KELLY SAILOR AND THE CRIME OF SILENCE

The palpable anxiety among the attendees foreshadowed an atypical business meeting, particularly given the unconventional venue: an airplane hangar. Louis Zacharias Tripp, sales manager at SAS Engineering Labs, based in Winter Fields, Florida, had one last chance to convince Mark Brothers Construction executives of the good performance of his new sound-proof glass. The manager promised a product never seen before, capable of masking noises of up to 70 decibels. The nose section of a dismantled airplane, its engine mounted on a security platform beside it, was positioned outside the hangar. A young lady with an impeccable outfit spoke in front of the executives gathered there.

— Welcome everyone, gentlemen. What you are going to see is a demonstration of the isolation capacities of a groundbreaking glass developed by SAS Engineering. To carry it out, let's receive the company's sales manager, Mr. Louis Tripp.

The man stepped forward as if he were the savior of modern civilization. After the mandatory applause, he offered a brief introduction.

— Gentlemen, this is probably the most expensive demonstration you have ever attended, but don't worry about it — the expenses are on us — he chuckled. — The walls and floor of this 12x8-foot transparent booth beside you are composed solely of the material we are about to test. To present the expected results, the entire cabin will be hermetically sealed with an electronic system, but don't worry, we will get out of this alive.

Nervous giggles emerged from the lips of the attendees. The man continued with his rehearsed speech.

— Outside the hangar, as you can see, we have a 1943 Allison V-1710 engine mounted on a security platform. It may be a little old-fashioned, but it really makes quite a noise. If you back away a little, the technician behind you will turn it on.

The attendees moved 20 feet away, a recommended distance to be safe. A designated technician, protected by special headphones, started the engine. At first, the roar was somewhat tolerable, but when the propellers revved up, everything changed. Most of the people had to cover their ears. That lasted a couple of minutes until, at the indication of the sales manager, everything stopped.

— Now, if you'd like to step into the booth we have prepared, gentlemen, we will proceed to evaluate the product.

They all did so. When Tripp gave the signal, the sealing mechanism was activated. Likewise, the engine outside was started again. This time no one heard any noise, just a slight vibration on the ground. After the presentation, instant applause broke out. The sales manager spoke at length with the Mark Brothers' executives. They were impressed and wanted to close the deal they had previously discussed, worth four million dollars for the supply and exclusive rights to place the product in their contractors' facilities.

The manager reminded everyone that a reception was scheduled for 8 o'clock that evening in the penthouse of the company's president, George Steinmeyer. The attendants were required to wear a tuxedo, and gala dresses were expected for the ladies. At one point during the party, the president had a word with Louis Tripp.

— Louis, you spent almost $50,000 on this show, but thank God it was worth it.

— Mark Brothers' people know what they're buying, as they've been hired to build that Sherman & Sherman's futuristic complex, where they'll install our glass at the parking entrances, the automated dining room, and in a special room for meetings that the Shermans will call, funny enough, "the barracks."

— I have already spoken with the board. Apparently, they agree to having you as vice president if things keep working like clockwork. I already spoke with Legal Counsel too. They'll schedule the signing soon. Another thing... will you tell your ex-wife?

— I have lost all contact with her for two years. I've been dating other people, but if there's nothing serious for me at Winter Fields, I'll have to look elsewhere.

In a corner of the room there was a man alone, ruminating, looking at his watch and exchanging a few words with anyone who crossed his path. His name was Mike Torrance, Steinmeyer's son-in-law, married to Lina Steinmeyer. At one point, Torrance and Tripp exchanged glances, with Tripp raising his glass, almost mockingly. Torrance approached him.

— So, you think this puts you above me now, right?

— I'm rising above you because you're the company's jester, not because of this contract. But don't complain — you already got enough money from that business with the Fastlane conglomerate you diverted to your accounts.

— If we weren't in this place, you would speak differently.

— Let's not talk about differences because we are both here for very different reasons. Me because of my ability and you because you are a graceless clown who licks his father-in-law's paws.

Before everyone's eyes, Torrance grabbed him by the shirt, but Tripp threw the champagne from the flute he was holding into one of his eyes. Both were separated, while Steinmeyer asked his son-in-law to leave the place.

— Mike! That's enough. Just get out of here, will you? Lina, stay a little longer, please.

Lina, the president's daughter, spoke for a few moments with Mike before he left the penthouse. Minutes later, Louis approached her with another full flute.

— I can't wait for you to get rid of him. It's been two years since my divorce, I was just waiting for this contract to formalize things with you.

— A 51-year-old man was not in my plans at first — she said.

— 51 is a good number for a company's vice president — he said.

The champagne party lasted until 11 p.m. that Tuesday in December 1986. The next day, lawyers for both companies started to prepare the legal paperwork for the members of the board to be signed in a special meeting. But on Thursday, almost at noon, something happened that was going to change the history of the operation. A young man named James Takahashi approached the front desk of SAS Engineering to make an appointment with the sales manager. At the reception he was told it wouldn't be possible until early January. Takahashi identified himself as a glass engineer and said it was about the contract, stating it was imperative for him to see the sales manager as soon as possible. At the young man's insistence, the receptionist called Tripp and he agreed to see him for a few minutes.

— Good morning, Mr. Tripp. My name is James Takahashi, I want to talk to you about that new glass you have developed.

— Have a seat, Mr. Takahashi. Now tell me, how are you aware of the glass and the contract?

— A cousin of mine who works at Mark Brothers told me about it and he mentioned your name. Since I have spent a lot of time studying insulating glass, I also managed to develop one so good it works like a dream, but there was a problem that prevented its approval.

Tripp looked at him as if he knew what was coming.

— Can you explain to me what that problem is?

— After having tried all the approved materials, I began to experiment with others that would be banned today. Then I found a titanium fiber alloy with a considerable amount of a cadmium-based component. I asked my cousin about the appearance of the glass you demonstrated and he told me it had a slight pinkish hue, so I wondered if you also discovered that same component when making your product.

Tripp got up from the desk and took a short walk on the carpet until he reached a bottle of vodka that matched a beautifully carved shot glass on the side.

— Is there something wrong with that blending? — he asked, after pouring himself a measure of the liquor.

— The component contains cadmium but it was banned for being toxic, sir. When the walls vibrate, the element moves and over time tends to leak. That's why I discontinued my experiments. But there's nothing else that can work as well as to achieve that extraordinary performance that my cousin told me about.

Tripp headed to the windows and took a long, hard look at the street.

— Have you ever discussed this with somebody else, Mr. Takahashi?

— Actually, not. But on Saturday I'll be at the Desmond Center for a conference, precisely to talk about the dangers of certain chemical elements in the construction industry.

— The Desmond Center? That's in Lanehurst. It's more than 400 miles to the south. What topics will be covered in that conference?

— Among other things, about the glass, this made me decide the subject.

Tripp sat back down in the executive chair, placing the vodka glass, now half empty, over the desk.

— I'm just a sales manager. Why don't you talk to my engineers?

— Because they'll listen to you, sir. I have all my notes at home. Or... will you authorize me to speak to that team?

— You should ask for a meeting with the president, Mr. Steinmeyer, for that. But he's a very busy man...

— It has to be as soon as possible... Couldn't you talk to him personally?

— Well, I'll meet him this afternoon. Prepare your papers, I'll call you on Monday.

— Thank you, mister manager. I'm sure you'll take immediate action regarding the danger it represents. Now I have to depart.

Before he left, the manager threw him a question.

— What time is that conference you're talking about?

— At 7.30 p.m., sir. Excuse me.

As soon as the young man left, Tripp sent instructions to his secretary over the intercom.

— Miss Gruen, please contact Technical Development and tell engineer Paul Trask to come to my office.

The engineer paused his work to see what the hell they wanted in Sales.

— Come in, Paul. We have to talk a little.

— I have to supervise a tuning test in half an hour. Is something wrong?

— A young man came to see me. He claims to have worked with insulating glasses...his name is Takahashi. Does that name mean anything to you?

— No, not at all. What's with that?

— Well, this guy mentioned a titanium and cadmium alloy as the only means to increase the performance to the maximum. Tell me, how safe is your glass?

— It's resistant, vibrations won't affect its hardness, noise masking...

— I mean the environment. If cadmium were to leak out... how will that exposure affect people?

The engineer looked surprised but he responded, trying to pull himself together.

— We're sure to eliminate all possible leaks, but maybe this is gonna take some time and another half a million dollars in research and development.

They both looked at each other in the same way, like two people who mutually confess to having been involved in something that benefits them both over safety.

— I guess you won't spend the whole half million... am I right, Paul?

— You mean, we won't.

Both men shared a cynical smile before continuing.

— And… how long will it take to make the product safe, Paul?

— About a year. Maybe a year and a half.

— And meanwhile… what?

This time Trask didn't think much before answering.

— Meanwhile... you'll have to sign a four-million-dollar contract with Mark Brothers.

The manager approached the engineer to warn him, in a low, very serious voice:

— Not a fuckin' word of this to Steinmeyer. You understand? Not a single word.

— You don't need to say it, Louis.

Trask left to return to his laboratory. After some reflection, Tripp placed a call to an old friend, Greg "Roadrunner" Tate. They hadn't spoken in quite a while, but now he needed to discuss a very delicate matter with him. Tate looked very intrigued as he picked up the receiver.

— Lou, you damn bastard, what's this about this time?

— Business, Roadrunner, what else? Things here have turned red-hot in the company. When that happens, extreme measures must be taken.

— Is this perhaps something about your "friend" Torrance you mentioned the other day, the one who wants to give you the heave-ho?

— Not exactly.

— Well, tell me... what can I do for you on this occasion?

— There's a damn son of the Rising Sun who wants to fuck up a contract I must sign very soon. A meddling dweeb in the wrong place at the wrong time. Apparently he'll be holding a conference in Lanehurst on Saturday and opening his mouth too wide. I think you're the right person to help me with this... let's say, annoying matter.

— Let's not talk by phone anymore. See you at the Spanish Rose café at lunchtime.

At noon, Tripp informed his secretary that he was going outside for lunch and met Greg, a somewhat obese and jolly dude, at the agreed location. They both ordered something to drink, accompanied by a couple of hamburgers that were nothing more than an excuse to start making plans.

— First of all, Greg, I'm going to clarify the importance of this situation. I didn't make it to the 10-yard line just to fumble, you know. I divorced my wife to get the daughter of the president of SAS, that is, jester Torrance's wife, and no way are they gonna screw me up.

— Whoa, whoa, are you telling me you're shaggin' the boss's married daughter? You sly old dog!

— You can say she's too young for me, but some women care a lot about the social ladder. This contract will give me everything I want. The position and the woman. Look, since my ex-wife got the house, I live alone in a nice loft but I'm not a very popular person in my neighborhood. People see me enter and leave the house without speaking to me, I don't usually greet anyone either.

— That's bad news, man. Any alibi you come up with is gonna be full of holes. At the time of the events you're not gonna knock on everybody's doors telling them "Look, I'm here." But if we cook something up so that everyone can see you were in your neighborhood at a certain time, and better yet, you're going to a place very far from the site of the action...

— What do you propose I do?

— What else? A move.

— A move?

— Fersure. You can tell your boss the place you live in is killing you, so you'll move to a stopgap location while finding a suitable house for a vice president. I have access to a bunch of shelters in this state that I sometimes lend to friends of mine who need to stay a couple of days beyond the grasp of people… you understand. Tell me, where is that contract going to be signed?

— The signing meeting will be held at a futuristic complex being implemented in a designated area about 25 miles from Port Thomas. Do you know the city, 400 miles to the north?

— Well, it happens that I have a temporary refuge in a quiet neighborhood near that city's boundaries.

— That sounds fine.

— I have a friend who runs a small moving company that looks legit on paper, but it's a part-time front for smuggling stuff. My friend will provide me with the appropriate insiders. Of course, all this is intended to draw attention to you in your neighborhood. The truck, the movers loading things — everyone will ask you where you're going. Takahashi will be attending his conference in Lanehurst, to the south, while you go north, which means you'll have a perfect alibi. As for the job itself, I'll put it in the hands of a very clever man who'll handle it clean, if the price is right. Now tell me, d'you have access to this Torrance guy's office? I have an idea so you can kill two birds with one stone.

— Seriously?

— I'll need the whole day tomorrow to set the stage, but listen, this is what we'll do.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee still hung in the café. The two men parted ways — the one in the suit back to his office, the other ready to jump into his Buick and drive back to a small headquarters he used to contact his people, to give them the grisliest of instructions.

(END OF CHAPTER ONE)

Copyright ©️2024 by Fernando Salinas