The chauffeur drove the sedan into the parking lot of the office building that housed the corporate headquarters of Plante Gourmet Pickles, Inc. It wasn't a particularly large building. It stood alone on the rather large piece of property. The property had been purchased in rather poor condition, but a Walde construction company had refurbished the building, while incorporating a number of security elements into it.
It was, in many ways, an impressive building. Where it had once had a plain lawn, it now had an extensive pond, often occupied by the wild ducks that ran around the building. A footbridge over the water provided access to the building from the parking lot. Trees dotted the landscape providing shade for lunch tables.
It had gone from being a standard box-shaped office building to one with character. The use of two colors of brick, light and dark red, on the building gave it a warmer appearance than the gray flat exterior that had once graced the building. A small brick ledge that ran around the full exterior broke up the flat face of the building. Arched windows softened the straight lines of the building.
Getting the appropriate building permits had been a continuous battle. Ultimately, it was the environmentally friendly features of the plans that allowed a public relations campaign to force approval from the planning board. Solar panels covered the roof, allowing the sign outside to boast that it was a 'Green Building.'
The chauffeur parked the car and then got out to open the door for Carl. There was a slight pause while he looked around before opening the door. Carl and Samantha exited the vehicle holding hands. Jennifer exited the front seat of the car and waited for them at the walkway to the building. They made their way to the building at a slow walk, pausing once to watch the fish in the pond.
The receptionist, Cynthia Shieldman, buzzed them in. She greeted them with a friendly 'good morning.' She informed Carl that his visitors were already waiting for him in the conference room. They had, in fact, been there for several hours.
Carl went into the conference room, looking forward to the meeting. The assembled team had been working towards this day for months. The engineers had finalized the design for the factory and generated the blueprints necessary to get the permits required to build it.
The facility was way over engineered, and had been designed that way for a reason. Walde construction teams and Schmied engineers had gone over every facet of the design, to assure compliance with every law and building code known to man. There were a lot of codes and regulations. The lawyers had spent 'man years' reading through every regulation, ruling, and law from every government agency that might possibly be interested in this project.
The security folks had gone through the backgrounds of every man and woman on the council, and had targeted two of them for increased surveillance. Their surveillance had paid off. One of the councilmen, Joe Parelli, had been having frequent meetings with a lawyer from out of town. Investigation showed that the lawyer was in the pay of a small subsidiary of a very large frozen vegetable company. They now had a thread to one of the enemy. It was now a matter of time to trace it back to the person in charge.
George Smyth looked up when Carl entered the room. He smiled and pointed over to a table to the side of the wall.
"The mock up is finished."
Carl said, "Great."
Carl went over to the large model positioned in the middle of the table. Laid out in three dimensional glory, was his pickle factory. The model showed the access roads, added traffic lights, parking lots, and the three buildings all to scale and with the landscaping.
George walked over and said, "This is the most expensive pickle factory in the history of mankind. The only way to increase its price tag, would be to gold plate everything inside."
"Will that be necessary?" Carl asked sarcastically.
"It may be," George answered. He laughed. "I've never seen anything like this. You do realize that this building will stand up to a F6 tornado and a magnitude 9 earthquake."
"How about a forty-foot Tsunami?"
"If a tsunami can travel more than five hundred miles inland, the last thing anyone will be worried about is this factory," George answered.
"Terrorists?"
"The security plans are in place. A US Navy SEAL team could take it out, but some whack-job? No. Of course, there are the official plans and the private plans. Our private plans would give even a SEAL team a few surprises."
"I can't believe that our security plans have to be a matter of public record. It's like they want to make it easy for someone to find out how to break in," Carl said.
George asked, "So why were you late?"
"Another traffic ticket," Carl said tiredly.
It was another minor harassment resulting from taking on city hall. After the second ticket, the limousine had been wired with cameras like those used in police cars. Every ticket after that had been tossed out of court. One officer had been suspended. That had only worked up the frenzy to catch him doing something illegal to an even higher pitch.
George said, "It seems like the city council wants to fill the city coffers up with your money."
"That does appear to be the case," Carl said.
Jennifer stuck her head in the conference room. "There's a Mr. Anthony Gamboni here to see you. He doesn't have an appointment, but he insists it is important that you meet with him."
Carl looked over at Herman Steward.
Herman said, "Go ahead and meet with him. I'll stand outside. I'll have someone pick up his boss, Mr. Marcelo Caggiano."
"Thanks," Carl said.
Carl went into his office. A minute later, Jennifer led Mr. Anthony Gamboni in. After a short exchange in which coffee was offered and rejected, Jennifer left the room.
Carl said, "You wanted to see me."
"This town doesn't want a pickle factory. You might want to consider another location for it."
Carl said, "I like the location that I found."
"Maybe you didn't hear me. We don't want a pickle factory here."
"Who is 'we'?" Carl asked.
"The town."
Carl looked up at the ceiling with an exaggerated expression of confusion on his face. He scratched his head. He frowned. He rubbed his chin.
Anthony frowned.
Carl asked, "You're here on behalf of the town council, mayor's office, or ... who, exactly?"
"Some of the business leaders."
"Some? Which ones?" Carl asked.
"The ones who are the leaders of the business leaders."
Carl said, "That's odd. I've never seen you at one of the Chamber of Commerce meetings."
"We have our own Chamber of Commerce."
"You don't say," Carl said lightly. "That's very interesting. How many members are in your Chamber of Commerce?"
"Enough. Now, I'm trying to tell you nicely that we don't want your pickle factory in our nice little town."
"I'm here to stay," Carl said. "Is that all?"
"You really don't want to build your factory here. This area is prone to a lot of accidents."
Carl said, "You are a fascinating man."
"What do you mean?"
"You claim to represent the town, but you don't have a real role in the government. You say you represent some business leaders, but none of them are in the Chamber of Commerce. Then you give me an interesting statistic that this area is prone to accidents. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to intimidate me into leaving town," Carl said.
"You might consider my advice and find somewhere else to build your little factory. Okay?"
Carl said, "Anything else."
"No."
"It's been fascinating talking to you. I didn't realize that people like you still existed."
Carl was thinking that it would be kind of nice to make reference to how endangered species had to be protected to keep them from becoming extinct. He wasn't sure if the man seated across from him would get the implication. He refrained only because he didn't want to provoke some incident that a Wache would have to handle.
"I'll be talking to you again."
"I seriously doubt that," Carl said.
Carl stood and held out his hand. When his visitor did not shake his hand, he withdrew it with a sad shake of his head.
After Mr. Anthony Gamboni left, Carl sat down at his desk with a sigh. If he wasn't surrounded by security people, he would have been terrified by this visit. As it was, it just angered him. How dare they send an idiot like that to try to intimidate him into leaving town?
Herman stuck his head in the door. "Come walk with me."
Carl followed Herman out of the office. They went over to Herman's office.
"Mr. Marcelo Caggiano is on his way to our private suite at the hotel just outside of town. We'll have another thread to follow by the end of the day."
"It sounds like you were expecting our visitor."
It seemed a little fortuitous for them to be able to pick up Mr. Marcelo Caggiano while his minion, Mr. Anthony Gamboni, was delivering his threats. He wasn't sure what was going to happen to Mr. Caggiano, but he knew that Wache family members did not respond lightly to threats, and a threat had been delivered.
"It was just a matter of time. This will free up two more of our people."
"Good."
Carl had no idea how many members of the Wache family were involved with his pickle factory. He knew of at least twelve, although there had to be close to a hundred of them in the area. His chauffeur, the receptionist, his secretary, and Herman were all Wache. Then there was his 'girlfriend.'
"We'll need them. Things are heating up."
"Why did you want me to come here to tell me that?" Carl asked.
"We're sweeping your office for bugs," Herman answered.
"Do you think that is necessary?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Herman answered, "He could have talked to you anywhere. Instead, he chose to come here. There had to be more of a reason for that than just a simple conversation."
There were times when Carl wondered if Herman had a clinical case of paranoia. However, the man had been proven correct, time and time again. He had come to trust Herman's insights.
Carl said, "Let's go back to the conference room to discuss tonight's meeting."
The two men returned to the conference room. Jim Woodman was fiddling with the computer while George was staring off into space, deep in thought. Juan Torres, the lawyer, was reviewing some folders.
Carl said, "I want to see the presentation."
"Right," Jim said.
"Before we begin, let me say that we've got some hints as to what kinds of questions we're going to get. Their lawyer has basically identified a couple of contradictory regulations. They're going use that to make sure that they can ask a bunch of questions for which there are no obviously correct answers," Herman said.
Juan Torres said, "We've got those covered. According to the law, the most restrictive version can be assumed. In cases where there are explicit contradictions, the broadest authority has precedence. In other words, state law can not violate federal law, and local law can not violate state law. We will get arguments on that. What will end up happening is that we'll have to start quoting case law at them. They aren't going to want to play that game, particularly since locals have invariably lost."
Carl said, "I can't believe that they are fighting a pickle factory like this."
This particular area had an unemployment rate of nearly fifteen percent. The city should be begging to get companies to move into the area. The pickle company would have direct hires, but would also trigger an increase in other businesses. They would need gasoline, office supplies, and other essentials for a business of that size.
"We haven't even gotten the big boys involved yet. Things are going to get very interesting when we get above the local level. They will want to play the case law game with us," Juan said.
Not wanting to dwell on the legal games that would be played in the future, Carl said, "Let's get to the presentation."
For the next thirty minutes key elements of the design were presented. Carl watched the presentation impressed by the work the others had done to help make his dream come true. After listening to it, he couldn't believe that anyone could object to them beginning construction. He knew they would.
The factory was comprised of three buildings. The smallest building was an office area for managing the operational aspects of the company. Basically, there wasn't much to the building other than a reception area, offices, and break rooms.
The middle sized building was a warehouse for storing his products until they could be sent for distribution. It was a basic warehouse type structure with loading docks for trucks. There was enough space to store more product than he would be able to produce, during the first few years of business. However, the building did have expansion points in case more space was required. There was a conveyor system that ran through a covered connection to the warehouse for delivering the pickles for storage.
The largest building was where the cucumbers were pickled. It was the most complex building of the three with pickling tanks, canning equipment, packaging equipment, and lines for preparing the cucumbers. There was a covered unloading dock for bringing in the raw materials, namely vinegar, spices, and cucumbers. A separate dock was used to bring in the bottles, labels, and packaging materials. It incorporated clean design practices to assure that no foreign contaminates would be introduced into the product. There was even a small laboratory for food quality inspections.
He was very impressed with the layout of all three buildings. The fact was that the whole site was far larger than what he had initially planned. He had wanted a little gourmet pickle company that served specialty markets. Instead, they had gone after the larger grocery store market with a presence sufficient to challenge the existing pickle companies. It was necessary for his company to be large enough to attract the attention of those wanting to control food.
After the presentation was over, they went to the mock-up of the factory site. George Smyth pointed out key features of the site. He lifted the roofs off of the model buildings to show how the interiors would be laid out. Little details, like the safety lines on the floor denoting where it was safe to walk, were present.
Looking at the model, Carl could see his factory in production. It was easy to imagine walking from vat to vat checking the status of the pickles and taking samples to assure that nothing had been contaminated. He could feel the coolness of the refrigerated area. He could hear the noise as hundreds of glass jars rumbled along conveyers, through the wash, and onto the pickle packing equipment.
He thanked the men for the presentation, stating that he would see them that evening at the city council meeting. He left the conference room and went back to his office.
His secretary, Liz Knight, greeted him. "We found a bug under the chair your visitor used."
Liz fit the ideal that Carl had for a secretary. She was in her mid-fifties and had the kind of manner that would intimidate anyone trying to pull a fast one. She even managed to keep Samantha and Jennifer off his back when he was in the office.
"What did you do with it?" Carl asked.
"We destroyed it. It was a cheap-ass low-tech piece of crap. It wouldn't have even broadcast out of the building."
"I guess that's good. Was that the only one?" Carl asked.
Even as he asked the question, he wondered if he was becoming clinically paranoid. There had been a time not that long ago when he would have been amazed that they had found one and would never have suspected that there might be others.
"Interesting that you should ask that. We found one in the reception area," Liz answered.
Carl said, "You know, when I think of plots of world domination, I think of British spies and evil villains who are trying to steal nuclear weapons to hold the world hostage. I never really thought of a plot of world domination involving individuals trying to squash Carl Plante's pickle factory."
Liz laughed. "It does sound a little absurd when you put it that way."
"I'm glad to know that I'm not the only one who feels that way," Carl said.
There were still times when he thought that Tom Farmer's assessment of the situation was way out of line. His experience in starting the pickle factory was giving him evidence that there was indeed a plot. Still, it just seemed like a bad piece of fiction.
"Just because it sounds absurd doesn't mean it isn't happening," Liz said.
"I know," Carl said with a sigh.
Liz asked, "Will you be heading home to get some rest for tonight's event?"
"I'll go as soon as I find my 'girlfriend' and my personal assistant," Carl said.
Living with two women was not easy. There was a little competition between the two of them as to which one would bed Carl first. To be honest, there was no competition – Carl was interested in Jennifer. Even dressed and coiffured to minimize her attractiveness, she was still the most beautiful woman that Carl had ever seen.
Unfortunately for all three of them, Carl knew he was not a good enough actor to pretend to be in love with Samantha when he was intimately involved with Jennifer. Of course, every time he hugged and kissed Samantha in public, Jennifer would throw a hissy fit in private. After nearly eight months of living together, the tension in the house was getting nearly unbearable.
Hearing a little anxiety in his voice, Liz asked, "Are there problems in the Plante household?"
"That would be putting it lightly," Carl said.
There were times when he didn't want to go home. There would be little catty comments between the two women. There would occasionally be emotional outbursts in his direction. He would get irritated and shut them both down. At least, Skippy was always happy to see him.
"You're going to have to take matters in hand," Liz said.
"What do you mean?"
"Sleep with both of them. Do it with Jennifer first and then with Samantha. Let Jennifer know she's special and that you're engaging in congress of trade with Samantha. Jennifer will understand that. She's a Damenstern," Liz said.
"The problem isn't Jennifer. The problem is me," Carl admitted.
Liz said, "In that case, talk to your mother. She'll straighten you out."
An hour later, Carl was at home in his living room, with his mother. Jennifer was in the basement playing with Skippy. Samantha was in the security section of the safe room checking the tapes for unusual activity around the house.
"How are things going for you, Carl?"
"I don't know, Mom. This whole cloak and danger thing isn't me."
His mother reached over to the little table beside her chair and grabbed her drink. She took a sip while studying her son. He looked tense. She recognized that kind of tenseness.
"You didn't ask me over here to talk about your pickle factory problems," Angela said.
Carl said, "I've got girl problems."
Angela said, "That's simple enough to fix."
"How?"
"Have congress of love with Jennifer and congress of trade with Samantha."
He should have expected his mother's advice to be the same as what Liz had suggested, but he hadn't. He had grown up knowing how much his mother and father loved each other. Maybe it was his youth, but he couldn't have ever imagined her mother being with a man other than his father or allowing his father to be with another woman.
"What am I trading for?"
"The woman needs release and you need security. It sounds like a fair trade to me," Angela said.
"It's not that easy."
"Sure it is."
"I'd feel weird about sleeping with two women."
"Then you're not being very clever," Angela said.
She took another sip of her drink appreciating the rich flavor. Someone had picked out a very good brand of single malt Scotch. She figured it had to be Jennifer.
"Why?"
"You're mistaking sex with love. Members of the Pfand don't do that. We know that they are separate things. There are four kinds of congress and only one of them is predicated on love," Angela said.
"Still..."
Angela sighed. "I guess I should have expected this of you. You've got a lot of your father in you. He's a bit of a romantic. It took him a long time to make peace with my former job as an escort. Your sister took after me. She's pragmatic."
"I never thought of myself as romantic," Carl said.
His idea of a romantic was a guy who showed up at a girl's house with a box of chocolates and a bouquet of flowers while spouting poetry on bended knee. That wasn't his style.
"You're definitely not pragmatic. If you were, you'd know that Jennifer desperately needs to know that you love her. The poor girl is in love with you and has been since you were sixteen, but you've been keeping her at arm's length. I'm sure she's hurt by that.
"The sad thing is, that you're in love with her, too. I even think that you now understand her life as an escort, or, at least, you accept it. You haven't told her that, either. I imagine she's hurt by that, too.
"If you were pragmatic, you'd recognize that Samantha is stuck here in this house, unable to get any kind of release, without it being derelict in her duty to the Pfand. For your part, you're getting the benefit of her protection, and you aren't paying your personal debt to her."
"What about Jennifer's feelings?"
"She's a Damenstern. She is pragmatic. She has to be in order to engage in congress of trade for so many years while being in love with you. She will understand," Angela said.
She actually thought that Jennifer would ultimately lose respect for Carl if he didn't engage in congress of trade with Samantha. She wasn't going to point that out to Carl unless he got really stubborn.
Carl asked, "What if I have feelings for Samantha?"
"There's no if about it. You're going to have feelings for Samantha. You already have feelings for Samantha. You have feelings about every person with whom you interact. Some of those feelings will be negative, some neutral, and some positive. Are those feelings for Samantha going to be Love with a capital 'L' or friendship? I'm pretty sure it will be friendship, but love wouldn't be a bad thing either."
"I don't know."
Angela smiled. "Spoken like a romantic."
She took a sip of her drink. "This is very good Scotch."
"Jennifer bought it," Carl said.
Setting the empty glass down on the coaster, she said, "She has very good taste in Scotch."
"I'll tell her that," Carl said.
His mother rose from the chair. She looked at Carl who was rising from his chair.
"I'd like to think that she has very good taste in men," his mother said. "Don't disappoint me."
"Yes, Mom."
Carl walked his mother to the front door. After turning off the security, he let her out the front door.
He was about to follow her to her car when she said, "Don't be a fool. Get back in the house."
"Good bye, Mom."
"Take care of yourself and those two girls."
"Yes, Mom."
Carl went back into the house and watched his mother get into her car. After she had driven off, he put the house back into lock-down. He turned to find Samantha watching him.
"You started to go outside without me," she said sounding highly irritated.
"I forgot."
"You got a visit from the mob, this morning, and you're now forgetting basic security precautions?" Samantha said.
The tone of her voice had turned a little more edgy.
"I'm sorry," Carl said.
"You need to start thinking," Samantha said.
The tone of her voice was starting to sound angry. He knew that she was about to start yelling. Thinking quickly, he stepped up to her and kissed her. She was so shocked by his actions that her mouth was moving without any sound coming out.
He said, "This afternoon and tonight is Jennifer's. Perhaps tomorrow, if you're interested, we can retire to your room for a little privacy."
Samantha said, "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Yes."
"I'll get Jennifer. She'll be right up."
"Thank you," Carl said.
Thirty seconds later there was an excited squeal from the basement and then the sounds of heavy steps running up the basement stairs. Carl waited for Jennifer to come charging into the room. There was about a ten second delay before she appeared through the door walking calmly and sedately.
"Samantha said that you wanted to talk to me."
"Yes."
"So what did you want?" Jennifer asked trying not to sound impatient.
Now that the moment had come, Carl found that he was at a loss for words. He didn't know how to say what he felt. He stood there looking at her while she looked at him.
"Well?"
Carl took a deep breath and then blurted out, "I love you."
"I know that," Jennifer said.
It was as if she were dismissing his statement as though he had just stated the obvious. Of course, her face lit up like it was Christmas.
Three hours later, a sated Carl and an ecstatic Jennifer left for the city council meeting, with an excited Samantha. The driver picked them up from the front of the house, and delivered them to the steps of city hall. Carl walked in with an arm around Samantha while Jennifer walked beside them carrying a briefcase filled with notes. They stopped outside the council room and looked at the posted agenda.
Carl frowned. "We're third on the agenda."
The first item on the agenda was to approve a trash collection contract with the Caggiano Sanitation Company. The second item on the agenda was a regulation concerning the colors that were to be used when painting house numbers on the curbs in front of residences. It looked like those two items could be completed within ten minutes. Carl doubted anyone would vote against giving a contract to Mr. Marcelo Caggiano. The second item couldn't possibly take more than ten minutes.
"They've got old business from the previous council meeting," Jennifer said.
Juan Torres joined them and said, "It looks better than it is."
George Smyth, Jim Woodman, and Herman Steward joined them. As a group they entered the council room. Mr. Anthony Gamboni was seated in the audience. He looked over at Carl with an angry glare. The seats at the table at the head of the room were empty.
Five minutes after the city council meeting was supposed to start, the council members entered the room and took their places at the table.
The chairman said, "I call this meeting of the town council in session."
There was a long pause while the chairman fiddled with some papers. Finally, he said, "The first item on the agenda is the renewal of the sanitation contract with the Caggiano Sanitation Company. This is to renew the contract for ten years, under the terms and conditions specified in the top handout in front of you. Is there a motion for renewal?"
One of the councilwomen raised her hand.
"Is there a second?"
One of the councilmen raised his hand.
"The matter of renewal of the garbage contract has been motioned and seconded. Are there any questions or comments?"
There was a long pause in which no one said anything.
"It appears that there are no questions or comments. Let's vote on the matter. All those in favor, say aye."
A chorus of ayes filled the room.
"Let the record show that the motion was passed unanimously."
Mr. Anthony Gamboni left the room. Carl watched him leave wondering why he wasn't bothering to stay for the approval of the plans for building the factory. It seemed odd that the man would make a threat in the morning and then leave before the matter came up in the meeting.
The chairman filled with the stack of papers in front of him. He looked around the room in an officious manner for a second.
"The next item on the agenda is passing a regulation for painting numbers on the curbs in front of houses. Do I have a motion?"
The same councilwoman raised her hand.
"Do I have a second?"
The same councilman who had seconded the previous motion raised his hand.
"The matter of house numbers on curbs has been motioned and seconded. Are there any questions or comments?"
"I think the colors should be black letters on a white background."
"No. It is better to have a green background with white letters."
Carl listened to the town council argue over the colors for three solid hours. It was well after ten when they finally passed a regulation requiring a green background with white letters. Several times, Jennifer had to lean over to whisper in Carl's ear that he was to remain calm.
There was a long pause while the chairman fiddled with some papers. Finally, he said, "It appears that we have gone over our scheduled time."
One of the councilwomen raised her hand. "I would like to move that we table the rest of the agenda until our next meeting next month."
"Is there a second?"
One of the councilmen raised his hand.
"The motion to adjourn has been moved and seconded. Are there any questions or comments?"
Juan stood up and said, "I have a question."
"Sit down. You haven't been recognized by the chair."
"It appears that there are no questions or comments. Let's vote on the matter. All those in favor, say aye."
A chorus of ayes filled the room.
"Let the record show that the motion to table all remaining agenda items until next month was passed unanimously.
"Are there any other matters?"
There was a long pause.
"I, hereby close the meeting. We'll meet the same time next month."
Furious, Carl said, "I could learn to hate politicians."
Juan said, "I expected this to happen."
"So we've got to wait another month?" Carl asked.
"No. I'll be filing against them in court, tomorrow morning. They'll have to have an emergency meeting within seventy-two hours," Juan said.
"How do you know that?"
"They violated the procedures to be followed in a public council meeting," Juan said.
Edited By TeNderLoin