Kill on Command (19 page)

Sean thought briefly about everything that had happened eighteen months ago, all the quick changes in his life that had transpired over a short period of time that had landed him in the seat next to Sandy, or Andrea, or whatever the hell her name really was.

“It’s really quite an exciting story.  I am surprised you don’t know all about it,” he said sarcastically.

“I’m sure it is thrilling!” she said, clinching her hands.

“I lost my job eighteen months ago for insubordination.”

“What?  Not you!  I can’t believe that!” she replied.

“Now, we can cut the sarcasm,” he said, glancing at Sandy while driving with one hand.

“Now you know how it feels,” she said.  “Oh, and both hands on the wheel, please.”

“As I was saying, I needed a job . . . . “

BOOK III

If you are going to kick authority in the teeth,

you might as well do it with both feet.

- Keith Richards

I

I should keep my mouth shut

Shadyside – St James Street – 6:30 A.M.

April 27, 2011

The radio alarm clock went off as programmed.  This morning, the Red Hot Chili Peppers woke him up.  As always, its owner went to bed too late and was getting up too early.  Sean Garrison rolled over and slammed his hand down on the snooze.  The big dog next to him stirred but did not get up.  She did not want to move anymore than Sean did.  Sean was lying on his left side. He opened his eyes and starred at the wall, and realized that he did not want to go to work, but he had to eat and at least pay Brian some sort of rent.  He threw the comforter back and covered the dog, who still did not move.  He sat on the edge of the bed, reached over and turned off the alarm.  Shivering slightly as his feet hit the ground, he walked across the hardwood floor to the bathroom.  Spring in Pittsburgh was cold.  He walked into the bathroom and started the shower and pulled the curtain to keep the water from running all over the floor.  He brushed his teeth while the water heated up, and stepped in when the mirror in the bathroom steamed, quickly washed up and jumped out of the shower.  The most time any guy should take in the shower is three minutes start to finish.  He wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped a small circle in the steamed-up mirror and looked at himself.  First the left side of his face and then the right and then he looked at his dog, Bailey.

“I don’t need to shave, do I girl?”  Sean said to Bailey.  She just lay there.  He always looked good to her.  “I don’t think so. After all, I work in advertising,” he said aloud.   He had two days worth of stubble.  “Who was going to care?” he thought.  The owner of the agency had a nasty looking beard and felt it was his trademark.  Therefore, it must be OK for mid-level account people as well.

He walked into the bedroom, pulled a fresh t-shirt and boxer shorts from a drawer then pulled on a pair of half-pressed khaki pants that he had worn the day before.  He thought they were passable.  He donned a clean blue pinpoint from his closet, figured he did not need a tie, so he left his top button un-done. He whistled and Bailey jumped off the bed and followed him downstairs.  His navy blazer was where he had left it the night before, in a heap on the couch.  He picked it up and gave it a good shake.  “Looks good!” he said to himself.  He walked into the kitchen and let Bailey outside.  While she was out, he gave her fresh water and some food.  She came back into the house, he gave her a hug and went out to get in his Jeep.  The top was still on, but barely.  It had seen better days but Sean had put off replacing it, by convincing himself that spring and warmer days were on the horizon.  Those days weren’t here yet and he was driving to Cleveland today, a place where the wind blew hard and spring showed up late.  It was going to be a chilly and loud drive.

Sean backed out of the driveway and looked at Bailey, who was sitting in the front window, as he pulled away.  He drove down Fifth, hooked up with I-376 and eventually made the left turn onto I-279, which took him through the Ft. Pitt Tunnels.  He drove past the airport, jumped on the Turnpike forty minutes later and headed to Cleveland. 

He hated the Turnpike.  First, it cost a bunch of money, around $14 per round trip.  Second, you could not even think of speeding in Ohio.  It seemed like the police positioned a car at every other exit.  Surely, there are bigger crimes being committed in Ohio than speeding. 

Sean liked Cleveland but hated going there, if that makes any sense.  The agency he worked for was based there and once a quarter, he had to jump in his fifteen-year-old Jeep, drive over there, like he was today, for a meeting on how their clients could serve more fries, more drinks and more burgers.  The first couple of times, he was excited, expecting some sort of magical, creative, light and magic show.  It turned out to be the opposite.  It was a download session where he was “told” what to sell into his co-ops.  The issue was that the franchisor did not like what the agency was serving up, which put him in a bad spot.  He also was forced to sell ideas to his franchisees that were contrary to the brand’s strategy, again putting him at odds with the franchisor.  You don’t want to be on this company’s naughty list.

His attitude did not make him popular with agency management, primarily the owner of the agency, Bill Voxx.  Bill, president of Voxx & Voxx, had inherited the agency from his father.  Sean liked old man Voxx, but rarely saw him anymore.  Bill had done a decent job of growing the agency’s client roster, but had done so at the expense of his people.  The agency was founded on a restaurant account and grew from there.  Sean believed Voxx was just fattening up the agency to make it more attractive to a large holding company, which he hoped would swoop in and buy it. 

While they had promoted Sean, they had also worked him to the bone, knowing full well that if he quit, there were 314 people, resumes in hand, ready to take his spot.  Sean doubted that Bill Voxx had promoted him willingly.  He was certain that the franchisees he supported had pushed Bill and the agency to promote him.  Sean liked the franchisees.  They were what made his job fun and tough at the same time.  The fact that he worked out of the regional office in Pittsburgh was a bonus since he did not have to see Bill everyday.

Yes, Sean worked in the harsh world of restaurant marketing and he was at its summit.  He worked on one of the biggest brands in the world, but also the toughest.  His clients expected him to know everything.  And they meant everything; media, finance, promotions, event marketing and operations.  At anytime during a meeting, they could ask him about anything and he was expected to know the answer. He knew most of them.

The other requirement for being good account person was the ability to sell.  Sell ideas.  Sell promotions.  Sell in budgets.  And boy, could Sean sell.  That’s one of reasons the agency kept him around.  The franchisees that made up the co-ops listened to him.  He had worked for the agency and with the franchisees since he graduated from college.  He started as an account coordinator, and now at twenty-six was a very young account supervisor.  They listened to him because he had built up credibility with them through countless hours spent in their restaurants.  He had put up banners in the snow.  He had worked their fry stations when they were short staffed, and like any good agency account person, was able to score those illusive Steelers seats when they came asking.

While there were company-owned units in his co-ops, they were rarely ever able to gain a majority and were thus forced to execute programs that were contrary to their national strategy. Sean knew the national marketing manager would be calling him on the way home to Pittsburgh to hear about the latest idea he would be forced to execute.

Sean made the two-hour drive without incident.  No tickets and no breakdowns.  He pulled into the parking lot of Voxx & Voxx at 9:45, with fifteen minutes to spare.  He parked near the front and got out.  When he opened the door, the cold wind off of Lake Erie nearly cut him in half.  He quickly pulled on his jacket and grabbed his phone and messenger bag.  On the way in, he passed Bill Voxx’s new Porsche.  The wind happened to catch him off guard and his bag slipped and knocked into the driver’s side door.

“Oops.”

The agency was an unremarkable two-story brick building located on Chagrin on the east side of Cleveland.  The agency’s name was plastered to the side of the building.  The nice thing about the location was he didn’t need to pay for parking, unless Bill had figured out how to accomplish that since his last visit.

Sean entered the lobby and was greeted by the receptionist, Erin. Bill, being a pig, had not bothered to really review Erin’s resume.  He was more concerned with her looks. He stuck her out front where he could see her from his office on the second floor.  (She went to Syracuse, by the way, and wanted to be a copywriter).

“Good morning Sean,” Erin beamed when he came through the door. 

“Morning Erin.” Sean stopped and leaned on the reception desk.  “When is Bill going to give you a shot?”

“I don’t know.  I am getting tired of waiting and tired of him glaring at me from his office.  I am thinking of looking for another job.”

“Sorry.  I know what it’s like to be stared at like that,” Sean said smiling.

“Yeah, but it’s not for a good reason.” Her phone started ringing.  She picked it up, listened, turning to Sean.  “Bill wants to see you upstairs.” 

“Great.”  Sean winked at her and headed to the stairs at the far end of the circular lobby.  Like most agencies, the floor was polished stained concrete with clever artwork adorning the walls.  Voxx & Voxx had a concealed projector that ran the agency’s reel on a constant loop, all day, every day.  That alone would be enough to drive anyone nuts. The stairs were slightly curved to the right and ended on the second floor.  Offices ringed the lobby.  That’s where the hotshots sat.  Everyone else was off in the back somewhere.  Kind of like a galley with Bill holding the whip.

Bill’s office was above the entrance to the lobby.  Sean stopped at his door and knocked.

“Come in and close the door,” Bill said bluntly.  Bill’s office was naturally the largest in the building.  A large glass desk dominated the room.  A white board and a bar on one side and a small conference table on the other were in sharp contrast to the shag carpet that looked like it was straight out of 1972.

“Good morning,” Sean said, approaching the desk.

“Sit down.” Bill snarled and pointing at the chair in front of the desk.  Bill Voxx was not particularly tall, but was impeccably dressed.   His most striking feature was a salt and pepper beard.  He combed his hair straight back.   Sean imagined that the suit he had on cost a quarter of what Sean made in a year. Looking around the office, Sean could see why Bill liked this spot.  On one side, he could look at his car and on the other, Erin.

Sean sat down and placed his bag at his feet.

“I see you got dressed up for today.”

Sean did not respond.

“Sean, I have something I need for you to do.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“I need for you to get more money out of your co-ops.”

“We just took up their fees during the planning cycle in the fall.  I don’t think they will go for it.”

“Well, I am afraid that if you don’t convince them, you and others will take a pay cut.”  

Sean thought about the Porsche out in the lot with the Ohio temporary tags on the back.

“That include you?” Sean asked.  Bill stood up.

“What did you just say?”

“I asked if you were going to take a pay cut too,” Sean answered back, his eyes narrowing.

“Sean, you know that I never liked you.  The client likes you.  My father thinks you are charming, but he’s not here anymore.”

”I like your father, too.”

“Hearing you say that makes me dislike you all the more.  You know, I just came up with a way to save some cash.  This is your last day!  Go to HR!  Turn in your computer!”

“What?” Sean said, standing up.  A smug look on his face, Bill walked over to his door and opened it. 

“Oh, and if I find out that you are in contact with any of my clients, I will make sure you never work in this industry again.  Get out!”  Bill took a long look at Erin and then slammed the door.

Sean was pissed, worried and elated at the same time.  He walked down the hall to the HR director, Cathy Ross’ office, stood at her door, but she was on the phone.

“Sean?  Really?  I don’t understand.  Yes, I will take care of it.  Sir, we have to give him his vacation.”  She hung up and waved him in. 

“Hi Cathy.”  Cathy had been with the agency for fifteen years and knew how Bill operated.

“Sean.  I am sorry.  You know he has been waiting to get you.  You shouldn’t have given him the opportunity.”

“Is it because he’s short and I’m tall?” 

She laughed, “Maybe.”

“Here’s my laptop,” he said, handing it across to her.

“Thanks.  You know, he wants to give you nothing, but we have policies here.”  She was typing on her keyboard.  Sean sat silently.

“Looks like you have been here five years, which entitles you to five weeks salary on top of the normal two weeks of severance.  Plus, you have four weeks of vacation earned.  I am afraid that’s the best I can do.”