The Dog's Philosopher: Quality Matters

By GW Pearcy

Alex is finding life tough at the moment. Not only is he recently and involuntarily separated from his wife, and missing his home and family life with his children, but the company for which he has worked for eight years is also looking like it is going out of business. Fortunately, he has supportive friends in Lee and Sam. But is this enough? Read on, to discover how Alex discovers how he can extricate himself from his troubles, with one dramatic gesture.

• Language: English
• Publisher: GW Pearcy
• Release date: Aug 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781921968846

Book preview

QUALITY MATTERS ©

by

Gertrude W Pearcy

Alex is finding life tough at the moment. Not only is he recently and involuntarily separated from his wife, and missing his home and family life with his children, but the company for which he has worked for eight years is also looking like it is going out of business. Fortunately, he has supportive friends in Lee and Sam. But is this enough? Read on, to discover how Alex discovers how he can extricate himself from his troubles, with one dramatic gesture.

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QUALITY MATTERS

Second Edition (March 2014)

Smashwords Edition

AN ETEXT PRESS BOOK

ISBN: 978-1-921968-84-6

First edition published at eText Press 2013.

Copyright © Gertrude W Pearcy 2013

Gertrude W Pearcy has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 and any and all other applicable international copyright laws to be identified as the sole author of this original work.

This eBook (electronic book) is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade, transmission or otherwise, be redistributed, sold or hired, without the publisher’s prior written consent. Further, this eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by the applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

DEDICATION

For Colin

CHAPTER ONE

Alex and Bernie were at loggerheads.

Not serious loggerheads, as each had a liking and a respect for the other. But it was Alex’s job to investigate why stock was missing from the warehouse without an audit trail; it was Bernie’s job to ensure there was no suggestion any of his men had anything to do with it, unless Alex had evidence sufficiently robust to convince a magistrate.

Alex had retained a slender build for a man in his early forties. His closely cut, grey-flecked black hair, straight nose and angular, cleanly-shaven face made him classically good looking.

He was dressed neatly, as usual, in pressed dark trousers, shined black shoes and an almost spotless white shirt. Today, the white shirt had short sleeves, and the only reason it wasn’t completely spotless was because it already had damp sweat marks under the armpits, owing to the hot January weather. Nevertheless, its top button was done up.

Alex’s tie was fastened neatly with a Windsor knot. The Paisley tie’s distal end finished an inch above the silver buckle of a black leather belt.

Alex’s movements and speech were as energetic as they usually were, but he was choosing his words carefully.

‘Look, I’m not accusing anyone of anything,’ he said. ‘It could easily be an error in the paperwork. But, it appears that lately, on paper, there’s consistently been a substantial and systematic shortfall between what should be in stock and what actually is in stock.’

‘Well, I don’t know why you’re telling me,’ said Bernie. ‘You know everything taken from the store by the men has to be signed for. Since this new quality system was introduced, none of us can take a crap around here without following the correct written procedure, and then recording the crap’s weight and consistency on the correct form. My advice to you is to go do your sums again.’

Bernie was, among other things, the union representative for this branch of President Printing Company, and he was an excellent choice for the position.

He was a powerfully built, barrel-chested man of about fifty-five years, with broad shoulders and tree trunk legs. He had thick, moderately tattooed arms and a big square head. His head was topped by wispy strawberry blond hair that matched the wispy beard and moustache that protruded from his broad ruddy face.

He wasn’t a short man but, nevertheless, his intelligent pale blue eyes now had to look upwards, to a point beyond his bulbous nose, in order to bore into Alex’s dark but more placid eyes. He wore blue jeans, scuffed boots and an open necked check shirt. He was forthright in his opinions, of which he had many.

Bernie currently had the manner of a straight talker who had been put on high alert.

Alex, the branch’s financial controller, hadn’t been keen to approach Bernie about the missing stock, which obviously was being pilfered. He had put it off for several days, hoping some other less troublesome explanation would arise. However, he had been unable to delay any longer, and so he and his long-time workmate and friend were now having this robust discussion. Alex was at a serious disadvantage in such circumstances, as he preferred to avoid any sort of confrontation whenever he could.

Also, he had arrived at work this morning in a bad frame of mind. He had come fresh from a heated argument with his wife. He was doing his best to forget the regrettable argument for the moment and to get on with his job.

To make matters worse, today was one of the three days a week that Alex caught a crowded train and a bus to work so he could leave the family car at home for his wife to use. He had arrived hot and weary.

‘Bernie, I’ve done the sums about a dozen times,’ said Alex, becoming increasingly stressed, ‘and of course I’m not accusing anybody. I just thought you or one of your men might be able to think of some explanation, some flaw or oversight in the system, that could explain the shortfall.’

Alex was becoming aware he and Bernie were no longer having their discussion in private. Several of Bernie’s men had taken an interest and were now standing around them, craning their necks. Lee, the company sales manager, had also been nearby when the debate began. Alex noticed Lee had also wandered over to see if there was any help that could be offered, even if it was only in the way of moral support. Alex appreciated Lee’s gesture in joining him but, as Lee was habitually even more conciliatory and apologetic than he was when confronted, he suspected Lee’s presence would be of limited help.

Alex only had half his heart in the debate anyway, as he knew he didn’t have any evidence against any of Bernie’s men. He didn’t want to think any of them was the pilferer, nor did he wish to cast a suspicion of guilt over all of them by making imprecise accusations against the group in general. Also, his thoughts kept returning to this morning’s domestic argument.

After a few more ineffective exchanges between himself and Bernie, Alex shook Bernie’s hand and turned to go. Looking up, he was surprised to see two uniformed figures entering the room through the door from which he had intended to exit. Leading the deputation was a policewoman of medium size and build, about in her mid-twenties. She had a piece of paper in her hand and an accusing look on her face.

A policeman followed her, a policeman so large he made Bernie look small.

Alex’s initial impression was of blue uniforms, shining black shoes, silver badges, and black belts hung with pouches of various shapes and sizes.

With a start, he realised the policewoman was heading directly for him.

‘Are you Alex Black?’ asked the policewoman.

‘Yes,’ said Alex, taken aback. ‘Is everything all right? It’s not one of the kids, is it?’ he asked, becoming worried.

‘It’s my duty to present you with this restraining order,’ said the policewoman, ignoring Alex’s previous questions.

‘Restraining order? What do you mean, restraining order?’ asked Alex. ‘Who am I being restrained from?’

Alex’s first thought was that this must be some sort of mistake. Nevertheless, he could feel his face reddening as he became acutely aware of the attention of the others still in the room.

‘You are not to have any contact with your wife or children until the courts have addressed this issue,’ continued the policewoman, as she handed Alex the written order.

Alex extended his arm and accepted the offered piece of paper numbly, not knowing what to say or do. He was still wondering if this was some inexplicable mistake.

‘But why?’ said Alex. ‘What’s it all about?’

‘Your wife has taken out a violence restraining order against you, as she claims you threatened to kill her this morning,’ said the large policeman.

It appeared to Alex that this officer was completely unemotional about the whole thing, even a little bored.

Alex could feel himself becoming immobilised with shock and embarrassment. He sensed Bernie’s men retreating from the scene out of a sense of decency.

Bit late, thought Alex. It’ll be all over the shop in five minutes.

‘Well, can I go home and get some of my stuff?’ asked Alex, addressing the policeman, who seemed to him to be the more sympathetic of the two. At least he wasn’t openly antagonistic.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he replied. ‘You can’t approach your house at all until the courts have made a ruling.’

‘But what about my clothes and other things I’m going to need straight away?’

‘You’ll have to get someone else to collect them for you,’ replied the policeman.

He obviously just wanted to get out of there, now this unsavoury task was completed.

‘How long will this take to sort out, then?’ asked Alex.

‘Usually a couple of weeks,’ replied the policewoman.

‘But that’s my house, my home, you can’t lock me out.’

‘I guess you should have thought about that before you started threatening women,’ replied the policewoman.

‘But I didn’t threaten her,’ said Alex angrily.

‘Your wife claims you threatened to kill her. She is afraid for herself and her two children and, judging by your current behaviour, I can see why.’

‘Our two children,’ corrected Alex, at the same time realising the futility of the gesture.

‘You have now been served with a restraining order, and you must abide by it. Make sure you do, or you’ll be in serious trouble.’

The two officers turned and walked from the room, leaving only Alex, Lee and Bernie to remain, each looking stunned.

The shock of the event was so great, even Bernie was speechless.

CHAPTER TWO

On the morning Alex was being served with his restraining order, Chris was having a different kind of problem — the recently loaded dishwasher had started to leak soapy water.

Some twenty minutes earlier, the children had been packed off to school with their lunches and everything else they needed to see them through the school day. Thank goodness that job’s out of the way, thought Chris. But now, a rapidly growing puddle was appearing on the kitchen tiles. The puddle would soon reach the newly carpeted dining area. The two-week old wool-blend Berber carpet, for which Chris and Sam had saved for two years, would be saturated.

If it isn’t one thing, it’s another, thought Chris.

What to do? How do you turn the water off, anyway? thought Chris. I’m going to have to ring Sam at work, that’s all there is to it. I know Sam hates it when home problems intrude on precious work, but what am I supposed to do, let the carpet get ruined?

Chris grabbed the phone and used speed dial number one to make the call.

‘Sam Thompson speaking,’ came the greeting in Sam’s work voice, a voice that always made Chris bristle.

It was hard to believe it originated from the same person whose soft voice spoke to the children at home or even, occasionally, to Chris when the moment was right. Although those moments weren’t anywhere near as frequent as they once had been. But, what could you expect after 15 years of marriage?

‘Sam, it’s me’, said Chris. ‘Sorry to ring you at work. I know you don’t like me doing that, but I’ve got a bit of an emergency here.’

‘What is it, are the kids OK?’ asked Sam immediately.

Coincidentally, this was the same question currently being asked of a policewoman in the workshop downstairs.

‘Yes, yes, the kids are fine’, replied Chris. ‘At least, I suppose they are. They went off to school about twenty minutes ago. But the dishwasher’s leaking all over the floor. I told you it didn’t seem right the other day, and now there’s going to be water on the carpet soon if nothing’s done.’

‘Well, can’t you just turn it off?’ asked Sam.

‘Of course I’ve turned it off, but that’s no good. It’s already full of water, and it’s leaking out everywhere, and I think more is coming in anyway. I’m supposed to be at tennis in half an hour. It’s pennant today, so I can’t not turn up. Can’t you come home and help?’

‘Well, not really,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve got a meeting in an hour, and