By ANDREW FLYNN, Storyteller
The following is the first of three parts, continuing tomorrow and Sunday, right here and only on The Daily Damn.
Dale was smart to keep solid eye contact with Ted.
“Enough with the ambiguities, Mr. Macon. My part in this is done, and you know this.
“Your part is finished when I tell you it’s finished! Remember who I work for, motherfucker,” Ted stated coldly. “Now listen. An hour ago, I received a call from someone who I trust dearly in this matter of ours. Very, very dearly! And this contact of mine, of whom I have absolutely no reason to doubt whatsoever alluded to the fact that this matter of ours isn’t encased in the secrecy that we all planned it to have. And that’s where you come in. You fuckhead, you.”
Dale’s eyes rolled back in his head for just a short moment. “How could this guy know what I did?” he thought to himself.
Ted spoke fast, and with a frustrated inflection on what it seemed like every other word.
“I’ll say it. It was a monumental fuck-up, Dale. I can’t believe you would bring anyone else into the knowledge of what this matter of ours is. I just can’t believe it. After all the planning. The months, fuck it! The two damn fucking years of planning. You motherfucker!”
Dale figured Ted to have him cornered at this point. No other way out, than to be completely honest. “Who was this guy anyways?” he thought. “He couldn’t do shit to me.” These delusions of his were convincing enough to now combat the flagrance he was getting assailed with.
“Look…do your worst, asshole. I just hope my kids got my message.”
Even though he was cornered, Dale rode his wave of temporary confidence and sat back in his chair. He crossed his left leg over his right and exhaled the air in his middle-aged body with a sigh of relief.
Stunned at this, Ted rooted his arms on his desk to raise himself up. His open hands clenched into fists as he leaned over in an attempt to intimidate Dale. He then realized that he had no leverage over him at all.
Ted stood just thirty seconds while Dale glared back at him in silence. And then he collapsed back into his high-backed leather chair, causing it to roll to the wall. Both of the men just looked at each other for another moment.
Ted’s voice turned to a softer, resigned tone. “You do realize I’ve got to make a very difficult phone call right now, Dale.”
“Then make it. The sooner you do, the sooner I can get back to bed,” said Dale.
“I just can’t believe you’d do something so stupid, you son of a bitch.”
This angered Dale. He rose his voice and spoke freely from his diaphragm.
“What did you think I’d do? They’re my fucking kids! And I can’t lose them again!”
Ted was shaken, just as the walls of the corner office were. He grabbed the phone, and began to dial slowly and carefully. He held the corded receiver up to his ear waiting for a reply.
Dale folded his fingers and dumped them in his lap with his forearms out, still staring at Ted.
“Yes?” the voice on the other end of Ted’s phone said.
Ted winced and then proceeded to scrunch his entire face up in defeat, his bushy eyebrows covering what remained of his sight. “Mr. Vice President, you’re going to hate this.”