Chapter
14
The
Living Dead
March 1988
As I mindlessly fed
a stack of IBM punch cards into the school district's ancient
mainframe computer, I asked myself yet again, What did that
bastard mean?
According to the scraps of information (or lies) that the anonymous
caller had fed me during the past week, the FBI was supposedly
conducting an investigation of Servercomp and/or its company
officers. If that was really true, then what kind of crimes would
prompt the FBI to investigate an Internet Service Provider?
Copyright infringement? Big fuckin' deal.
The caller's reference
to the alleged “sick perverts” who ran the company insinuated
that it would have something to do with trafficking porn - presumably
of the underage variety, because otherwise the FBI wouldn't bother
investigating. (It was already apparent, to anyone who bothered to
look, that digitized dirty pictures would soon become the online
community's most popular “killer app”. In fact, each advance in
media technology since the invention of the printing press has been a
boon to a growing pornography industry.)
Nevertheless I
steadfastly refused to believe the man's accusation. Was he implying
that Joey, Herb and/or Rob were directly involved with distributing
illegal porn? That's insane! But whether any of that was true
or not, I had already made up my mind to start unloading my
Servercomp stock as soon as it rose above three-dollars a share.
Having been taught a hard lesson about greed-driven expectations, I
was now perfectly satisfied to cash-out for a measly one-million
dollars.
As time wore on, though,
it became increasingly difficult to maintain my resolve in that
regard, as the price of my stock kept going up by a few percent each
week. In mid-April, right after the company's latest quarterly
financial statement reported a modest profit, the stock price
suddenly shot to over three dollars. When it reached $3.50 less than
a week later, the greedy voice in my head grew louder, urging that I
not to sell before it reached five bucks. But then the paranoid
voice in my head would retort, “Fuck that! What if that guy was
telling the truth? It would bankrupt the company overnight!”
Next day, Herb
inadvertently helped me come to a decision: He called my home and
offered me my old job back, albeit at a salary lower than what my
temp job at the school district paid. After I politely turned it
down, he politely insulted me with the truth: “We also have a few
other technical positionth to fill, but they don't really match your
talenth, I'm afraid.” My cheeks burned while I digested his last
sentence. Awkwardly he added in conclusion, “Well, don't be a
stranger, Denny. We'll alwayth have a plathe for you in the
company.”
Doing what –
sweeping the floors? “I appreciate that, Herb. Thanks - talk
to you later.”
So, with the stock price
moving up another 25 cents that day, I contacted my broker to begin
the process of unloading all 240,000 shares, selling them in batches
just small enough not to drive the price down. As my bank balances
swelled over the next two weeks, I thought about the future and how I
was going to spend all that money. Herb's implication that my job
skills were obsolete rather shamed me. Thus I vowed to go back to
college as soon as possible (and not dropout after one semester as I
had done before). And I had plans to buy us a house and perhaps
dabble in real estate investing.
While working at the
school district offices a few days later, those plans and other
possibilities bounced around in my head during another boring swing
shift. Unfortunately my reverie was interrupted by another call from
my anonymous “friend”. “...Oh Christ, not you again.”
“I was hoping you'd be
a little more friendly, or even grateful. But at least you took my
advice and started selling your company stock. Smart move.”
“You can drop the
cock-and-bull story now. I planned on selling my stock long before
these prank calls.”
“What I told you still
goes, Denny. The FBI is going to shut that company down any day now,
so you'd better hurry and sell the remainder of your holdings before
the bottom drops out.”
“All right, let's
pretend that I do believe that story. What was the point?
And who do you represent, anyway, the government? Obviously.”
“My client strongly
desires your services - as you may have guessed - which is why they
went through the trouble of extricating you from that company, before
you could get into any legal trouble.”
“Well I didn't need
to be extricated, like I just told you.”
“Be that as it may,
the fact remains that your services are required by the client, who,
by the way, is offering you a very attractive salary and benefits
package. Of course, I can't go into detail over the phone.”
“Since you seem to
know so much about me, then you also know that I don't need the
money.”
“I'm aware of that,
Denny.” With a sigh, he said, “I sure wish that I had
689,222 dollars in assorted bank accounts right now, like you
- my oldest kid is starting college in September.” I started to
talk then, but he interrupted me with, “Just between you and me,
you'll save both of us a lot of future hassle if you take the job.”
I remained adamant. “No
thanks, I got better things to do than work for the government for
the rest of my life.”
“You needn't be
concerned about that. Your contract with the client would be
renewed on a year-by-year basis.”
“Look, man, there's
really nothing you can say to change my mind - “
“Tell you what, Denny.
Think about it for a week - I'll contact you around this time next
Monday. If you still decline the client's offer at that time,
I promise that will be the end of it. If you accept, we'll set up a
personal meeting where you'll receive a full briefing.” Just
wanting to humor him and end the conversation, I agreed to consider
the job offer. Over the next three days, I didn't give the matter
much serious thought. By Thursday it was largely forgotten, as I was
too busy trying to help Tina with a serious personal problem which
had cropped-up.
That evening, Tina
finally arrived home from work. She had recently been rehired at
Rainier Plaza after a long layoff. She looked uncharacteristically
worried and was almost in tears. I clasped her slim arms lightly and
asked, “What's wrong?”
Pulling herself
together, she replied with a wan chuckle. “Oh, nothing much. Do I
look dead to you, Herc?”
“Dead? What are you
talking about?”
“I just had a meetin'
with the Human Resources Director at the hotel. He said that my bank
wouldn't accept the direct deposit of my payroll check, because there
was a block on my account. Then he called Social Security and found
out that I was reported dead three days ago!”
“Now don't panic -
I've heard of that happening once in awhile. There must be a hundred
Tina Kincaids in the country, and one of them probably died this week
and they mixed you up with her. First thing tomorrow morning, we're
going down to the Social Security office and straighten this out.”
Next day, Tina brought
her birth certificate and all of her other identification to the SS
office, where she then spent an hour waiting and another hour
filling-out forms. Afterward the clerk handling her case informed
her that it could take 30 days or longer to rectify the error.
Unfortunately, until the government resurrected her from the grave,
she wouldn't be able to work or even collect unemployment benefits.
As we left the building,
Tina groused, “What a pain in the ass – this'll end-up costin' me
thousands!”
”Enjoy the vacation,
Amazon.”
“Watchin' soap operas
with Angie for the next month? Some fun.”
On the way home, I
stopped at the bank to use the ATM. After I slid my debit card into
the ATM, the machine took an inordinately long time to process my
cash withdrawal. Finally a message blinked on the ATM's screen:
MALFUNCTION - PLEASE SEE TELLER INSIDE LOBBY FOR SERVICE. On top of
that, the ATM had eaten my card and refused to disgorge it.
After a few minutes of
standing in line, I gave a teller my withdrawal slip and informed him
that my card was stuck in the ATM. The teller tapped some numbers
into his computer terminal. Then he said, “Hmm” to himself and
tapped-in another string of numbers. A nameless dread now crept over
me. “There seems to be a problem, Mister Smith. Hang-on, sir,
I'll be right back.”
By now, my stomach was
doing flip-flops. What the fuck is going on? Could this be what
I think it is? No way! A minute
later the teller got off the phone and then directed me to the
Accounts Manager's desk. My knees felt as weak as pastry dough as I
walked across the lobby. The manager was looking intently at his
computer screen as I approached his desk. “Have a seat, Mister
Smith. Well, I haven't seen this
happen in ages. According to our data base, your account is blocked,
because you died three days ago.”
Copyright 2015 by K.D. Bishop