Chapter 1
As I look back, I feel amazed that I could have put myself into such a state. Me! Robert Douglas, thirty-nine, successful businessman, pillar of the community, and all the rest. Nice house, family, all healthy, OK looking, in short, the personification of the American dream. Everything seemed to be going well for me that summer five years ago, but it was not to remain that way for much longer.
Business slowed down. Way down. The opening of a megastore shopping complex two miles down the road hit my business like a ton of bricks. Had to cut costs, scrimp and save wherever I could. Cut advertising. Tried to renegotiate the lease. Reduce staff. And I was still on the brink of disaster. I started to get desperate. There seemed to be no easy way out. So I did what anybody else would do in the same circumstances. I cheated.
In thirteen years of business I had never had my tax returns questioned. Not once. I had a moderately profitable specialty store, all expenses were within industry norms, and everything looked completely typical for my industry. I had never felt the need to 'push the limits' of creative accounting, so to speak. But these circumstances pushed
me
too far. I began to adjust the expenses up a bit. Did a few cash sales with no receipts. Faked some damage to the merchandise that could be written off, then promptly sold it at a discount to a friend. You know, the usual stuff, nothing to get excited about. Chump change, really.
Still, I wasn't completely out of the woods. Things were still tight. Hired temps to replace some expensive senior sales staff I had had to let go. Some real losers there. One fat lump of a girl with more pounds than brains kept taking thirty minutes for a fifteen minute break! I shot her dirty looks but she ignored me. Again and again! Finally I'd had enough. Called her a lazy fat cow in front of everyone else, told her to move her big butt outta there now and never come back! Watched her angrily waddle out. Felt good about that. For two days. Then the proverbial shit hit the fan. Hard! Seems our Miss cow had been doing bookkeeping for us. Had seen some of my 'questionable' stuff. Had called the IRS. And now they had me!
Well, like a fool, I fought it. Had a court case. Legal fees! Bloodsucking lawyers. Got pissed off at the judge, an annoying bald dipstick, always looking down at me with utter contempt written on his sappy face. He had the nerve to lecture me before declaring me guilty. Told me my conduct was 'reprehensible'. I snapped. Called him a boring old jerk! What an idiot I was. He glared at me for a minute, then excused himself without a word and retreated to his chambers. My lawyer shot me a 'Now you've really done it!' look.
The judge returned a few minutes later, with a hard look on his face. He explained that normally these cases called for just a fine, but in light of my unrepentant attitude he was giving me two years of community service. I was told to report to the officer in charge later that week. I wearily shuffled out, a beaten man. When I reported to the officer two days later, I was given the choice between assisting at the local old folks home twice a week, or taking part in a project at a local medical research centre, which I had never heard of. The choice was obvious. My case had received almost no attention in the press.
Still, I knew that my neighbours knew about it. At first I felt embarrassed, but soon got the impression that they kind of were impressed. I almost thought they felt I was some kind of hero, fighting the government like that. But the prospect of cleaning floors in the old folks home was too horrible to consider. I would certainly see lots of people I knew, friends, business associates, visiting their old folks.
The medical research was a no-brainer for me. So I was told to report to the Wojcik Neurological Research Institute, WNRI, in the ADF Medical building, 471 Francine Blvd, 5:15 p.m., the next Thursday. I had been given the 5:15 time slot to allow me to continue operating my business during normal business hours. I was warned that I must faithfully attend a two hour session twice every week, and co-operate fully. It was explained that the Wojcik Neurological Institute was headed by Dr. M. Wojcik, an internationally renowned expert in neurological science. I was to participate in some sort of research project funded by the government. Any complaints about my conduct would result in the court reviewing my case, with the distinct possibility of jail time replacing the community service.
I happily assured the community service officer that I was more than willing to completely comply with all their requirements.. He instructed me to get chest x-rays and blood work performed at the local hospital, and sent to Dr. Wojcik in advance of the first appointment. As I drove off that summer day, my spirits soared. Medical research! It was perfect. No-one would see me, no work involved, just sit there and be tested, whatever that might mean. Maybe there would be a little physical discomfort, that's all. Probably testing a new drug or something. Whatever. I could deal with that. Hell, maybe I could sue them later! With that cheery thought I drove to the hospital.
Chapter 2
Thursday was a typical day. Traffic in the store was so-so, but dealing with suppliers was taking a lot more of my time than usual. One of my biggest called just before we closed at 5:00. I was stretching payments on average ten days longer than usual, and boy, he didn't like that at all! On the other hand, I was a pretty good customer in all other respects, so I figured that our negotiating positions were about equal. I finally managed to talk my way out of things, hung up the phone, and realized with a shock that I was suddenly at risk of being late for my first research appointment. I told my assistant Helen to lock up, and dashed out the door into my five-year old convertible. I raced through traffic, weaving in and out like a madman, before hurtling into the ADF Medical Building parking lot at 5:06. Nine minutes, plenty of time.
To my dismay the lot was full, and several cars were circling aimlessly waiting for a spot. I waited behind an older K-car, which was obviously waiting for a spot as well. Shouldn't take long, I thought to myself, what with it being just after 5:00 . Lots of people must be leaving right about now. Sure enough, just then a stocky fellow in an very crumpled cheap suit walked over to his car, keys in hand. As he pulled away, I waited for the car in front to take the spot. Nothing. No sign of life.
Another ten seconds, I decided, then I'll take it. Nothing. Fine, then I'll take it. I moved forward to the side of the parked car, and was beginning to wheel into the spot when suddenly the dormant K-car carelessly lurched forward, cutting me off. I had to slam on the brakes to avoid a collision.
What the hell? Unbelievable! Didn't even see me! I watched incredulously as the car slowly parked, then opened its door. A forty-five'ish woman emerged, black hair, thick old-fashioned glasses, very plain face, heavily built, a little more than average height. A real non-looker, if you know what I mean. Her face was expressionless, which confirmed to me that she was unaware that she had cut me off. As she began to cross towards the foyer, a small group of twenty-somethings came out of the building.
As usual my impulses got the better of me. I leaned out the window.
"Hey fat-ass!" She looked around, bewildered. The twenty-somethings looked over at me, surprised.
"Hey you!"
She finally fixed her startled eyes on me.
"Ever consider looking where you're going? You just cut me off, you dumb cow! Where'd you learn how to drive, moron?"
She stopped. Her face looked shocked, and I swore I could see her lips twitching, trying to form words that weren't there. One of the twenty-somethings giggled. The woman stood there, unable to move. I stared at her for a second, then noticed that a car was pulling out further on. I gunned the motor, and was gone. I actually felt a sense of exhilaration as I strolled into the building a minute later. Like it or not, that was the way I dealt with people, and if they were going to act like idiots, they deserved whatever they got from me. I noted that the Wojcik Neurological Institute was situated in Room 55 on the fifth floor, and , feeling rejuvenated, decided to take the stairs. I raced up them two at a time, positively brimming with youthful energy.
I slipped into the waiting room. A slightly chubby but nonetheless attractive receptionist with incredibly long red hair and lots of freckles took my details, and asked me to take a seat. For fifteen minutes I read magazines, then was escorted down a hall, past several rooms, into Dr. Wojcik's office. It was rather boringly laid out, I must admit, and I wondered what kind of research was involved here. The receptionist offered to get me a coffee, which I gladly accepted. When she returned, she told me that Dr. Wojcik would be just a few more minutes. I was still feeling rather chipper, and this gal was friendly enough, so I asked her if she always worked this late. She said that it happened a few times a week when Dr. Wojcik had extra reports to prepare. I inquired whether he was busy with lots of projects at the moment. She looked at me strangely for a moment, then replied that
she
