Ships That Pass in the Night

Ships That Pass In the Night

By Chas4455©

In the words of my favorite author:

Yes I need an editor and no I do not want an editor. Yes, it jumps around too much. Yes, there's too many people to keep track of. Yes it's too long. Yes it's too short. Yes it's in the wrong category. Yes this is stupid shit. And yes, I suck.

JimBob44, I'm going to miss your stories.

"Ships that pass in the night,

and speak each other in passing,

only a signal shown, and a distant voice in the darkness;

So on the ocean of life, we pass and speak one another,

only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence."

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

-----

I was sitting in the airport in Memphis, waiting to catch the 'company plane', Southwest Airlines, to fly to Houston for a meeting with the procurement gurus at NASA. The deal I was working on would make me a rich man. Well, a richer man anyway.

I am the founder, president, CEO, and Chairman of the Board of Jackson Aerospace, Inc. My company makes nuts, bolts and washers for the aerospace and defense industries. Also a few other specialized gadgets that I hold the patents on. You can buy nuts and bolts at any hardware store, but Home Depot doesn't have to meet the strict specifications, or use exotic alloy materials, or have three government quality inspectors in-house signing off on every shipment. A contract for us may be just to produce a couple of thousand items, but it brings in some big bucks. Any item we produce for NASA will usually result in a larger contract for the same item for the military.

We do all of this with only ten people. Besides myself, and my office manager/personal assistant, I have three engineers and five production employees. Dean and Joe are my production engineers. They do all the R&D, and then set up the production runs. They are also the production supervisors. Artie is quality control, testing all the products to meet the contract specifications, and keeping our government inspectors satisfied. He is also in charge of shipping and receiving.

Our production is done on largely automated milling machines. Once Dean and Joe set up the machines, they pretty much run themselves. The five production employees are all highly qualified machinists who watch over the machinery and keep it running. They are paid twenty percent above the average rate as well as generous production and quality bonuses.

June is the person that keeps everything working smoothly. Just like everyone else here, she has been working for me since we opened the doors. She keeps track of all the paperwork, everyone's schedules, and never forgets a birthday. She even reminds everyone of their anniversaries and spouse's birthdays. She manages the contract we have with the third party company that does HR and payroll for us. June's pay is equal to the engineers, and all four of them each own ten percent of the company. I own the remaining sixty percent.

You might ask, what is it I do in the company? I guess I'm in sales, I bring in the money. So even though I have a degree in mechanical engineering, just as the other three, and also an MBA from Cornell, while they are handling all of the internal operations, I'm focused on the external. I'm out meeting with the movers and shakers that can bring us new contracts. That is why I was flying to Houston, to discuss how many nuts, bolts and washers NASA is going to need for their upcoming program to go back to the moon. This contract could be worth $250 million over the next ten years.

Next week I will be flying to Hawthorne, California to have essentially the same conversation with the SpaceX procurement gurus.

I was looking over some notes for my meeting tomorrow when I sensed someone staring at me. I looked around the departure lounge and I saw an attractive woman looking right at me. She had auburn hair, put up in a braid down her back, and her makeup appeared to have been done professionally. She was dressed in a navy blue pinstripe suit, with navy three inch pumps. She stood out from the mostly casual travelers around us, those wearing cut off denim shorts, tee shirts and flip-flops. This woman looked more like a lawyer.

I gave her a brief smile, to let her know I had seen her watching me, and then I went back to my notes. I've never been a pussy-hound or a player, or whatever it's called, and besides I'm married.

I would say happily married, but lately I'm not so sure. We've been together for six years, married for five. We have a nice house in a better part of Memphis, two cars and a pickup truck, and a Harley. I've had the Harley since before I met Allison, but I haven't ridden much in the last five years. Allison thinks it's too dangerous, and not the sort of thing a married man should do. Since we've been married, I spend more time riding my John Deere riding mower.

As my flight is called to board, and I dutifully lined up in the corral behind the letter 'A', I saw the young woman that was still watching me, lining up in corral 'B'. She still seemed to be keeping an eye on me. I shuffled onto the plane, keeping in mind the motto of the Southwest flight attendants, 'If you see an empty seat, it's yours'. The plane was already half full, as this was an enroute stop on a flight from Detroit, by way of Indianapolis. I picked an aisle seat just ahead of the wing. There is always a lot of discussion about where is the safest place to sit on a plane, most saying the back. I say I don't give a shit, if this thing crashes you are fucked anyway, no matter where you sit.

I was really not paying attention to the herd of cattle coming down the aisle, who were all trying to find a seat and an empty overhead bin. Of course, all of the overhead space is already taken by the passengers already on board. I heard a sweet voice ask me "Is this seat taken?" as she indicates the middle seat between me and the retired Hoosier librarian by the window. I notice that instead of trying to stuff a roller bag into a nonexistent space in the overhead, she was holding a small overnight bag that will slide under the seat. She either travels light, or she checked her larger baggage at the counter.

Of course, this was the same young lady that had been watching me from before we boarded. Why does my Spidey sense start to tingle? Is something going on here? Could this be some kind of industrial espionage? My contacts at NASA had warned me that some of my competitors could be less than scrupulous.

I stood to allow her to sit, and then took my seat. We busied ourselves with seatbelts and such, as you do before takeoff. The wheels were up and we were on our way to Houston when she faced me and said "Aren't you Sam Jackson?"

When I admit that I am indeed Sam Jackson, she continues with her introduction.

"I'm Traci Maxwell. I went to school with your wife, Allison. We were in the same sorority. I went on to law school after that."

She whips out her card from some secret stash, with all of the practiced flourish of an accomplished ambulance chaser.

"You may not remember me, Sam, but I was in your wedding. I was one of Allison's bridesmaids."

I looked at her a little closer, and it started to come back to me now. She was skinnier then, with shorter hair, and braces. Allison had four bridesmaids, all sorority sisters. They were so close with each other, I was afraid they were all going with us on the honeymoon as well.

"Yes, Traci. I do remember you now. How have you been?" I asked, not really wanting to know. "Have you talked with Allison lately?"

So, then Traci proceeded to talk my ear off, giving me her personal history of the last ten years. Basically, it was finished law school, got married, got divorced from the cheating scumbag, moved to Memphis and got a job as a corporate attorney with a prestigious law firm making a lot of money. She was going to NASA to represent one of her clients, though she didn't say which one.

She never said if she had been talking to Allison.

By the time we started our descent to Houston Hobby airport, I knew more about Traci Maxwell than I ever wanted to. But she didn't know anything about me other than I was married to her sorority sister.

Since we were both going to NASA, and even to the same building, we agreed to share a cab. I prefer to fly into Houston at Hobby since it is on the same side of the city as NASA. We parted after getting out of the cab, Traci saying we should get together again some time, maybe for drinks. I said okay, but I really wasn't feeling enthusiastic about it.

My meeting with NASA procurement went well. We discussed their forecasted needs in our field, and they gave me the specifications of those items they would need in the immediate future. I would take the specs back with me, and Dean, Joe, Artie and I would work up the bids. I felt good about it, since we have a good track record winning bids with NASA.

Afterward, I caught a cab to the Hilton, across from the NASA campus. I may be a creature of habit, but for all the years I've been coming here, this is where I stay. After checking in, and losing the tie, I decided to go downstairs to the bar, have a drink, and then think about dinner for one.

"Well, Sam Jackson, I do declare." I heard in that fake, magnolia blossom, molasses dripping Memphis accent. "What does a girl have to do to get a drink around here?"

"Hello, Traci. You staying here too? What can I get for you, mint julip?"

"No, dearie. Kentucky bourbon on the rocks will be just fine." The accent was gone.

I woke up in the morning, with Texas sunlight streaming in through the balcony doors. My head was throbbing, and my mouth felt like the entire University of Texas Longhorn band had been marching through it all night. I rolled my head to my right, and caught a glimpse of a tangled mass of auburn hair. I reached over her perfect body, and grasped a perfect breast. That elicited a low moan that to the best I could tell was just one word. "Coffee."

I'm not going to say that we cuddled, or made love upon awakening. I had an urgent need to relieve my bladder, and then I stayed in the bathroom to take a shower and brush my teeth. While I was in the shower, Traci slipped in to relieve herself as well. Dressed only in a pair of red boxers, I started a pot of hotel coffee while Traci, in a lacy matching pair of white bikini panties and bra, ordered breakfast from room service.

We were enjoying a full Southern breakfast of fried eggs, over easy, hash brown potatoes, sausage patties, cathead biscuits smothered with sausage gravy, and buttermilk pancakes with warm syrup, lots of coffee, and a big glass of orange juice. To have such a trim figure, I was amazed at how much this girl could put away. She would make a truck driver blush.

With a forkful of pancakes half way to her mouth, she stopped and looked up into my eyes.

"Sam, I didn't follow you here just to seduce you, although that was the best part. I need to talk to you about Allison."

"Okay, what about Allison?"

"How much of her past has she told you about? Do you know much about what she did in college?"

"No, we've never really discussed our history. I've done some things I didn't want to talk about, and I'm sure she has as well."

"Allison is a good friend, and I've known her a long time. We've been sorority sisters since we were freshmen at Ole Miss. We were roommates for the last two years we were there. We would double date, and sometimes we traded dates. There was nothing we did that we didn't tell the other. Allison never missed a chance to get laid.

"In our senior year, Allison started dating Jim Caldwell. Jim was on the football team, a second string defensive lineman. Jim had Allison convinced that he was going to be drafted into the NFL after graduation, and he was going to make a lot of money. His father was a rich car dealer in Memphis, and he told Allison he would be taking over his father's company someday. Also, Jim and Allison both liked to fuck and got together as often as they could. Jim was a big guy, and Allison would brag about how well-endowed he was.

"Allison has always had dollar signs in her eyes, and she followed Jim to Memphis after graduation, even though he obviously had no shot at getting drafted by the NFL. Once she got to Memphis, she quickly saw that Jim was only going to be a used-car salesman for his dad, and making very little money at that. She dumped him in a New York minute, and went looking for greener pastures. That's when you came along.

"A year ago Allison was updating her Facebook account. Allison's sister, Mary had posted some family pictures, and Allison was going to copy them. She got a friend request from Mary's sister-in-law, Linda Caldwell. Out of curiosity, she looked up Linda's page. She was surprised to find that Linda's husband was Jim Caldwell, a used-car salesman.

"Allison contacted Jim at the dealership, and they arranged a lunch date. Of course, Allison paid for lunch, and then Allison paid for a room at a Holiday Inn Express by the airport. Jim was too cheap to pay for anything, and he was afraid Linda would find out. She kept him on a very tight leash, especially when it came to money.

"I know Allison has been meeting Jim a couple times a week ever since. I don't know what she has in mind, but she tells me it is just a fling, just some harmless fun with an old flame.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this. I hope you don't hold it against me. I'd really like to get together with you more after we get back to Memphis."

-----

We said our goodbyes and parted ways. She had a morning flight back to Memphis. I stayed a little longer, to make sure I was on a different flight. I sipped my coffee, and reflected on the past 24 hours.

Of course, I knew all of this before I met Traci at the airport. I knew Traci had been Allison's best friend in college, and they'd never lost contact since. They're on the phone almost every day, and go to lunch almost weekly. I know who Traci works for, and I know who their client is.

After law school, Traci got on with Harris, Singletary, and Crowe, a mid-size law firm with aspirations to the big time. Brian Harris has been dead for ten years, Arthur Singletary retired to a villa in Guatemala where his ex-wife can't find him, leaving Simon Crowe as the managing partner. Simon, when he wasn't fucking Traci, dreamed of yachts, expensive cars, airplanes, and a stable of Kentucky race horses. He just needed a way to get more money. Traci convinced him she had found a way.

Anderson Industries, in Terre Haute has been trying to get our NASA contracts for years. We've always managed to stay one step ahead of them, and always won our bids. The engineers at NASA know the quality of our work and give us preferential treatment. Anderson's products are crap, and have always had problems passing quality control. Bruce Anderson is known to be an unscrupulous back-stabbing prick, who will go to any extreme to put me out of business.

-----

Three months ago, I had arranged a meeting with my personal attorney and fraternity brother, Jack Marshall.

"Jack, I'm starting to get suspicious. Allison has been acting different toward me and I'm starting to think something is going on. She seems to find reasons to not be around me, to get out of the house. She is moody, and our love life is gone to hell. It might all be nothing, but it is starting to worry me."

"Sam, I think we need to find a way to put your mind at ease. Let me call a friend of ours. I'm sure you'll remember him from Sig Eps. Bobby Jones was a captain in the Tennessee State Police until he got into a shootout in a bank robbery. He was off duty and just happened to be in the wrong place. He was shot three times, but he survived. The bank robbers weren't as lucky.

"Bobby has to walk with a cane now, and he was offered a disability retirement from the State Police. He could have stayed on, but he didn't want to spend the rest of his career behind a desk shuffling paper. Now he has his own detective agency, and he does some good work for me from time to time."

We took Jack's car and drove over to the bank building where Bobby had an office. After the robbery, the bank offered to rent him an office in their building for one dollar a year. The name on the door was Jones and Assoc. The inside looked like something out of a Sam Spade novel. There was a desk that looked like it escaped from a thrift store, behind which sat a buxom blonde chewing gum and filing her nails. The computer monitor on the corner of the desk displayed an unfinished game of solitaire. A couple of uncomfortable looking wooden chairs were against the wall, facing the desk. A table in the corner held a coffee maker, and next to it was a water cooler. On the opposite wall were a five drawer filing cabinet and a bookcase holding a few dusty volumes and some paperbacks, probably detective novels. On top of the bookcase sat, I kid you not, a statuette of the Maltese Falcon. I swear I could hear Sydney Greenstreet laugh that it was a fake. Hanging on the wall above the coffee pot was an autographed picture of Humphrey Bogart.

Jack greeted her by name.

"Hi ya', doll, is your boss here? He's expecting us."

She looked at me with those beautiful big blue eyes, and said "Sure, honey, go on in." Somehow, she made the word 'sure' have two syllables. I know Bobby didn't hire her for her typing and shorthand skills.

The desk inside his office was just a slightly larger version. One leg was propped up with a couple of the paperback detective novels. Several file folders littered the top, along with a coffee cup that hadn't been cleaned in years. On one side of the room were two more beat up old file cabinets, with one drawer that looked like it wouldn't close all the way. There were two chairs in front of the desk, so after saying hello and shaking hands with Bobby, Jack and I sat. At least the chairs had all of their legs, even though the upholstery had seen better days. The only item in the whole office that looked new was the leather-bound, high backed swivel office chair where Bobby sat behind his desk.

In the center of the opposite wall was a framed movie poster from 'The Big Sleep', with Bogart as Phillip Marlowe. There were also framed certificates from the Tennessee State Police, and commendations from the FBI. There was a framed letter of appreciation from the Governor.

"Can I get you a cup of coffee?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he called out through the open door.

"Doll, can you bring us all some coffee?"

After having seen the condition of his cup sitting on his desk, I wasn't sure I wanted it. But a few minutes later Dolly came in with a tray with 4 clean cups of coffee, creamer and sugar, and placed it on the corner of the desk. She then took a seat in a chair in back of and to the right of Bobby, with a steno pad. She placed a small recording device on the edge of the desk, and turned it on.

"You've already met my associate and partner, Dolly McPherson. She will be taking notes and recording our meeting.

"Well, gentlemen, I know this is not a fraternity reunion. If it was, there would be beer. So, what can I do for you today?"

-----

Sitting in my office, I read through the PI report. It was an inch thick, and included photos, audio and video. Allison has been a busy girl. Allison and Jimbo have not even been trying to be discrete.

Like many has-been football players, Jim goes to work every day at a car dealership. The successful ones own the dealership, maybe more than one. The others, like Jim, sell cars.

In this case Caldwell Kia, new and used cars. Caldwell Kia is owned by Jim's dad, Roger Caldwell, not Jim. It's the only reason Jim still has a job there, because he's not very good at what he does. Jimbo hasn't sold a car in six months.