Page 78 - Labelle Gramercy, On the Case
P. 78

Overtime

        plan for damage control. A memo to the staff had to be composed;
        managers,  executives  and  next-of-kin  notified;  state  and  federal
        statutes reviewed; and my assistant Leah Rackette put into the picture
        so  she  could  start  the  ball  rolling  up  the  side  of  a  brand-new
        mountain of paperwork.
          She was in her condo Sunday morning, as usual—an easy target
        for  weekend  business  calls  like  mine.  Did  she  sit  by  the  phone
        waiting for one of her few surviving acquaintances to make contact?
        It  was  Leah  who  began  to  get  me  worried  when  she  casually
        mentioned, in the course of discussing what to do with the mess left
        behind by Vincent D. Kates, that something else odd had occurred
        since I left the building Friday afternoon about four o’clock to play
        my usual game of squash at the health club.
          “So it looks like we’ll have to fill two positions, now.”
          “Two?” For a moment I thought another body had been found in
        the building.
          I  couldn’t  see  her  face,  obviously,  but  I  knew  that  Leah  was
        scowling,  an  expression  she  assumed  so  frequently  as  to  render  it
        meaningless.  She had the old-timer’s trait of denigrating any younger
        employee’s  lack  of  knowledge—even  though  she  herself  was  no
        longer a reliable source of institutional memory.
          “One  of  the  guards  quit  suddenly  Friday  afternoon.  I  put  the
        forms on your desk, but you had already left for the day.”
          “Oh. That shouldn’t be a problem. We want to outsource security,
        anyway. I’ll call Cerberus when I get into the office Monday morning.
        They’ll be glad to get their big flat feet even farther in the door. Was
        it anybody we knew?”
          My  question  had  no  real  motive  behind  it.  Guards,  like  the
        maintenance  crew  and  the  mail  room  staff,  were  not  white-collar
        workers and required no exit interview or severance pay when they
        terminated of their own accord; processing was cut-and-dry.
          “It was that short guy with a missing front tooth. Ponce was his
        name, D. Leon  Ponce.  He  turned in his  ID badge,  his keys and a
        forwarding address for his last check to his supervisor at the end of
        the  shift.  I  took  him  out  of  active  status  on  the  computer
        immediately.”
          “Good.”


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