“If someone tells you they’re doing something for the greater good what they’re really telling you is they’re about to do something very bad. Good deeds don’t have to be justified.”
--Dying To Laugh
I chose white. White was the perfect color to wear for my meeting with the Volzs at their Pacific Heights home. So I put on a white, long sleeved jumper that I almost never wore with a wide wrap belt. My intent was to look both professional and innocent. Like way too innocent to set up an interview with a corporate CEO on false pretenses. I decided the perfect accessory to my professional-innocent look was a butcher’s knife, discreetly hidden underneath my wallet, cell phone, charger and other items that I regularly kept in my handbag. On the one hand, the idea that I would have to knife fight my way out of the eight million dollar home of a pharmaceutical CEO, seemed rather implausible.
On the other hand, Implausible might as well be the title of my autobiography.
I had to park a full three city blocks away from where Gun lived and every time a car rode by or a wind picked up I worried that specks of dirt would come flying at me, and add unwanted patterns to my pristine white clothes.
Still, I was in reasonably good shape when I reached the double doors to Gun’s Victorian mini-mansion. He greeted me in jeans and a sports coat. I was relieved and gratified to see his wife was there, as promised. She was standing a little behind him in her own pair of jeans and a pink, oversized scoop neck top that slid around every time she moved.
“The lady of the hour!” Gun said, shaking my hand vigorously. I smiled but kept my feet firmly planted on the opposite side of the threshold. I had already promised myself that I wouldn’t enter the house unless his wife was there as promised. I was reckless but not stupid.
As if reading my mind, a woman entered the foyer and stood a few paces behind Gun “Allow me to introduce you to the lady of my life,” Gun said as I finally stepped into the house, “Cara.”
Cara was not what I expected. Everything about her screamed kindness and a complete lack of pretension. From her blonde hair pulled back into a careless ponytail, to her lack of makeup and her slightly crooked toothed grin. “I’ve heard so much about you, please come in!” She gushed as she clasped my hand in both of hers.
She ushered us into the living area. On the coffee table was a tray with assorted vegetables surrounding what might or might not have been a homemade dip. There was also a bottle of white chilling in a bucket and two wine glasses out and ready. “That was such a flattering portrait you painted of my man,” she said with a laugh as she poured me a glass of wine. “I have to say, it made me want to take another look at him, remind myself of what I have!”
“Well, that was mostly Tereza,” I said, carefully. “I just helped a little bit with some of the research on Nolan-Volz.”
“You’re too modest,” Gun insisted as he also accepted a glass from his wife. The room smelled faintly of potpourri mingled with Cara’s floral perfume. What I didn’t smell was food. Shouldn’t the smell of freshly baked eggplant Parmesan be detectable to the nose? Or did they have a smell proof kitchen, the perfect accommodation for every incompetent chef.
“Do you not drink?” I asked as Cara reached for a celery stick.
“Oh, I do, sometimes,” she said with a smile as she sat down next to her husband. “Now, Gun tells me you’re a novelist too?”
I looked over at Gun. I hadn’t told him that.
“Forgive me, I Googled you,” Gun explained.
“Oh,” I held my wine between both hands. I still hadn’t taken a sip. “I recently decided I needed to mix things up and try my hand at journalism. I do so much research for my novels anyway, you know? But yeah, normally I just write books.”
“Just?” Cara said with a laugh. “Oh, you really are too modest. I would love to read your novels. Gun, will you get the titles for me? I’ll order them from Amazon first thing tomorrow. You can get them on Amazon, yes?”
“Um, yes…” I brought the wine a little closer to my body, trying to internalize the mellow chill of the glass. “I could just give the titles directly to you if you like?” I said with what I hoped was a discernible amount of humor.
“Oh, of course,” she laughed. “But as I’m sure Gun told you, I can’t stay very long. Our daughter is at a party in Daly City. Can you believe they have parties in Daly City?” She laughed. “I thought the only thing that city had to offer was fog and free parking! Anywho, I promised to pick her up. I actually should get going now if I want to make it on time. You know how traffic is. It seems to get worse by the day! By the minute!”
“You’re…leaving us alone?” I asked, a tiny bit of panic creeping into my voice.
“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not the jealous type,” she said in what seemed to be an odd non sequitur. She leaned over and gave Gun a kiss on the cheek. “I married one of the rarest species of man. You know, the trustworthy breed.” She laughed merrily at her own joke before getting back up to her feet. “Besides,” she added as she reached for one last celery stick, “I would just be in the way of this follow-up interview. He’s the star, not me.”
I looked over at Gun. He was smiling benignly at me. “There’s no need for her to be here for the second interview, is there? Or is this the third? Seeing that both you and your byline stealing partner have interviewed me in the last week, I suppose this will be the third interview, yes?”
“Oh, don’t be so mean,” Cara said, cheerily. “I’m sure Sophie and Tereza…is that her name? Tereza? I’m sure Sophie and Tereza have some kind of perfectly equitable arrangement worked out, don’t you, Sophie? Or maybe not?” She added as she took in the concerned look on my face. “Maybe we should be bad-mouthing Tereza? I’m perfectly happy to call her an evil bitch if that’s helpful. I try to be very accommodating of my guests.”
“No, no. No need to bad mouth Tereza.” I swallowed and looked down at my wine glass. “You know, I probably shouldn’t have agreed to an interview at this time, after work and all when you should be unwinding.” I gave Gun a weak smile. “It would be better if we rescheduled for sometime during the work day, wouldn’t it?”
“Not at all, Sophie. As I told you on the phone, this is the best time. You’ll excuse me for a moment as I walk my wife out?” He got up and placed a hand on her waist. His tone was light and he was still smiling at me but the smile had turned a little sinister. I thought about the butcher knife in my purse. I should have brought the gun despite not having a concealed carry permit. A gun for Gun. A nervous giggle escaped my lips, causing Cara to give me an odd look as she allowed her husband to escort her to the front door.
I kept my seat and listened to the two of them exchange a few more pleasantries while in the foyer. There was the sound of the door opening and then closing again. In seconds Gundrun was back, but his smile was gone.
“So,” he said as he reclaimed his seat.
“So,” I said, quietly.
He reached for his wine and took a long sip. So the wine hadn’t been poisoned. That was somewhat reassuring. He leaned further back in his chair but kept his posture stiff. “The Chronicle has never heard of you.”
Shit. “Well, that’s not really fair,” I hedged. “They’ve reviewed my work twice. Interviewed me for their lifestyle section once--”
“That’s not what I mean and you know it.”
“Yeah,” I lifted my chin, trying to look poised and defiant. “I know it.”
“Why did you want to talk to me about London? Who was he to you?”
“He was…a friend.”
Gun’s nostrils flared. I had never really seen someone’s nostrils flare before but Gundrun had class A raging-bull-like flaring nostrils. “If you’re trying to convince me you were his mistress, I don’t buy it.”
Thank God. At least one person didn’t think I looked quite that hard up.
“He never got over Anita,” Gun explained, adding an almost sarcastic emphasis to the name. “He wouldn’t have given you a second look.”
“Oh,” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. “Well, he also wasn’t really my type. My boyfriend’s actually really hot. Just so you know. He’s Russian and he served in the Russian and the Israeli army. He’s still in fantastic shape. So.”
Gun just stared at me as if he was trying to assess if I was devious and trying to create a conversational diversion or just cognitively impaired. “What did Aaron tell you?” he finally asked.
If I knew what London had been trying to tell me I wouldn’t have to be here. “He thought you were doing things at Nolan-Volz that weren’t quite kosher. Particularly when it came to research and development,” I improvised. But of course there was one thing London had been extremely clear on. I took my wine glass and pushed it a little further away from me. “He also thought that you were poisoning him.”
Gun looked at me for ten, twenty, almost thirty excruciating seconds and then he just burst out laughing.
Again, with the villainous laughing. Both Gun and Anita were doing a disservice to their kind with such stereotypical behavior. The only difference between the two laughs was that Anita’s sounded a little superior and judgmental. Gun’s laugh sounded manic.
I tried to slyly look around the room. Was there an actual gun in this place? What were the odds it would be on his person now? I had faced down people with guns before. The last time had been in Vegas with Alex. Alex had been sort of charming about it in a I’m-Not-Really-Going-To-Hurt-You-But-I’ve-Got-A-Rep-To-Uphold kind of way.
There was nothing charming about Gundrun Volz.
“Nolan-Volz means a lot to me,” he said, his laughter subsiding and his face settling back into a scowl. “I have worked my entire career trying to develop drugs that will help people. I want to help people. You…you think we’re all a bunch of Martin Shkrelis trying to bilk sick, needy people for all their worth. That’s not what we’re about. That’s not what I’m about.”
“I hadn’t even thought of Martin Shkreli,” I said, coolly. “Funny that you did.”
“You think you’re the first outsider who has tried to expose the minor mistakes of my industry and use that to paint us as the enemy of those we serve?” he snapped. “You think that you’ll make a name for yourself that way? Rack up a few thousand more Twitter followers? I’ve dealt with people like you before. I won’t allow you to take your fifteen minutes at my expense.”
“That NYU professor, the one who exposed the mistakes you made at Orvex, she got a little more than fifteen minutes, didn’t she?”
“Those were not my mistakes!” he yelled. “I am not Orvex. She ruined them, not me. I co-founded Nolan-Volz because I wanted to show the world that I was better than the organizations I used to work for. I’m doing this for the people.”
“For the people,” I repeated, pointedly looking around at our opulent surroundings. “You’re like Gandhi in an Armani suit.”
“I make a good living, that’s true,” he leaned forward, fixing me with his glare. “I send my daughter to a top-notch private school. My wife gets to drive her Tesla and take a yearly spiritual journey with the Sherpas of Nepal. I’ve become a success by helping sick people. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No.” I scooted further back in my seat, ready for the lecture on the compassionate nature of the free market. It would be nice if he was working his way up to a confession, but I couldn’t imagine he’d make things that easy for me.
“I’m sorry things went wrong for London. That wasn’t my fault.” I noted little beads of sweat breaking out along Gun’s frown lines. “That was his fault. I did nothing but support him. When he asked for my help I gave it. That’s all.” He stood up. For the second time in our brief acquaintance, he purposely loomed over me. “If you think you’re going to swoop in here like his avenging angel,” he growled, “trying to take me down, trying to take Nolan-Volz down, you are not only misguided but also stupid. There is nothing to avenge.”
“Aaron London said--”
“I don’t give a shit if he told you differently,” he interrupted although I had no idea what he thought I was going to say. “Aaron made his own fate. His wife made hers. And I’m making mine now. It would be wise if you chose not to try to stand in the way of that.”
“I’m not sure anyone can stand in the way of another’s fate,” I said, with a wisp of a smile. “Destiny maybe.”
“You’re not as cute as you think you are.”
“That’s becoming more obvious to me every day.”
“If you walk away from this now, no one will suffer,” he said, his voice was low, gravelly with the slightest tremble, a cross between a plea and a growl.
I glanced at my still full glass of wine. “What happens if I don’t walk away?”
He didn’t respond but I could see him tensing, leaning forward, further into my space.
But he was not very good at this looming thing. His increasingly shiny forehead and the wild look in his eyes undercut his attempt at a threatening demeanor. He looked scared.
But then, people often commit desperate, violent acts when they’re scared.
I pushed myself up to my feet. That in itself took some maneuvering since Gundrun didn’t budge from where he stood. My hand was firmly on my purse ready to pull out my knife at a moment’s notice. There was no more than a foot between Gun and I now. He was about five inches taller than me so even standing I had to lift my chin to meet his eyes. “I hear you, Gun. There’s just one problem.” I said, managing to keep my voice even and my gaze steady. “The suffering’s already begun. Just ask London.”
I waited for Gun to reply but he just stared at me, his fists clenching and unclenching. I turned to leave, but he grabbed my arm, hard. My free hand slipped further into my purse and I grasped the handle of the knife. This was it. I would have to defend myself.
But then he let go. I looked over my shoulder as he took a small step back, his face a mess of anger and anxiety. “All you can do is destroy,” he said, quietly. “Destroy the people and things I care about. Or you could give it up. The path leading away from this thing could be prosperous, Sophie. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I…I’m not sure that I do.” I shook my head, confused. “Are you offering me a bribe?”
Gun managed a smile that implied I had interpreted his meaning correctly. “You can do what I do,” he went on, “work to help people who need it while profiting in that pursuit. Except for you, there will be no actual work involved. Just…walk away.”
I hesitated. I so desperately wanted to know what he was talking about. If we were in the offices of Nolan-Volz I’d stay and try to manipulate the conversation a little more and try to figure all this out. But being here alone with this man in this house…the risks were simply too great. I had to leave quickly.
“Please tell your wife I enjoyed meeting her,” I managed before turning and heading for the front door. Gun didn’t stop me this time and I left without looking back, wondering if my last words had inadvertently sounded like a threat. And if they had, would Gun respond with one of his own? Or would he skip the threats and just take action?
I walked briskly down the sidewalk, replaying the events of the evening, every once in a while glancing over my shoulder to see if Gun was following me. I was going to have to tell Anatoly about this but…oh God that conversation was not going to go well. London was involved in some serious shit. Gun wanted to shut him up and now he wanted to shut me up.
I looked over my shoulder again. The streets were unusually quiet. It wasn’t very late but this area of Pacific Heights didn’t have a lot of night traffic. No pedestrians in sight, only the occasional car going by. The advantage of that was that if Gun was following me I’d be able to spot him on the otherwise empty sidewalks. He wasn’t following me.
I carefully stuck my hand in my bag, feeling the steel of the blade that was there before carefully taking out my cell. I could see my car now, just a little ways ahead, parked on the other side of the street. I was safe. I dialed up Mary Ann.
“Sophie?” her voice chirped. “What’s up?”
“Hey, I think I need to have another real talk with Anatoly and I was just wondering,” I said as I started to cross the street, “do you think you could get me that cupcake recipe? I may need it after all.”
And that’s when a Zipcar came racing around the corner. I screamed, my phone went flying as I leaped out of the way of a car that was clearly aiming for me. I landed between two parked cars, just in time. The first thing to hit the pavement was my forearm, my elbow next, banging against the unforgiving surface. For a second I didn’t feel anything, didn’t hear anything but an odd ringing. And then in one rush, all my senses came back. I could hear the car, way down the street now, then gone. I could feel the pain shooting up my arm and less so the side of my leg that had hit the concrete. I could hear the faint screams of Mary Ann from afar, through my phone as she desperately tried to figure out what was going on. I crawled toward her voice, a good ten feet away.
“Mary Ann,” I said, in a strained voice. “I gotta go. I think a Zipcar driving racist may be trying to kill me.”