“Is that it?” Charlie asked.
“Don’t get me wrong, Charlie. Please, let’s do the Christmas party as we planned, just as if nothing happened. As for leaving, take your time. I got you a year’s severance. And you can use your office to make calls, look around, and—”
“No problem, J.” Charlie was moving to the door. “I understand. And don’t worry about the party. Everything’s all taken care of.”
Not even a handshake.
Many people at some time or other have fantasized about killing the boss. In Charlie’s case, it was different. From the minute he heard the bad news from J, he became a changed man. Not outwardly, of course. He wasn’t about to become an overnight monster, buy a gun, make a bomb, sharpen an axe. No, he would be the same Charlie Evanston. Friendly. Smiling. Efficient. But now that he knew the worst, he began piling up all the long-suppressed injustices he had collected from J for fifteen years. The conversations that stopped abruptly when he entered an executive meeting. The intimate dinners at J’s that he and his wife were never invited to. The countless other little slights. And. finally, this.
December 20. Party time! Everyone agreed it was the best bash French & Saunders had ever thrown.
The day was fair and warm. The milling crowds that drifted from the well stocked bars and refreshment tables didn’t even notice there wasn’t a heating system. The lack of carpets, the wide-open window spaces, the empty offices—it all added to the fun.
Carefully groomed waiters in white gloves and hard hats pressed their way from room to room, carrying silver trays laden with drinks and hors d’oeuvres. A heavy metal band blared somewhere. A troupe of strolling violinists pressed in and out. From the happy faces, laughter, and noise, you’d never know the agency had a care in the world.
But Charlie Evanston knew. He pushed his way over to a small crowd pressing around J. All of them were drunk, or on the way, and J. drink in hand, was swaying slightly. His laugh was louder than anybody’s whenever one of the clients told a funny story. He spotted Charlie and shouted to him. “Charlie, c’mere a minute! Folks, you all know my old pal Charlie Evanston. We’ve been together since this place opened its doors. He’s the guy who put this whole great party together.”
There were murmurs of approval as J drew Charlie into his embrace.
“J.” Charlie said, “I just came to ask you to come over here and let me show you something.”
“Oh, Charlie, always business. Can’t it wait till next week? After the holidays?”
“No, I think it’s important. Please come over here. Let me show you.”
“Oh, for Chrissakes, Charlie. What is it?”
“Just follow me. Won’t take long.”
J pulled away from the group with a back-in-a-minute wave of his hand and followed Charlie down a narrow hall to a room that would one day become the heart of the agency’s computer operation.
It was empty. Even the floors hadn’t been finished. Just some wooden planks, a few steel beams—and the sidewalk below. J glanced around the room and turned to Charlie. “So? What’s the problem?”
“Don’t you get it, J? There isn’t a single Keep Out sign on that outside door. The workmen even forgot to lock it. Someone could walk in here and fall straight down to Broadway!”
“Oh, come on, Charlie, this place is off the beaten path—no one’s going to be coming this way. Stop worrying.”
“Yes, but—”
“No buts, Charlie. Just tell one of the security guards. My God, you drag me all the way out here just to see this. Jesus Christ, I’ll bet I could even walk across one of these steel beams. The workmen do it every day.”
It was uncanny. Charlie knew that was exactly what J would say. It was part of the macho, daredevil reputation he had cultivated so carefully. “Hey, wait a minute, J,” he said.
“No. Serious. Watch me walk across this beam right here. It can’t be more than twenty feet long. And I’ll do it with a drink in each hand.”
“Come on, J, don’t be crazy.”
But J had already taken his first tentative step on the beam—with Charlie directly behind him.
It was all so simple. Now all Charlie had to do was give J the tiniest of shoves in the back, watch him stagger and plunge over the side, and it would be all over.
As J continued to move along the beam, he seemed to grow more confident. Charlie continued to follow a few steps behind, his right arm outstretched. It was now or never. Suddenly he made his move. But J moved a couple of quick steps faster and Charlie missed J’s back by an inch. Instead, he felt himself slipping over the side. He gasped. Then all he remembered was falling.
The hospital room was so quiet you could barely hear a murmur from the corridor outside.
On the single bed there lay what looked like a dead body. Every inch was covered in a rubbery casing and yards and yards of white gauze. All you could see of what was underneath was a little round hole where the mouth was supposed to be and another opening where a blood-shot blue eye stared up at the ceiling. Charlie Evanston.
The door opened slightly, admitting J, followed by one of Charlie’s doctors.
J shuddered. He always did, every time he’d visited over the past six months. He turned to the doctor. “How’s he doing today?”
“About the same. He tries to talk a little now and then.”
“Can he hear me yet? Can he understand?”
“We think so. But don’t try and get anything out of him.”
“Yes. I know.” He bent over the bed. “Charlie. Charlie. It’s me, J. I just wanted you to know I’m here. And I want to thank you again—I guess I’ll be thanking you for the rest of my life—for reaching out and trying to save me at that damn Christmas party.”
The blue eye blinked. A tear began to tremble on the edge.
“I was a fool. Only a fool would have tried to do what I did. And you tried to stop me. I felt you grab my jacket and try to hold me back. Then you took the fall for me.”
The blue eye stared.
“So what I came to say—what I hope you can understand—is that no matter how long it takes you’re going to get the best care we can find. Just get well. Everything’s going to be okay.”
The blue eye continued to look at J without blinking.
“And, Charlie, here’s the best news of all. The agency’s just picked up three big accounts. Over a hundred million.”
A light breeze blew the curtains from the window.
“So today the Board asked me to come up here and give you a special bonus. Not a Christmas bonus—more like Purple Heart. You deserve it, Charlie. You saved the old man’s life, you bastard!”
Charlie tried to nod, but it was impossible.
“And just wait till you come back,” J said enthusiastically. “You’re a hero, Charlie! We’ve got all kinds of great things waiting for you. All kinds of plans. It’s going to be a whole new ballgame, Charlie! Imagine!”
Yeah, thought Charlie. Imagine.
THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLUE CARBUNCLE – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several places. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair suggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the purpose of examination.
“You are engaged,” said I; “perhaps I interrupt you.”