Retribution

Journal Entry from Friday, November 21, 2003. Geraldine Moffat phoned yesterday evening. Joe’s in New York. He’s staying at the Olcott on West 72nd Street on the Upper West Side. Apparently he’s training some staff at Macy’s on lower Broadway for the next two weeks, and is due back on the 30th. As soon as she hung up, I phoned Derek Stewart. I told him - and it was the truth for I’d rung around looking for a trouble spot - we had some union trouble at our Harrisburg depot. (We constantly fought with the teamsters and transport unions and it was never over paying too little. It was about kickbacks and back room deals that benefitted union organizers. Make that gangsters.) Anyway, Derek knew the score and when I said I was driving over there, he warned me not to step on any toes too hard. I promised I wouldn’t. My plan is to spend a few days in Harrisburg sorting out what are genuine problems but making a lot of noise. I think a maximum of two days in the big, rotten apple, New York, and then back to Harrisburg for a day or two before coming home. Better start packing. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Journal Entry from Thursday, December 4, 2003. I was staying in a motel fronting on to Eisenhower Boulevard. After four days, I left my car in the motel car park and hired an innocuous dark blue Ford. I parked the hire car a block away from the motel and walked there after dark, carrying an overnight bag. The bag contained my goodies. I climbed in, started the engine and pulled onto 1-83. The 175 mile journey through the dark, and heavy rain, took me nearly five hours, and another two hours negotiating my way to the Upper West Side and The Olcott. I had a room there. In the basement garage I made myself up to look older, donned a mousey colored wig and my blue specs. I added a little padding to my waist and used a walking stick. I checked in at the front desk just before 4.00am. I went to my room straight away, plum tuckered out. I slept for five hours and was in my disguise at the breakfast buffet by 9.30am. Joe shit-hot sat at a table with two other people. One was a smartly dressed woman and the other was a man in a casual shirt and chinos. They were looking through some papers and taking quietly. I hobbled past, heading for the breakfast buffet, leaning on my cane. When I came back, balancing a coffee, I took a table beside the group. I opened a copy of the New York Times and lowered my head. Joe had the floor. (Or the table, to be pernickety.) “I agree, the contract appears okay. The salary is wrong. I earn a good living doing contract work. If they want me on a full time basis, especially a nationwide banking conglomerate, the management needs to up that yearly figure by thirty per cent.” The woman had a golden voice but, even with her perfect grooming, would’ve looked better at the other end of a phone conversation. “Mr Moffat, we can’t authorize monetary changes to the contract. That’s up to the bank’s director, Mr Wildside. Schuster and Gretch represent the bank in legal matters only and not salary negotia- tion but Nelson and I will pass on your concerns.” “You make sure to remind them, Gloria; they approached me, not the other way round. I have a suggestion. Let’s have that breakfast I promised to shout you. “ I listened to the small talk until they finished. S and G’s representatives left at the end of the meal. By that time I had enough information to formulate a simple plan. Joe glanced at me as he got up from the table. He said, “Fuckin’ lawyers, eh, what’re they good for except scum suckin’?” Then he departed as well. When he was out of the breakfast room, I walked quickly to the door. He was across the foyer at the reception desk. I waited by the door while he finished. He walked to the elevator bank and caught the first available while I found a public phone on the other side of the lobby. I waited five minutes before taking a slip of paper from my pocket. Gerry had given me his cell number. I dropped the coins in and rang. Joe answered. “Joe Moffat.” “Mr Moffat, my name is Pickering, Mr Wildside’s PA. Gloria has contacted me with your salary concerns and I’m authorized to offer you 20 per cent above the salary shown in the present contract. If you accept I can be there in 30 minutes with the witnessed alteration.” “I’m not overly happy, but I accept. I’ll sign.” Ignorant bastard put the phone down without a by-your-leave. I went back to my room and retrieved my friend from the overnight bag. Thirty minutes later I went to the reception desk. A young man asked if he could help me. “Yes, my name is Pickering and I’m here to see Mr Moffat. I need his room number, and you can verify I’m expected if you wish.” The young man picked up the phone and dialed Moffat’s room. “Mr Moffat, its Fleming at the front desk. There is a M/s Pickering here at the desk. She says you’re expecting her ... Thank you sir.” He cradled the phone and smiled at me. “Room 363, Ma’am. Tell me ma’am, if you know Mr Moffat, why did you not sit with him at breakfast this morning?” I put on my best conspiratorial smile. “In business, it pays to be a step ahead or a table behind.” He grinned back at the older woman. The third floor could’ve been any of the floors above the ground and below the roof. His room was tucked away at the rear of the main corridor. I knocked the door and he opened almost immediately. He looked surprised. “You’re the lady from the breakfast room. What can I do for you?” “You could invite me in. I’m Pickering, I spoke to you on the telephone a while ago.” He smiled and waved me in before closing the door. I took off my top coat and laid it across a chair. He smiled knowingly. “You people are cagey. You were eavesdropping at the next table. The fact that you’ve gone to all this trouble, instead of sitting at my table, means you want me. I could push for the 30 per cent but I’ll settle for what we agreed.” “Sit down, Joe.” He did. I sat down on the narrow couch he now occupied. “We don’t part with this sort of cash without checking your background. A while back you were employed by a freighting company and they maintain you left under a cloud after sabotaging their computer system. I’d like to hear your side of that.” “What is this; a witch hunt? I don’t need your job, you know, but if you must know, there was this bitch of a boss who had it in for me. I took their severance package and left, that’s all. All their checking found nothing to say I was guilty of anything untoward.” I was enjoying this. “Your wife, Geraldine. How do you treat her?” He lost it then, as I knew he would. He jumped up and stabbed his finger at me. “Right, that’s enough. Take your fuckin’ contract and shove it. Get out before I throw you out.” At that point, as I stood and put my hand into the pocket of my slacks, his phone rang to extend his life for a few minutes. He walked to the bedside and picked it up. “Who? Yeah, put her on.” There was a pause where he kept his back to me. I walked behind him. “What are you talking about? You’re woman, Pickering, is here now.... I don’t know... She’s Wildside’s PA...” At that point he turned and lowered the phone. “Who are you, Lady?” “I’m judge and jury, Joe, but you can call me Chris.” The knife was in before he moved. I twisted the blade and removed it as he tried to grab at me. He fell on the bed and I stepped over his legs before pushing the blade into the other side of his neck. I left it there as blood pumped from the first wound. I bent down and picked the receiver off the floor, I heard the tinny voice calling his name. I cradled it, removed a glove to place a thumb print on his forehead and left him there in systemic shock. He would be dead in minutes. I replaced my overcoat to cover any blood splatter. I checked out of the hotel at noon and drove back to Harrisburg to finish my business. I arrived home on the evening of the 3rd December and straight away used my pay p