Otter Under Fire (6 page)

Besides she had someone else on her list. That bitch didn’t warrant killing just yet, but she was too smart for her own good. She had a tendency to figure things out and she surely didn’t need that smart ass poking her nose into places where it didn’t belong.

But from now on, she was going to be on Otter Watch.

Annie was smug when she got in the car on Monday morning. No Monday morning blahs this morning, Otter thought. Annie was downright sparkly. She handed Otter a small package.

“A little something to congratulate you on your promotion, “she said. Otter opened the gift to find a small homemade carrot cake. Annie’s baking was so good, it was lethal and carrot cake was Otter’s favorites.

“Thank you, that was very thoughtful of you.”

“I had to make three before I could get this away from the mob,” Annie said cheerfully. “Everyone in my family seems to have a sixth sense when I’m thinking about baking something special. Suddenly I had a house full of kids and grandkids. You’re lucky I could beat them off long enough to get this one frosted.”

Otter laughed. “Well thank you for going through all the trouble,” she said. I’ll save this for when I go home.”

“There’s enough for you and Tempest to have a few pieces each,” Annie said “enjoy. And now I can say, I told you so.”

“Told me so about what?”

“That they would make you production manager,”

“Well, they haven’t.”

“Technicalities,” Annie said dismissively. “You have the extra work and responsibilities but not the title.”

“No, actually, I have the authority and the responsibility, but I don’t have the headaches. There is still someone over me that makes all the big hairy decisions. I just have to get product out the door. It’s pretty much like I’ve been doing all along.”

“You just hold onto that dream, kiddo.” Annie said with a grin.

“Hey Mee ha, big shot
jefe.”
Gonzo sang as she walked in the door. “I told you. I said you gonna make big shot
jefe
.”

“I’m not a big shot. I’m the coordinating big shot. That makes me not much more than I was before.”

Gonzo rolled his eyes expressively. “You wait, you see. I’ll help you. That’s why you keep me around because I help you.”

“I keep you around because your wife makes the best Christmas tamales on the planet,” Otter said, “Otherwise I’d kick you to the curb.”

Gonzo let out a big belly laugh and headed toward his department. She could hear him yelling at the guys at their machines. “Hey everyone, big shot
jefe
says everyone get to work. She wants us to make her look good.” There were hoots, whistles and catcalls from the guys and she just shook her head. They weren’t going to stop teasing her about this for a long time.

“Congratulations, Mackenzie,” a voice behind her said. She turned to see Ron Defray. To her never ending shock, he put out his hand. “If someone had to take over the floor, I’m glad it was you,” he said.

Otter shook his hand, not sure what to say.

“Thank you,” she managed.

“I’m going to have some big projects and I hope you will work with me to get them through the machines when I need them.”

“Of course,”

“I’m getting Clark’s office. When the boss gets here, I will get the keys. So if you need any help, you’ll know where to find me.” Defray rolled his bullet casing around in his fingers, Otter noticed that he had polished it.

“Thank you for letting me know,” she said. As she watched him limp away—his gout must be acting up again--she felt like she had just escaped some horrible fate.

Shaking off the feeling, she scheduled a meeting for later that morning with all the department heads and got to work.

“I don’t think our working relationships are going to change a whole lot,” Mackenzie told the department heads in her introductory meeting. Mitch was in the back corner on his laptop, but listening in all the same.

“Other than you will kick our asses,” Jay teased.

“She always did that before,” Gus, the head of welding said. Everyone in the room laughed.

“I mean to say that you guys know how to run your departments. Everyone hired and fired has to go through Mitch and myself. You have to ok your schedules through me instead of Defray. Other than that, I will be coming in to check on you guys throughout the day to get product out. I didn’t do that so much before, but now it will be me asking all of you questions.”

“What if Defray wants to push something ahead or into the schedule,” Jay asked.

“Then you send him to me.” Otter said.

“He won’t like that.” Gonzo said.

“He can discuss his likes and dislikes with me in Michael’s office,” Mitch said. “Mackenzie sets the schedule. Does anyone have a problem with that?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“Nah,” said Jay. “We’ve all worked well with her before. I don’t see anyone having an issue now.”

Everyone nodded, no problem here, nope no problem. So Otter sent them back to their departments.

“This is going to be a good move,” Mitch said as he got up. “Michael is going to be very pleased.”

“I hope you’re right,” Otter said. She went back out to the floor to start working out her new routine.

That day they shipped several sizes of dental drills, a race car got its new aerodynamic rims and a knight getting ready for a medieval festival got his suit of armor. A knife maker got his engraved knives back and had to get started making the custom handles so he would be in time for the Christmas season.

Some repair parts, made of an exotic alloy, were shipped to a company back east. They had scheduled these special pieces to be launched into space where astronauts would use them to fix sections of the International Space Station.

After Otter left for the day, Ron Defray angrily stormed into Michael’s office and demanded to know why getting Clark’s office did not mean he was getting Clark’s powerful new computer.

“Tempest is throwing me a congratulations party on Friday,” Otter told Annie as they drove up the I-17 access road heading for home. “Would you like to come?”

“I think we can make it. It will get Paul away from the TV for one night.”

“Good. I hope you can.”

“Sounds like fun,”

“And I think this weekend, is the one where Tempest wants me to go to a fetish ball with her to evaluate a client’s venue.”

“I want to go,” Annie said with an enthusiasm that surprised Otter. “You never ask me to go to the fun stuff.”

“Do you know what a fetish ball is?”

“Oh yes, whips and chains and leather goods. I love leather. Please, please, please ask Tempest if it would be ok for me to go.”

Otter wasn’t sure what to say for a minute. You just didn’t know about people she thought.

“I’ll ask her.”

“Thank you! We’re going to have the best time.”

“Well we’re going to have an interesting time anyway.”

“Will there be a slave auction?”

Otter wasn’t sure she could handle this.

“I don’t know. I imagine so.”

“I hope so; I’ll bring my credit card. Last time I bought a slave I almost didn’t have enough cash.”

Otter pulled to the side of the road and turned to Annie, “Don’t tell me you’ve bought a slave before.”

“Oh yes,” said Annie enthusiastically. “It was at a charity auction for cystic fibrosis, I think. I got him for the weekend, I had him wash all my windows and strip and scrub my floors.”

Otter stared at Annie for a few minutes. “This isn’t that kind of slave auction.”

“A slave is a slave,” Annie shrugged. “Once you own them, they have to do what you say. I have a patio that needs to be painted and if he does it in a little G-string all the better.”

“OK, if you say so,” Otter said, guiding the truck back into traffic. I hope Paul is ok with you going.” Paul, Annie’s husband was a nice down to earth sort of guy. He seemed quite resigned to her quirks and flights of fancy.

“Oh, he’s fine with it. I have a new updated letter.”

“Letter?”

“Yes, it’s a letter I carry with me always. It’s for in case I run into anyone we know, or a relative. Depending on what I’m doing, they often threaten to call him and let him know what I’m up to. The letter stops all the phone calls.”

“That must be some letter,”

“It basically says that he knows where I am and what I am doing and don’t call him because it interrupts his television programs. He signs it and dates it. And I show it whenever I feel I need to.”

“You have a permission slip from your husband.”

“Well, maybe a little. It’s more of a letter of trust. He knows I’m not going to do anything dangerous or be unfaithful, and he knows I will tell him all about it. This will just keep people from bothering him.”

“Use it often do you?”

“Used to be a lot more—back then I would use it a couple of times a week. Now I’m lucky if I use it a couple of times a month.”

“Well, maybe you can use it at the ball.”

“I sure hope so. I love the look on people’s faces when I pull it out of my wallet and hand it to them. They look like they can hardly believe it.”

Otter wasn’t sure she could believe it either. She’d known the woman for years and had never heard of this before.

“What about your kids?”

“Oh, they’re used to me. And of course, most of the family knows about this and they don’t bother either, but there is always that one trouble maker who has to call him anyway. Like I would forge his signature on a letter,” she said indignantly.

“What does he do when someone calls him to tattle on you?”

“Once a long time ago, he was in the middle of watching a football game and it was a close score you know. Some busybody called him to report on me being at a party without him. He yelled into the phone: ‘I’m glad you told me where she is, I’ve been looking for her and I’m going to get my gun and go out and shoot her.’ Then he went back to watching the game. Then the police showed up and asked to see his gun. He told them he didn’t have a gun, because at that time the kids were little and we thought it best that we didn’t have any around. They said they heard he wanted to kill his wife. He said no, she took the kids and went to a friend’s house so he could watch the game in peace. After a little discussion, they left but I’m pretty sure they watched our house closely for a few years. That neighbor didn’t talk to us for months.” She giggled a little, “I’d like to think we taught her a lesson about getting into other people’s business.

“Now-a-days all he does is ask them if they’ve seen the letter. When they say yes, he asks them if they can fucking read.”

Annie straightened up in her seat. “I hate when he does that. I don’t like it when he uses foul language.”

Otter dropped Annie off at her house thinking that she and Paul were made for each other. Possibly out of factory seconds.

The biggest treat when Otter and Tempest were in high school was when they visited Otter’s Uncle Leonard Florian—who was a chef—and his wife Carole Julienne—who was a ballerina. They hadn’t become celebrities yet back then, and had the time to spend with two gangly girls who found New York City exhilarating. Later, of course he became one of the first celebrity chefs, most famous for his inventive can’t-live-without-it kitchen gadgets. Carole became the fashion icon people would remember long after her dancing career was over.

Tempest sat in the back of the 1920’s era limousine. It brought back those wonderful memories from those stolen weekends. It was tastefully upholstered in grey velvet. Between each window was an etched crystal vase that held a single pink rose bud. The driver was dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform also circa 1922. Tempest felt very elegant in her custom made suit and designer accessories, but she almost wished she had worn a hat—given the surroundings.

She hadn’t seen Aunt Carole and Uncle Florian for a little while. They sent her a card every year on her birthday and at Christmas and there was usually a nice letter and an even nicer check. They talked to her on the phone when Otter called them—just to say hello. They lived out in the middle of nowhere at the time, hopefully they weren’t getting bored.

But then they requested to see her in person, by herself and Otter free. That was unusual. So she allowed them to arrange a flight for her and she made sure she wore her best tailored silk blend business suit so she would make a good impression.

Tempest had a secret that only Otter knew. Her business was a success, but she wasn’t making a lot of money yet. Sure, her clients were becoming more successful, but that didn’t always translate into lots of dollars in her pocket. It was all working though, because Tempest had a plan.

It was true that all her clothing was custom tailored and she had a closet full of designer bags and shoes. She had her own personal soda pop fountain in the kitchen that was replenished for her by a company delivery man that usually only made commercial deliveries. She had lovely pieces of jewelry. She had a motorcycle, the latest in electronics and a beautiful office with a large conference room.

They were all payments from her clients.

It was rather brilliant, really. If she had demanded large sums of money, many of her clients wouldn’t have been able to afford her services and possibly gone out of business. Instead they gave her merchandise and services along with smaller payments so that all of them thrived to their mutual benefit. Tempest reasoned that she wouldn’t have been able to afford much of what she had even if she charged them all full price. Consequently she looked the part of a wealthy and successful marketing strategist while building her business from almost nothing.

The driveway sported a vintage Mercedes and a Land Rover. The lands behind the breathtaking house were extensive and filled with curiosities that Tempest would have loved to explore. It was evident that engineering and design ran in the family.

The door was answered by The Leonard Florian himself. He had aged extremely well, Tempest thought. He was still tall and handsome, but his hair had gone from blonde to white. His hazel eyes were full of intelligence and confidence, borne of being the best in the world.

Vaguely Tempest remembered seeing a gossip magazine that reported that Leonard Florian had been spotted playing poker with Elvis and Jimmy Hoffa in a bar a couple hundred miles from Graceland only last month. She had giggled to herself when she had seen it and wondered if he had read it.

Leonard Florian became one of the first famous chefs. He was known not only for his mastery of the culinary arts, but he was an engineer as well. His fame came from kitchen appliances and gadgets he invented that revolutionized food preparation. At the height of his popularity, he had disappeared with his wife on an ice covered mountain road in late 2007. Many people thought he was dead. Otter said they just got tired of living in the limelight.

“It’s so good to see you,” Leonard Florian said, giving her a big hug, “and thank you so much for coming out to see us.”

“How could I resist? You made it sound quite secret and exciting.”

“That was always your draw,” he said as he opened the door wide so she could come inside. “You loved an adventure.”

He led her to a comfortable and lovely sitting room. Over the fireplace was the original of their legendary wedding photograph. He had married a premier dancer who later became the designer of the 80’s and the 90’s whose brand continued even though nobody was really sure if she was still alive.

As if she read Tempest’s mind, Carole Julienne floated into the room, wearing a brown leather blazer and dark wash jeans looking no older than she had thirty years ago. Her husband had radiated confidence, but she had grace emanating from every atom of her being.

“Look who’s come to see us,” Leonard said as Carole swooped in for a hug.

“Our girls became so beautiful, didn’t they Leonard?” Carole said holding Tempest away from her to look at her better. “And you dress divinely, of course, that is a lovely suit.”

“I learned to dress from you,” Tempest said.

“Thank heavens,” Carole said, “I remember you and Otter as girls and I almost despaired.” She laughed a little.

Tempest felt immediately like the awkward teen with her legs too long and her boobs too big. She remembered too, all of the extra time Carole had taken to teach her to dress her body and to move gracefully. She was unexpectedly awash in memories of breakfast on a balcony over-looking the city, eating fresh crepes and omelets made by the man himself while making giggling plans of shopping, museums and shows.

“I don’t know if I ever said thank you for all the wonderful things you’ve done for me,” Tempest began.

“Oh honey, you’re family. No need for that.”

“So why did you ask me here?”

“Well,” Leonard cleared his throat, “we have a business proposition for you.”

“OK,” Tempest said, sitting on a wing backed chair.

“We’ve been watching your career and we think that your business and our new project might just work well together.” Carole said as she made herself comfortable on the sofa.

“OK,” Tempest wasn’t sure if she should be worried or not. “What kind of project?”

“First of all, I wrote a book.” Leonard said.

“I’m not familiar with that kind of marketing,” Tempest said hastily, “I don’t know anything about publishing.”

“Oh don’t worry about that,” Leonard said, “I already have a publisher, but the book leads into some other interesting things.”

“We’re starting some factories,” Carole said. “Small ones, quietly in small towns, we don’t want to draw too much attention to what we are doing yet.”

“That sounds interesting.” Tempest said, perking up in anticipation.

“I’m going to release a new fashion collection that is totally made in the United States, and some of the factories will make those pieces.” Carole said with a sweet smile. “My fashion house still operates in New York; this will be a special division.”

“So we wondered if you would like to be in on the marketing project.” Leonard said.

Tempest’s heart hammered. “I would love to do some of course, I’m not sure if I could do it all.” She knew that they could possibly be handing her the opportunity of a lifetime.

“We’ll work that out. But we want you to see everything first and look at the plans.” Carole smiled sweetly.

“I engineered the production line, for the clothing and for my new gadgets. But some of the gadgets are based on my book.”

“OK, let’s see your book.”

He brought out sheets of text and sketches. It was well written, humorous, and practical and the drawings were perfect, however the subject matter was a little…unexpected.

It was all about squirrels. Fat, furry things with fluffy tails-- they fluidly danced across pages and up the margins. They gorged on acorns and scampered up trees. The entire bevy of mechanical sketches comprised of squirrel feeders and barriers designed so they wouldn’t raid bird houses or get into someone’s attic. One whole chapter was devoted to tips on keeping one or two families of squirrels on your property to keep all the rest at bay. They even had a section of squirrel toys and puzzles to keep them occupied.

“Squirrels?” Tempest asked.

“We’ve grown rather fond of them.” Leonard said. “When we first moved out here, we decided to be entirely green. The house and outbuildings are solar and wind powered. At first I wanted to keep all the wild animals away from the house…”

“But I loved the squirrels. I thought they were so cute,” Carole said.

“So we figured out a way to make peace with them,” Leonard said. “And it’s worked out pretty well so far. They do have natural predators, of course, we don’t interfere with that. They aren’t pets and it keeps us from being up to our necks in the critters. ”

“We love watching them in the morning while we are having breakfast,” Carole said.

Tempest looked at the sketch cover of the book: “Living and Thriving with Wildlife—How to Make Peace with Squirrels”

It had a picture of their home surrounded by trees with the special squirrel toys in them.

“But…” Tempest prompted.

“Well every family has one or two idiots in every generation. No matter the opportunities, no matter how comfortable they are.” Leonard elaborated.

“Sometimes it would skip a generation,” Carole added. “But inevitably there would be destruction of property and nothing we could do would stop it.”

“You saw my car out there?” Leonard asked. Tempest nodded. “I love that car. I would go out and the rubber would be pulled off of it, or the paint would be scratched. Then I knew I had to take action because we had another one.”

“It was getting quite frustrating,” Carol said.

“I made special traps and trip wires to spook them,” Leonard said, “But you just can’t fight total stupidity.”

“We gave them plenty of fair warning,” Carole said primly.

“So now we get to the second part of the book,” Leonard said, “the alternatives.”

Tempest was not sure she wanted to pursue this line of discussion. “What alternatives are you talking about?”

“Mainly wild game,” Leonard said. “With all this green living, many people are turning to wild game or grass fed beef. It’s a lot drier than what most folks are used to. So even though the recipes are written with squirrel in mind, the meat can be substituted for organic beef or pork. I talk about it at length in the first part of that section.”

“So your book about living with squirrels is also about eating them?” Tempest asked.

“Only the stupid ones,” Leonard explained. “It’s a lot like culling the herd. Listen, I was raised in Alabama and we regularly hunted and ate squirrel and game. Many people do.”

Tempest shuffled some more pages and pictures. It was then she saw the carefully drawn title page for the second section of the book with the title scripted over a picture of the two of them standing in front of the aforementioned Mercedes. It read:

“The Recipes: When the Little Assholes Won’t Stay off Your Car”

Greg, the IT guy brought a box into Otter’s office and set it on the floor.

“What’s this?”

“The boss said you were to get everything in Clark’s office that wasn’t personal.”

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

He shrugged. “You’re supposed to figure it out. I’m just the messenger. I hooked your system up with his last night and gave you his computer.” Greg reached past her and tapped a few keys on her keyboard. “If you want to access his files, you just click on this icon. It will take you to what he was working on.”

“I have some of his e-mails?”

“Only the last couple of days, in case there is something important in there. If you need to see a whole thread, let me know and I’ll get it for you.”

“OK, thanks, I think.”

“Just part of our four star service,” He grinned. “So what do you think of your new job?”

“I think I’m going to be very busy.”

“Yeah, like you were lounging around here before.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Did you know that four different people stormed into Michael’s office demanding this computer?”

“I figured other people would want it. It’s the newest we have.”

“One of them was Defray.”

“Of course it was. He was livid when Clark got it in the first place. He thought he should have had it all along.” Otter lifted the box onto her chair and started to look through the contents.

“Looks like mainly plans and blueprints.” She said, “Nothing unusual.”

“Keep digging to the bottom,” he suggested.

She pulled more papers out of the box. “So why would his appointment book be here?” She asked. “Why wasn’t it with him?”

“Clark told me once that he left it at work if he was leaving town, that way he wouldn’t lose it,” Greg said.

“Odd that it would be in this box,” Otter said, looking Greg in the eyes. You would think it would go to Michael or Mitch,”

“Nope, I made sure and I asked,” Greg said. “They both said that you were to get everything.”