Harsh Introductions

.Another bust

, I thought. Decent scenery at the club, but no real joy. That's OK. Work tomorrow anyway - damn split shifts.

All of that left my mind, however, for a brief minute, when a new girl came sauntering by. In this lighting all I could see were curves and black leather, but she cut a mighty fine figure.

"-ith my buddy Tom," Al was saying. He was the one that always dragged me here, claiming I'd finally meet the girl of my dreams. The real reason was that I was his ride home after he blew the 401k part of his paycheck getting himself and everyone else around him drunk. Good guy, though; best hydraulic tech I knew.

That was half the reason I actually came along with him; if he got himself hurt in a bar brawl, I'd have to work with Mike, and that guy was going to give me an aneurism with his practical jokes. Don't fuck around with heavy equipment, and you'll live to appreciate having all your fingers, I always thought - but management always found an excuse to look the other way because nobody had gotten seriously hurt yet, and I didn't want to be the one to prove my point by being permanently disfigured. The other half of the reason I came, of course, was I couldn't prove Al was actually lying, and sap that I was, hoped he was right.

So there she was, and suddenly my night was looking up. She even came over my way, giving me a precious moment of beautiful confusion on Al's face after she took the drink he offered and walked straight over.

"Hey stranger!" she shouted over the pounding music.

"Hey your-sexy-self!" I said, smiling.

"You dance?" she said.

"Not if you value your toes," I said.

Truly, I had no rhythm. Hopeless klutz on the dance floor, and as I am emphatically not into being shamed or embarrassed, there was no way I was being dragged out there.

"What about this dance? You know this one?"

She reached out and took my hand, putting my fingers to her throat.

Oh, hot. I'd heard about girls that liked it rough, and this one definitely made a good case for giving it a try. Just one thing I'd learned to be essential, however, was negotiation.

"I might. What's your safe word?"

"You want to know what I do if you go too far?"

"That's right."

And then, without warning, the world spun in a whole new direction, centered around an exploding knot of pain in my groin. I clutched the table in one hand, trying to keep myself from going completely to the floor, and managed to swivel myself to land face-first on it, with my other hand, naturally, trying to keep the nerve bundle formerly known as my scrotum from seceding from the nation Tom Felter. Bile rose in my throat, and the lights were suddenly too bright in time with my pounding headache. Al somehow managed to get me up and put my arm over his shoulder. I fought the urge to lash out and return the pain to its source, no matter how attractive she was. I remembered the morality clause in my employment contract allowing my termination in the case of certain criminal convictions, and more importantly my own code of ethics: never hit a woman in anger. I wouldn't be able to look in a mirror ever again. The urge subsided.

"Jesus, man, you struck out in record time there. What the hell were you thinking? At least get her name before you go getting all into her personal space."

"Stay away from her, she's a fucking psycho. I didn't so much as touch her."

"So, what, she stepped into your hand voluntarily?"

"Pretty much," I gasped hoarsely.

"Look, let me get you to the car at least. You can lie down in the back seat until you're good to drive. Or do you need to hit the restroom first?"

"It's time anyway. Work tomorrow, you know."

"Alright, let me pay the tab and we'll bail."

He leaned me up against the wall near the exit and went to the bar.

"You OK there buddy? Need me to get you a cab?" the bouncer said.

"Actually, listen, I need to report a party foul. Did you see that just now?"

"Looked to me like you need to learn to keep your hands to yourself."

"Got it all wrong. She came up to me and hit me for no reason."

"Sure, I've heard that one before."

"For real, I want you to kick her out and blacklist her."

"Look man, my job is to keep the peace in here. She's not screwed with anybody else and she's been here for three hours, and that means I can't go letting your type go giving this place a reputation where guys can get all grabby. The girls won't come near this place, and then the guys won't come near this place, and then I'll be out of a job."

"You wanna talk about a reputation? Try this. I'll tell everybody I work with that this place lets anybody get assaulted for no reason."

I pulled out my Omnicron Industries badge and showed it to him. As the biggest company in town, our workers spent a lot of money at the bar blowing off steam.

"Kick me out if you want, but if she stays, I make sure nobody comes out anymore. Girls or otherwise."

The bouncer frowned. This was a tough position for him.

"Let me call the manager," he said.

"Come on man, let it go," Al said.

I pushed him away.

"What, I'm not allowed to be offended when I get hit

in the balls

because a few guys fuck it up for everybody else with their bad behavior?"

"Hey, I wanna talk to you," a new voice said.

"God, not you again. Keep her away from me!" I said.

"Miss, this man is saying you struck him for no reason. It didn't look that way to me, but I have to ask if that's true because a complaint has been lodged."

"No, it's true," she said.

"You... are you sure? Looked to me like you had the right of it."

"Listen, I'm really sorry. Can I just talk to you for a little bit?"

"Miss, if it's true, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I know. Just let me give him this for his trouble."

She held up a dollar bill.

"Go to he-" I started. A few bucks wasn't going to change my opinion. Only, as I blinked and took another look, that was a

hundred dollar

bill.

"...alright, that gets you ten minutes," I said.

"I'm still kicking you out when you're done," the bouncer said, raising an eyebrow.

"I understand. I know this is asking a lot right now but... can we talk in private?" she said.

"She kills me, give her description to the police," I told Al.

"Uh, sure man. You don't have to do this. Be careful, alright?"

"I'm on my guard this time," I said.

My hand was still cradling my crotch. The music was loud, and we had to speak slowly to hear each other.

"I'm only going to say this once, but I really mean it. I'm sorry I hit you."

"Is that it? You could have skipped that and had a much better conversation for free."

"I know, but... does the name Maria Spirenelli mean anything to you?"

"What, did your family invent pasta a hundred years ago or whatever?"

"No, and pasta was invented in the eleven hundreds. Here, look me up and then give me a call if you want to give me a chance to make it up to you."

She handed me a card. Looked a little fancy, but I didn't have time to inspect it fully.

"Six minutes. What else did you have to say?"

"You seem like a really nice guy. I had a good reason to do what I did, but you wouldn't believe me."

The music kicked up a heavy bass interlude. It was a minute before I could reply.

"Try me."

"It's nothing personal, I always do that. You don't know a man until you see him in an unexpected crisis. Normally I'd play you off against an aggressive man on the dance floor, but you don't dance, so..."

"You'd set me up to get put in the hospital to test my character? You must not have many friends. Pardon me if I never set foot on a dance floor with you."

"I wouldn't let you get hurt. I just needed to know if you have the right instincts. You passed the test."

"Great. Well, time's almost up. Maybe you'll see me around, but don't get your hopes up."

"Look me up, I'm telling you. If you still want nothing to do with me when you know who I am, I understand."

"Sure. Goodnight, I guess."

"Goodnight."

*****

Morning came swiftly, and normality returned with it, aside from a bit of tenderness. That is, until my badge wouldn't open the swipe card lock on the door to the break room where my locker was.

"Tom! There you are. Mr. Martin wants to see you right away."

"Alright Janice," I said. "My card's not working, though."

"That's what it's about," she said. "For what it's worth, I think he's taking it a bit far, no matter what you did. You're a good man, everybody knows it."

"Always something with this guy," I muttered.

It wasn't the first time I'd taken issue with the department head. He was still sore that I'd pointed out the OSHA violations involved in storing forklift batteries right next to the unsecured propane tanks that the forklifts used as fuel and taken it to HR. His productivity numbers and budget had slipped while an extra storage unit had been built to government specifications, and his quarterly bonus had taken a big hit, I was sure. I'd not shed a tear if Mike went to the hospital, but chances were that he wouldn't be the only one - if he were involved at all, which couldn't be guaranteed without sinking to his level, and then some. The cynic in me insisted it would have been done up in a concrete bunker with two layers of bulletproof glass if my boss ever had to actually walk near the place in person. Nevermind the productivity drop of a full goverment investigation if the place blew up, I didn't understand how the man could even sleep with himself at night pushing as much overtime as he did on the operators. You just don't run heavy equipment on four to six hours of sleep. One way or another, somebody was going to get hurt around here.

All of this was in my mind as I walked into the man's office bright and early on a Sunday morning.

"I haven't clocked in yet," I said.

"Don't bother," Mr. Martin said. "You're taking the day off today, without pay. I got a call from a guy I have out watching you schmucks strike out with the ladies at a club near here this morning. He says one of my employees got a little too friendly with somebody and got kicked out - after getting his ass kicked."

"That's not what happened," I said.

"Whatever. Video he sent me from his camera phone says otherwise. If I were not so much of a professional, I'd get a 'kick' out of this. On repeat."

He swiveled the monitor of his computer around so I could see. The girl at the back wall leaned forward - and then jerked back with my arm pointed straight at her neck. A few moments pass, and then her foot flashes forward, and down I go, flailing and faceplanting on the table. The video clip has been edited and cropped to show just that one sequence. And yes, it's on repeat.

"That's not what it looks like," I said.

"Oh, I think the HR committee will agree it's much worse. I'm pushing to have you removed and blackballed from the industry. But I'm thinking they'll at least give you the option of pushing the cleaning cart during graveyard shift, when nobody will see that we have an 'attempted murderer' " - he drew the words out for effect - "working for us. We take our image in the community very seriously, you know."

"I got her number. I'll get her to tell you what really happened."

"As if you'd have a chance even if you hadn't assaulted her. I look forward to hearing all the gruesome details. After we confirm quite thoroughly that you're not bullshitting me and you're not just getting your cousin to speak up for you."

"As a matter of fact, I have it-" I pulled the card out of my pocket. Why I had brought it with me, I wasn't quite sure. But something stopped my tongue when I looked down at it in my palm.

Maria Spirenelli. Assistant Director. Phone number... I flipped it over. Spirenelli Industries.

Shit. My blood ran cold. Omnicron's biggest competitor, headquartered in the next city. She was... family of upper management, perhaps upper management herself. Oh, this wasn't good. She could bury me if she felt her company was being threatened; my own company had no will to stand up for me from the sound of it.

"-at home on my nightstand," I finished lamely, carefully slipping the card back in my pocket.

"I'm sure you do. Have her call HR and we'll set up an interview. Otherwise - well, if the hearing goes the way I expect it to, don't bother showing up next week unless you're in love with a cleaner's cart. Or ever again. But we'll let you know when we have the decision."

I didn't need to pinch myself, the pounding headache and other complaints pouring in through my nerves was enough. No, this was actually happening. I needed a stiff drink. I'd need the money for rent more, I knew, but I couldn't bring myself to care at this particular moment. I slouched back towards the parking lot with all the energy I could muster. I could feel the eyes on me already.

An hour later, it seemed, I finally reached the parking lot fence. A car drew up the visitor's driveway next to me and rolled the window down.

"A moment of your time, sir?"

"Sorry, I'm not a tour guide," I said, trying not to let the stress bleed into my voice.

"Are you perhaps Tom Felter instead?"

I stopped and turned.

"What do you want?"

The man was driving a white car that couldn't have been more than 18 months old. Expensive, but understated trim. I didn't know the model, which was odd. I knew most of the domestics since I had been looking for a new car the last year or so. Nevermind that, though; the man was dressed in a very expensive business suit that probably cost as much as my current car had. And that said more about my car than the suit, to be honest.

"My client would like to speak with you, if you're available on such short notice. I apologize if this inconveniences you, I'm told it is a matter of pressing urgency."

"I guess my date with the bottom of a bottle can wait," I said.

"I believe I can help you with that, sir. Though I think he'd prefer to do the honors if you like top shelf."

The man got out and opened the back seat for me. I climbed in, bewildered. There was, I found, a cooler with a few beers on ice. I opened one and drained it. What the hell, this wasn't bad stuff. Import. I had another. That was enough off the edge for now, I decided. I needed my wits for... whoever this was. We drove for some time, finally coming to a private drive at a non-descript building. The man let me out at the door, where another man in a suit took the car keys and drove off. We went to a very expensive conference room with what looked like state-of-the-art videoconference equipment. Screens were set in a marble table, carefully polished, where tall-backed chairs upholstered in the very best of faux leather waited to suck me in. There had to be some mistake here.

I turned to tell the man so, but he spoke first.

"I'll let him know you're here, it won't be but a minute or two-" he started.

"No, I'll take it from here," a woman said.

"My apologies, I didn't realize - your father usually conducts the official candidate interviews."

"Special circumstance. I'll ring you if I need something," Maria Spirenelli said.

"Of course," the man said, stepping out and closing the door behind him.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt your day - I'm sure you have much business to attend to," she said.

I couldn't believe it was the same girl - no, woman - in a business skirt and silver-chained pendant.

"Don't worry about it, I'm just a nobody anyway," I said faintly.

"I know I promised to let you call me when you're ready, but that was before I realized who you work for."

"Um, about that-" I started.

"Have a seat. What do you really know about Spirenelli Industries, Mr. Felter?"

I tried to work up an answer that carefully danced around how much trouble I might be in. Before I finished, however, the lights dimmed, and the far wall lit up as a really really big TV screen.

The Spirenelli Industries logo came up in fancy graphics.

"

Here at Spirenelli, we built our business from the ground up on our people. We want to raise our employees as tall as they can go, because our success stands on their shoulders

."

The man on the screen was introduced as Joseph Spirenelli, Head Director and CEO. Maria's father? I swallowed nervously. I was way in over my head.

Another man came on the screen, Regional Manager Robert Poviss, according to the text underneath.

"

Our greatest strength is our manpower. Our 90% retention rate over five years has given us one of the most dedicated and productive workforces in the business.

"

Now there was a guy in a hard hat, standing in front of a metal frame of some kind which was being welded. Sparks flew everywhere as a spectacular, if dirty, backdrop. Sam Owens, Welding Team Lead the banner under him said.

"

I could make more money somewhere else, but I will never want to leave, knowing that extra money is used to make the safest environment for myself and my son Johnny you see working on the structure behind me.

"

"I'm going to stop it there," Maria said. "The boardroom here is pretty ostentatious, but I picked it because it's got the bar. Can I buy you a drink? It's the least I can do," she said, winking and starting to pour a bottle into a glass.

"Um, okay."

"I'm going to have a rum and coke. What would you like? I'm not a bartender, but if you give me a minute I could make you just about anything."

"The same would be fine."

She finished pouring a Mexican Coke on top of the rum already filled in between the ice cubes, then made another one.

"Have you ever considered a career here?" she asked, conversationally.

"Yeah. I applied twice and never heard anything."

"Really? I couldn't find you in our database."

"Summer of '05, and again in late '07," I said. "After that I gave up."

"I knew it! I keep telling them the HR filter's off, but it's so hard going through the raw data to prove it. That will give me something to work with. Well, I might be able to offer you a job, but..."

I braced myself.

"Let me guess, someone's launched a police investigation of me?" I said.

She blinked. "Not that I'm aware of. No, it's just I have a more lucrative proposition for you. Easiest money you'll ever make."

"What's the catch?"

There's always a catch. Right?

"First, you sign a non-disclosure agreement about the events of last night."

"Oh, god, not that again. I-" My brain finally caught up to stop my tongue from wagging in the wrong direction. If she was threatening me, she wouldn't make me sign an NDA. She'd tell me if I wanted

her

to sign an indemnification, I'd have to give up my cell phone and first born child for the privilege of not being fitted for cement shoes and given immediate swimming lessons at the coast.

"Wait. What? I don't understand."

"Spirenelli is a family company. We have multiple generations of several families trusting us with their lives and livelihoods. Our best talent stay with us because we treat them well and give them a comfortable place to work. If word got out that one of our executives is assaulting innocent people in a nightclub like a spoiled celebrity, there'd be hell to pay. Our reputation would take decades to recover. I understand there's a video that might imply a different scenario, but I know about the morality clause Omnicron puts in their employment contracts and I - I couldn't allow your career to be ruined because of me. And not just because my father would disown me, fire me, and write me out of the will."

"So why did you do it?"

"Please understand - it's a different world for people in my position. We have to be conscious of fraud, blackmail, and especially association with unsavory people of any variety. One little blemish on our image can drive the stock price down, reducing value billions of dollars literally overnight. My father worked his entire life, and his father the same, to build this company to where it is today. I don't want to let them down that way. So I needed to know what kind of man you were. When your friend Albert came by my table and invited me over, he seemed like a decent guy - but you seemed more my type when he introduced you. There's a hundred less painful ways to judge a man by the way he dances, but you don't. I had to improvise."