Page 59 of Jonesing for a Spy

Strider

Monday comes and goes. So does Tuesday. Mirren and I chat each morning and each evening, and along the way, I tell her about O’Neill and the mess he and his team have caused. Wednesday feels ominous when I wake with gray skies lurking and a distinct chill sliding through the day. It seems to foreshadow the day ahead.

Delays at the grocery where we get the turkeys and hams for the potluck set me back by an hour. The delay means the workers I meant to have one-on-ones with this morning got pushed. Thankfully, none were disciplinary matters, but cancelling and no-showing aren’t my style.

While nothing in me is feeling the holiday cheer, I am thankful for this team, even if we’ll be significantly lighter by later on today. The crew is setting up tables and getting everything ready by the time I arrive.

When we’ve all gathered, I offer a heartfelt thanks from Electric Peoria and from me personally and a genuine apology to everyone my scheduling messed up.

Lunch is delicious. Everyone brings their favorite and best dishes. And since we also have tons of leftovers, our teams have been known to make huge plates and drive around Peoria afterwards making sure the unhomed and the underserved have a hot delicious meal that is the best of the best.

With approval from our attorneys and human resources, I’d pre-scheduled meetings with O’Neill and his team. That also means, I did the same with other project managers so there were no suspicions. To those teams, I offered their holiday bonuses early, a sincere thank you, and the rest of the day off after lunch. The half-day is expected, and I have no problem obliging. Besides, fewer people in the office means fewer witnesses.

Price and his team enter the conference room, and I stealthily hit go on the intercom so that HR and our attorneys outside the room have access to hear without raising any suspicions by having them present in the room.

“As I do every year, I want to thank you for your work, time, and dedication to Electric Peoria. As you know, we hold each other in high esteem, with high expectation, and under high accountability since we all rise and fall together. I’ve been pleased to offer bonuses this year a month earlier than we usually do, since the economic downturn has hit so many people in a variety of ways.”

The men smile at me from around the table. They think they’re being given a bonus for stealing from me?

“Unfortunately, those end of year supplements were smaller this year due to theft and unethical behavior.”

The men look pissed. “But that’s mine as part of my comp,” one insists.

I nod. “Each of us is dependent on one another to avoid spending frivolously and to bring our jobs in on time and under budget. I’m sorry the behavior of some means less for all.”

“Who?” another asks. His vehemence is him verbally smacking a fist into his palm.

Well, here goes nothing.

“You. Each of your timecards have been analyzed. Each week one of you adds a sliver of time to a job… Very rarely duplicating or all falling exactly the same. An audit of your truck’s GPS units verified that you weren’t at the job sites for the same duration as your timecards indicate.”

Price O’Neill is red in the face and vibrating with rage.

I speak directly to him. “We’re offering you the opportunity to admit your wrongdoing and resign voluntarily, so we can all avoid legal action. I’ll also commit to not telling the union. I’ll pay you what’s on your timecard for this week and eight hours per day through the end of the month.”

Passing a stack of papers to the man closest to me, I continue. “Should you choose not to, we will terminate you effective three p.m. today. There will be no severance, and we will fight unemployment claims with the proof of illegal activity. We will not be silent in the case that you choose not to resign today. There will be your final paycheck, again, through three o’clock today. Your keycards have all been terminated. Your cellphones have been locked. Your trucks have been gone through and your things purged. I need your keys and phones before you leave.”

“And if we don’t accept your two options?” Price bites.

With every bit of calmness I possess, I say, “Then the Peoria PD will escort you out. Where they take you is between you and them.”

“How dare you?” the man across from me seethes, standing so quickly his chair flies violently into the wall behind him.

The police on standby is something HR recommended, and since Bryan is a high school track buddy, I figured it couldn’t hurt.

I truly thought I wouldn’t need him. That was a luxury I wasn’t afforded.

Because O’Neill launches over the table and wraps his hands around my neck.

My brain thinks it’s forever, even though some more reasonable part of me knows he isn’t there long, even if red and black dots spot my vision for longer than I’d like. It takes Bryan and two of Price’s team to get him off of me.

I’m gagging for breath as he’s hauled away in cuffs, screaming and cussing at me with the precision of a nail gun.

This is exactly what I didn’t want… drama.

Looking up, I realize there’s more—an audience of employees with pity in their eyes and knowing looks on their faces.

Well, fuck.