Knife Edge

Knife Edge - chapter 14

Scott made a pointed finger from a clenched fist at the departing back of Mike McBride.

'Bang,' he whispered, 'bang, bang...'

He blew on his finger as if it was an imaginary gun. 'Adios baby, make the most of it.'

Chuckling, Scott Stockton turned and made his way back to his desk.

'I'm scared, Fred,' Mike McBride touched the softly illuminated panel by the Crab, as the elevator had been dubbed. He spoke dully into the reflective instrument. 'Ground, asshole,' then turned to Fred Porter. 'I hate this goddamn elevator. It's just like everything else in this place, friggin' screwy.'

Porter, a slightly built silver haired man in his late forties, smiled at the thick set McBride.

'You think we're all being taken for a ride, do you? Sounds remarkably like a conspiracy theory to me.'

'It's no conspiracy, Fred. That's not what scares me. They can take conspiracies and shove 'em up their sweet asses for all I care. No, Stockton scares me. I just can't make him out.'

The Crab opened its shell-like doors and the two executives entered.

The cab was empty. McBride and Porter, acting instinctively and from well-worn habit, gazed out over their spiralling descent to the ground floor and the acres of glass and steel twisting away before them.

Porter turned to McBride.

'What's eating you?'

The big man took a deep breath. He was angry.

'It's just like I predicted: that son-of-a-bitch fired Mason without a second thought. Twenty-five years. It counts for nothing with Stockton. A whole career down the fucking tubes.'

Porter shook his head in mute agreement.

'He strung out the board of Miller Chemicals. That whole campaign was nothing more than character assassination. When the price goes through the floor, he buys. The whole Street knows he was behind it. I tell you, he'd steal the hairs out of your ass if he could make a buck.'

The elevator sank with the gentlest of whispers.

'No one's safe, Fred,' grunted McBride. 'The whole board's jumpy. Have you heard the way he balls them out? Jesus! I wouldn't take that crap from anyone, especially not some kid barely out of diapers. He's twenty-three years of age for Christ's sake. Well, he can screw himself, Fred. I'm not a pizza. He can't order me like pepperoni.'

'How safe is the company, that's what I want to know?' sighed Porter. 'This Genocel division is going to be some success. It could mean a complete change of direction. R&D could go down the tubes. He might buy it all outside, that's what I heard,' Porter paused. 'He's like an iceberg. He feels nothing. And I hear he's screwing around like his dick was supercharged.'

'Oh, but he's smart,' McBride shook his head. 'He never gets caught with his dick in the dirt. No one can hang anything on him. He's as clean as a whistle. He's what the great American public wants. He's going to be on the front cover of Time magazine, that's the last I heard.'

The Crab sidled to a breathless halt, lights flashing on its network console.

'You stopping off, Fred?' asked McBride.

'Naw, not tonight. Got some figures to finish. I'll see you tomorrow.'

'We hope.'

The two men in dark suits left the elevator and moved off together across towards the street level car park.

Greg Anderson caught up with Scott as the younger man was snapping shut his briefcase. Anderson was panting a little and his face was slightly flushed.