mart—all they have to do is hustle the goods and pocket the cash.”

Jamie said, “But those two guys over there, that was a deal going down.”

“I know,” said Rodney. “Forget about the product, it's the process. It's economics 101. Whether it's shoes or headphones or beer or a packet of smack, it all comes down to money and transactions, supply and demand. The people who do it smart, they live like kings. They look opportunity right in the eye, step up and take their cut.”

“So… I don't get what you're saying. This is kind of weird, especially coming from a…from a…”

“Cop?”

Jamie nodded.

“You've heard enough from me,” said Rodney. “Next you'll be hearing from a man named Red. He supplies product to the sellers. He supplied the sale you just saw. He's always on the lookout for new talent. I wouldn't recommend just anybody. But I can tell you have the focus and the drive to be really, really successful.”

“His name is Red?”

“Red will be in touch,” said Rodney. “Review his business proposal. Study it. Do the math. You won't have to worry about trading grades for Comicon tickets. You'll be able to write your own ticket…anywhere.”

Rodney climbed into bed early. He sat up and stared blankly at the small television set on the dresser, which remained off. He barely moved.

“Are you sick?” Kelly asked him.

“No.”

“Are you hungry? Do you want something to eat?”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Is it jetlag from the trip?”

“No.”

Kelly studied him. “I just want to help…”

“I don't need any help.”

At that moment, their three-year-old daughter Christina entered the room in tiny steps. She wore her one-piece pajamas decorated with moons and stars. She cried out, “Daaaaddy!” and bounded at him with so much excitement that she nearly threw herself off balance. She reached the edge of the bed and Rodney broke out into his first smile of the day.

He reached over and picked her up. She sent a positive charge through him. He hugged her and felt warmth. He laughed and kissed her as she squealed with delight.

Then he cried.

Rodney continued to cling to Christina, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Kelly watched, stunned at the turn of emotions. Christina had thawed Rodney in a matter of seconds.

“Daddy ouch?” said Christina.

She pointed to a long orange streak across his arm.

“Daddy has a sunburn, honey,” said Kelly. “It's from our trip.”

Christina touched it lightly and said, “ouch.”

“It doesn't hurt,” said Rodney. Then he added, “And it's not a sunburn.”

Kelly moved closer to him. She looked at the discolored skin. “Then what is it?”

Rodney continued to hold Christina tight. Facing Kelly, he unleashed a confession he had previously held back. His voice trembled with emotion, broken out of the deadened state that had overtaken him like a powerful flu.

“I promised I wouldn't say anything about this,” said Rodney. “You can't tell anyone. But I can't keep it to myself any longer.” Then he told Kelly about the fishing expedition along the shore of Kiritimati. He described the strange, red storm that overtook the boat and the horrifying sights and sounds that rained down on them. He wept as the traumatic memories surfaced from the distant, dark place where he had hidden them.

“Daddy, don't cry,” said Christina, touching his wet cheeks.

“Christina, honey, let's go back to your room,” said Kelly, reaching for her and gently pulling her from her father. “I'll tuck you in and sing a song, okay?”

“But Daddy's sad…”

Kelly left with Christina. She returned alone several minutes later. She closed the bedroom door and faced Rodney.

“I thought it would be better for her not to see you like this,” said Kelly. “She doesn't understand. I don't really understand, either. This boat trip… What do you think happened? Was it some kind of chemical fog?”

Rodney sat up in the bed and stared at her. His eyes had dulled again. His face returned to a stoic state. “It was nothing,” he said.

“Nothing? Five minutes ago, you were in tears.”

“It's the jetlag. It was a rough day at work. There was a stabbing and a problem at the high school…”

“Rodney, you're confusing me. Are you sure?”

“I'm sure,” he said.

“Maybe we should see a doctor.”

“No.”

“At least get those burns looked at.”

“Kelly,” said Rodney in a strong voice, “I said no. We're done talking about it.”

After several more attempts to revisit the conversation about the boat trip, Kelly gave up. Frustrated and confused, she left the bedroom.

Rodney continue to sit up in bed, staring at the blank television screen, wholly satisfied in doing and feeling absolutely nothing.

Chapter Thirteen

On his first day back from vacation, Gary arrived early at the sporting goods store to find a mother and her young daughter staring into the dark storefront. He greeted them.

“My fault,” said the mother. “I thought you opened at nine.”

“Technically I open at ten,” said Gary, producing a set of keys. “But for you, we'll bend the rules. It's my store, and I can open whenever I want.”

She thanked him several times as he unlocked the front entrance and invited them in. “Just give me five minutes,” he said, and he embarked on his routine of turning on lights and deactivating alarms.

His staff members, including Tonya, weren't scheduled to arrive for another 40 minutes, but he would never send a customer away.

Especially a hot young mom poured snugly into a tasty pink tracksuit to accent her friendly curves.

Gary immersed himself in the familiar surroundings of his store. The exotic vacation in Kiritimati already felt like a distant memory.

Hot Mom was in search of soccer cleats for her young daughter. The child was the proud recipient of her mother's good genes: blonde hair, blue eyes and a smooth, balanced face with a light smattering of freckles. She wore her hair in cute, braided pigtails.

“This man used to play for the Chicago Bears,” said Hot Mom to her daughter.

“Many years ago,” chuckled Gary.

The daughter shrugged, unimpressed.

The woman continued, “I really enjoyed watching you play.”

“Thanks,” said Gary. Hot Mom and her daughter selected a pair of Adidas on display, and he continued to assist them. He felt embarrassed to be fitting shoes. The job belonged to his staff, not him.

The customer always comes first…

As the daughter sat in a chair, Gary crouched down and slid her stocking feet into a pair of size 5 soccer cleats. Hot Mom stood over him. She bent over to pinch the shoe tips and asked her daughter, “Do they feel tight?”

Gary caught an up-close glimpse of the tops of Hot Mom's breasts pressed against the thin white T-shirt beneath her open tracksuit top. He stepped back and allowed Hot Mom to engage with her daughter. “Do they feel tight?” “No.” “Do they feel too loose?” “No.” “Stand up and walk around a bit.” “Okay.”

As the daughter walked a few circles around them, Hot Mom told Gary about her daughter's soccer league and crazy coach. She talked about her own childhood passion for soccer and lacrosse.

“It's good to get kids involved in sports at a young age,” said Gary. “Keeps them off the videogames. We're becoming a nation of videogame zombies.”

“You've got that right,” she responded.

“Okay,” said the daughter, done with walking in circles.

“Do you like them, honey?” asked Hot Mom.

The young girl nodded, and it was a sale. Gary kneeled down and began to unlace the shoes. “Good choice,” he said. “You picked a good color.”

He boxed the soccer cleats, stood up and turned to the mom.

She stood before him, topless.

Startled by the sight of her perfect bare breasts, he dropped the shoe box. He excused himself and scrambled to pick it up.

When he looked back at her, she wore the white T-shirt and tracksuit, fully clothed.

The momentary hallucination rocked him speechless. He couldn't shake the image out of his head.

He handed her the box.

“I want to look at yoga pants,” she announced. “Can you show me where to go?”

“Yes,” said Gary.

“Mommmm,” said the young daughter.

“It'll only be a second,” said Hot Mom.

Gary walked them over to a rack of cotton spandex yoga pants, not a huge selection, but some basic colors and sizes mingling with a few outlandish pairs in wild patterns for attention seekers.

As Hot Mom poked through the rack, Gary checked his watch. Twenty more minutes until his staff would arrive and forty-five until the legitimate opening of the store.

When he looked back at Hot Mom, she was naked from the waist down. She faced away from him, examining a pair of yoga pants, bare ass and long legs on proud display and sculpted to perfection by God on one of his very good days.

“Mommmm I'm bored,” said the daughter.

Gary spun around, amazed by the daughter's nonchalant reaction to her mother's disrobing. The little girl pouted.

Gary turned back to Hot Mom, and her tracksuit pants returned to her body.

Another hallucination?

Gary's flesh began to tingle. An erection swelled in his pants.

Hot Mom turned to him, holding up a jazzy pair of yoga pants decorated in multicolored clouds, a tie-dye design.

“I like these. I want to try them on. Is there a fitting room?”

“Yes,” said Gary, swallowing hard.

“Mom!” said the daughter sharply.

“Be patient, sweetheart,” said Hot Mom.

Gary faced the little girl. Impatient kids were not uncommon in the store and he had a solution.

“Do you like basketball? Do you want to shoot some hoops?”

“Good idea,” said Hot Mom.

Gary directed the girl to an area of the store where a low basketball net had been set up for youngsters. A supply of basketballs sat in a big plastic tub.

While the daughter began throwing balls at the net, scoring occasionally, Gary returned his focus to Hot Mom, looking for a score of his own. The store became a wilderness. He became a hunter advancing on his prey.

He showed her to the fitting room, complimenting her choice in yoga pants, standing closer to the customer than he ordinarily would, maintaining steady eye contact.

“You're going to look great in those,” he said with hearty conviction and a big smile that transcended mere salesman chatter.

She smiled back and held his gaze. In that moment, he felt the thrill of landing a big catch. Now he just needed to reel her in…

Hot Mom entered the dressing room.

Gary stood outside the door.

At the other end of the store, he heard the
thump thump thump
of the young daughter playing basketball, a steady reminder that she remained preoccupied just out of view.

Gary leaned toward the door and said, “I forgot to tell you something.”

“What's that?”

“The pants are half off.”

She laughed and replied, “Yes, as a matter of fact, they are.” Her tone played up the double entendre.

“How do they feel?” he asked.

“You tell me,” she responded.

The next five minutes became a furious blur of hungry animal magnetism. Behind the curtain of the fitting room, he unleashed himself on her. Standing with the yoga pants pooled at her feet, she gripped two clothes hooks, elbows facing out, to secure her position. He watched himself in the mirror, still muscular and powerful, pounding in a steady rhythm, advancing in a relentless, linear charge to the goal line. On the 30…the 20…the 15…the 10…

Touchdown
.

As they slipped apart and gasped to catch their breath, he felt the world around him returning. She quickly scrambled to get dressed. He looked at himself again in the mirror, sweating and shining.

Outside, the staccato beat of the basketball continued:
thump…thump…thump
.

Hot Mom left the store satisfied.
The customer always comes first
. She paid for her daughter's soccer cleats and the tie-dye yoga pants. The fuck was on the house.

Gary couldn't believe how quickly the entire episode had unfolded. He felt even more amazed by his total lack of remorse.

It was his first act of adultery. He had never before even seriously considered it.

Occasionally over the past few years, little episodes took place in his imagination, but they always stayed there, like his fantasy of winning the lottery or returning to the NFL for an award-winning comeback.

He thought about Emma, the love of his life, his eternal commitment, the mother of his child.

He became dizzy.

He wanted to put his head down on the sales counter.

He blamed Hot Mom. Clearly she had put him under a spell. It was a freak accident. A collision course with a woman who pulled all the right strings and exploited his extreme state of horny.

He pushed the moment into the past. He cleared his head for the present. If the rest of his staff had been here, this never would have happened. The empty store provoked it, he told himself.

Then Tonya arrived and he felt everything he had felt for Hot Mom…

…times ten.

She greeted him with a quick hug and he felt the push of her breasts against his chest, the momentary swish of her long hair against his cheek.

“How was your vacation?” she asked.

“Good,” he said, and he could think of no other words.

“Nice tan!” she told him.

She wore funky cargo pants with lots of pockets, cut above the ankle with no socks, revealing a flash of skin above her tennis shoes. Her turquois-blue halter top showed off her long, graceful arms.

He always found her very, very pretty, but today the package stirred him more than ever before.

They fell into a quick, comfortable rapport, discussing her week of “flying solo” at the store, a mostly smooth affair with only a few minor hiccups. He told her about his fishing conquests, the island's natural beauty, and the joy of being isolated from civilization.

“That sounds like so much fun,” she said. “I need a vacation like that.”

“Take one. Give yourself a break,” he said. “I hope last week wasn't all work and no play. Did you get out and do anything fun?”

She talked about seeing a movie with friends and going out to dinner with her mother.

“No dates?”

She laughed and shrugged. “Ah, not lately. Not much happening in the boy department right now.”

“Well, don't rush it,” he told her. “You can afford to be choosy. Don't just settle for some bozo. You deserve a Superman. Someone who is smart, strong, successful, funny, charming and treats you like a total princess.”

“Oh stop it,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Gary's vision filled with an image of fast, hard sex in the dressing room. He revisited the body positions from his encounter with Hot Mom, except now it was Tonya in her place.

Gary blinked and the visual disappeared.

Tonya continued talking and he could barely hear her words. Her face was truly astonishing—full, circular cheekbones, sparkling eyes, sensual lips and the warmest of smiles, all framed by lush, sunny blonde hair.

And, he obsessed, the perfection hardly ended there —it continued throughout every inch of her lithe figure. Tonya scored across the board. If she was evaluated like a baseball player, she'd win the Triple Crown—hits for average, hits for power, drives in runs—with a Gold Glove thrown in. Some chicks had the outstanding rack but dismal chicken legs, or else they owned an artful ass and sweet face but knocked points off their score with little, drippy boobs. Tonya's body was geometrically perfect: straight shoulders and back to serve generous curves in ample supply only in the right places, welded together beneath perfect, smooth skin.

Tonya had it all, and Gary always knew it, but now there was a new twist—he wanted her for himself.

Just as he had wanted to share in some fun with Hot Mom and followed through with his impulses, now he had a new goal. He had raised the bar for his next conquest, like adding weights to his bench pressing or an extra mile to his run.

Tonya broke off whatever she was saying with “Okay, then…”

Gary realized he had positioned himself very close to her and now she was taking a few steps back.

Rena and Paul arrived in the minutes that followed, and before long the store officially opened for business. A steady flow of customers kept everybody busy. Gary spent some time in his back office, catching up on paperwork, reviewing sales and inventory. He also walked the floor to help out during spikes in traffic.

Whenever possible, he stole looks at Tonya. He couldn't shake her out of his head. His eyeballs soaked up her appearance, his chest pounded for her attention, and his stomach churned with a hungry lust. He was starving—famished—for Tonya, unable to rest until he had consumed her.

She seemed to exist in slow motion, every small movement capturing his full attention.

She even appeared in places where she was physically absent. He saw her nude, riding an exercise bike. He watched himself join her on the bike, also nude, fucking to the rhythm of the pedaling.

He glimpsed her sexy shadow moving inside one of the big green tents on display in the camping section. Advancing upon the tent for a closer look, he witnessed her undressing through the flaps. He entered the tent to join her.

She let out a startled shout. He climbed on top of her and the shout transformed into delighted squeals, leading up to an orgasmic scream…

Finally, in the early afternoon, Gary approached Tonya for real, in the flesh, and blurted, “Let's go out for drinks after work, just the two of us.”

She gave him an uncertain look, waiting for more context.

He had never made such a request before. Recognizing the awkwardness, he added, “I want to talk to you about an idea I have. I'd love to get your thoughts.”

“Idea?”

“For a mailer, an advertising piece.” Gary brainstormed a concept on the spot. “For our summer swimwear collection, I want to create an advertising flyer, an insert for the local paper, so I need a model to show off the different styles. And it just hit me—why hire a model when I have one right here in the store, someone who is ten times prettier than anyone I would get from some stupid modeling agency?”

She smiled gently. “What, you're serious?”

“Absolutely. This could be the start of a second career for you. I'll get you hooked up with an amazing photographer. I know a bunch from my playing days. We'll make you a star!”

“In a swimsuit flyer?”