The Isthmus Company

By Samantha Boulton

"From what I gather he doesn't even lock the doors half the time. He owns nothing overly expensive and there's nothing that he really cares about."

"The guy's got nothing?" Juniper asked incredulously. After all the people he had met during his time with the company, he found it hard to believe that there was someone who didn't

• Language: English
• Publisher: Book Vine Press
• Release date: May 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781952835025

Samantha Boulton

Samantha Boulton is from a small town that you've probably never heard of in the middle of Pennsylvania. Her first book, The Isthmus Company was released on November 26, 2013. She began the story while sitting in a math class her senior year of high school with the intention that no one should ever lay eyes on it. Since then, she has spent her time in classes the rest of high school and to this point in college, avoiding the gaze of her teachers as she scribbled down pieces of the story into a notebook or on a napkin during a break at her job. Currently, she is endeavoring to finish the last 5 books in the series that The Isthmus Company began.

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Copyright © 2020 by Samantha Boulton.

ISBN 978-1-952835-01-8 (softcover)

ISBN 978-1-952835-02-5 (ebook)

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Printed in the United States of America.

Book Vine Press

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Board Meeting

America

Voicemail

The Pier

Sunny

Vices

Vito

Options

Boxing

Conferences

Blackmail

Whiskey

Brothers

Kevlar

Saint Luke’s

Christmas

Board Meeting

Board meeting.

These were the words that every employee dreaded hearing, and Tag Jones was no exception. Tag’s blood was chilled every time he heard the words, though he had been with the Company the majority of his life. Nothing good ever came of a board meeting, as all of the employees knew. It bore no help on the dread that their boss had been trying to give up smoking, which put him in a worse mood than usual. It was widely contested that a worse mood than their boss’s usual was impossible.

Several employees made their way to the board room, many of them opting to take the multiple flights of stairs in an attempt to prolong their appearance before their boss. However great their distaste for the board meetings, no one dared to be late.

For Tag, the trek from his sixth floor office to the specified conference room on the twelfth floor passed far too quickly. That seemed to be the consensus of all of his colleagues that he met dawdling in the stairwell. Some of the employees he met in the stairwell were from his own office, though they had come from different places in the building.

Usually the twelfth floor was desolate, save for the four people who had desks opposite the conference room. All four desks were vacant. Currently, there were twenty people visible through the open door of the conference room.

Upon entering the dismal conference room, Tag’s attention was first drawn to the wall-length window opposite the door. It was the actual window that Tag found to be more interesting than the dreary street through which could be viewed. Splinters from the old pane littered the window ledge in piles shimmering like snow.

Attention was then directed from the window pane to the short, staunch man with graying hair and dark, wrinkling skin that was standing at the end of the table. Peter Isthmus, the head, and namesake, of the company, was nearly overshadowed by the massive leather chair behind which he stood. The buttons of his black suit coat strained over the recently acquired pudge around his middle: the focus of his new diet. There were two muscular men sitting on either side of Isthmus, making him appear much older and more out-of-shape. Together, the two men could not make up the age of Isthmus, or the I.Q. for that matter. Still, they found their use.

Winston and Trent, as the bodyguards were called, did not have to follow the dress code of the rest of the Company. They were dressed in their usual black shirt, black tie and black slacks. Despite being indoors, both of them wore dark sunglasses which concealed the wanderings of their eyes from anyone who was nervous enough to look. It was this that had many of the employees unnerved, for they could never tell if they were the targets of intense study by the pair. However, as only a handful had noticed, the two had a tendency to stare at the door during a meeting, as if they were waiting for it to do something wildly entertaining.

As Tag took a seat at the long table, he was careful of his selection of chairs. His choice was one of the farthest from the window, and Isthmus, and the second closest to the door. While he was sitting, Tag glanced down the table at his colleagues. It made him feel slightly out of place. He did not look as professional as most of the other men in the room, who were wearing three piece suits. Instead, he was wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and a black tie over a dark pair of jeans. There were only a few others in the room who were dressed similarly, all of whom were around the same age as he, and all of whom shared his office. Two of them were considered less professional than he. Juniper Marsaille, who had been with the Isthmus Company for four years, was notorious for letting his temper get the best of his judgment, an assumption many of the senior employees had made from his flaming red hair, and Alex Souris, who had only been with the Isthmus Company for two years and whose innocence was his biggest problem. A problem which could be cured with more experience, as most of the senior employees insisted. Tag had the feeling that, no matter how much experience Alex had, no one was going to take him seriously. His blonde hair and wide emerald eyes lent the impression that he should still be in high school.

Juniper and Alex were listening intently to what Isthmus was saying, and Tag realized that he should be listening to whatever lecture Isthmus was giving. He was distracted once again by Tryp Marxon. Tryp, one of the other employees, who was just as experienced as Tag, appeared to be taking notes on the lecture. As Tryp was a long-time friend, Tag knew better than to think that he was taking notes. From what Tag could see, he was doodling an indistinguishable picture that was most likely of their boss with horns, a pointed tail, and a pitchfork. This was one of the most popular caricatures among the younger employees, though it was occasionally sighted among the elder ones as well. However popular it was, no one dared to label it, or sign it. If it was ever found in someone’s possession, there was a plausible case for denial.

Tag settled back into the leather chair as he prepared to be bored for the better part of an hour, as was the traditional amount of time one of these meetings ran. He had to resist the urge to put his sneaker-clad feet on the table, something that he had to resist every meeting. He felt that if he had to endure the endless monotony, he at least deserved to be comfortable. He knew that if Isthmus found out what he was thinking, he would have found a way to make the employees much, much more uncomfortable. Instead, he ran his hand through his russet-colored hair and prepared to keep his copper eyes open.

Tag caught up to what Isthmus was saying and realized that he had only missed the standard introduction in which Isthmus tried to convince everyone that board meetings were a good thing. He spent a few minutes chastising those who were the last to come into the room, regardless of whether they were late or not.

As a reward for attending the meeting, I am extending the offer of an all-expense paid trip to America, he said enthusiastically, rocking forward on the balls of his feet. Isthmus never sat when he was in a room with other people.

Before the sentence was completed, all of the employees hastened to turn their eyes upon Isthmus. No one was eager to be sent, but they found that averting their eyes would cause Isthmus to pick them out first. It was a mistake that many had made when they were new to the business. Unfortunately for Alex, he still had not learned.

Thank you for volunteering, Mr. Souris, Isthmus said, gesturing to Alex. Alex tried to keep the disappointed and bewildered look from his face. That would only succeed in getting him in more trouble.

Have we no other volunteers? Isthmus asked. He paused for a moment as if he was expecting someone to leap out of their chair and volunteer. Clicking his tongue impatiently, he scanned the rest of the employees, who were all staring intently at him. No volunteers? he asked again, as if the second offer would change someone’s mind on the matter.

Tryp, who had been slumping forward with his elbows on the polished wooden table, his jaw-length hair obscuring his face, suddenly jerked to life. His elbow slid backward, knocking over a cup of coffee, which spilled its contents onto the table. Tag leapt out of his chair before the coffee could run over the edge and onto his legs.

That’s the spirit, Mr. Jones, Isthmus said, ecstatic at the enthusiasm that was lacked by everyone else in the room. His voice became sharper as he said, You can take your seat now.

Tag dropped into his chair dismally, keeping away from the edge of the table, from which coffee was running onto the floor. He glared at Tryp, who was smiling slightly. The glint in Tryp’s slate-colored eyes alerted Tag that this was no accident. Sir, if you please, I think that Mr. Marxon would be perfect for this assignment as well. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Tryp’s notebook, which had a number of drawings across the two open pages. Along the side of the page nearest him, some of the drawings were overshadowed by the words shut up etched darkly in pen.

Isthmus looked pensive as he considered the suggestion. What say you on the matter, Mr. Marxon? He shot a glance at Tryp, unable to see the pictures or the words on the notebook on the table.

Sir, if you please, I fear that my taking this assignment could damage my reputation. If I were to go, I would not be able to concentrate. You see, sir, my fiancée is having some trouble with her family; I really haven’t been able to get it off my mind lately. The last thing that this Company needs is someone going and besmirching our name by negligence and self-involvement, Tryp said, inclining his head respectfully.

"I quite agree, Mr. Marxon. We want nothing to deface the Company, especially after Mr. Marsaille’s overreaction on his last trip, he said, glaring at Juniper. Juniper shrunk in his chair when his eyes caught Isthmus’. After a moment of thought, Isthmus said, I think that Mr. Marsaille and Mr. Welk will finish out the team. I will hear no further dissension on the matter. Mr. Marsaille, keep your temper in check because I will not pay restitution to anyone else for your lack of self-restraint. Do I make myself clear?" Isthmus said, his steely eyes locking with Juniper’s.

The instant the eye contact was made, Juniper looked away grudgingly. Yes, sir, he responded dutifully.

You will leave tomorrow morning at five o’clock precisely. Be early to the hangar. There you will be fully informed of the specifics. Meeting adjourned, he said. No one moved until Isthmus waddled out of the door. Winston and Trent were the first out of the room after Isthmus.

As soon as Isthmus was out of the room, the other employees started to file out. Tryp turned to Tag and offered some of the napkins from the tray in the middle of the table. Tag glared at Tryp as he took the napkins and put them on the coffee puddle on the table. Dick, he muttered furiously.

I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Tryp said airily, finding the ceiling tiles suddenly very interesting. A small smile twitched at the corners of his lips, however. He reached for another cup of coffee. This one he had no intention of dumping on the table.

Alex glanced over his shoulder and said in a hushed voice, Why can’t they get the lower-levels to do this?

They don’t get them to do this type of thing because they’re completely unreliable and terribly behaved, Tryp concluded.

For instance, the one that brought the coffee. I saw him slip something in the cups when he put them on the table, Tag said offhandedly, resulting in a spray of coffee from Tryp’s mouth. Juniper and Alex snickered behind their hands. You would think that that would get old after fourteen years, Tag remarked with a laugh as he shook his head.

Tryp looked over at Tag with a snide smile and pushed the top of Tag’s chair. Tag tumbled backward onto the coffee-stained rug.

Tag stood, grumbling. He rubbed his head where it had hit off the floor. Did I ever mention how much I hate you?

Never, Tryp grinned.

If you two can act like adults for about five minutes, we really do need to talk about what’s going on, Justin Welk interrupted.

I don’t, Tryp responded, still smiling.

Justin sneered as he turned away from Tryp. I know that none of you were actually paying attention as Boss was talking, he said in a very dignified manner as he looked down his nose at Tryp’s open notebook. He stood and placed his hands on the table over his own outspread pages of notes. Justin was the eldest of the younger employees, aging at twenty-six. As such, he felt a certain obligation to the Company and he deemed himself their leader, though Tryp and Tag far outranked him in seniority. There was a sneaking suspicion among the other employees that Justin was trying to get himself into the line of inheritance for the Company, if ever Isthmus passed it along. This was not a popular idea among the employees. Isthmus had no intention of passing the business along, save for the unfortunate event of his untimely demise, as the odds were good for. His ambition was slightly beneficial for his colleagues, as they did not have to listen to lectures with scrutiny. Justin took it upon himself to transcribe every board meeting, telephone call, or conversation even partially relating to the Company that he participated in.

What exactly is going on? I didn’t quite catch it, Alex confessed, sitting up in his chair in an attempt to make himself more alert. It did not work as well as he had hoped.

Justin rolled his dark eyes melodramatically. You can’t catch much of anything when you’re asleep, he replied pointedly. His raven hair fell into his eyes as he glanced at his notes. At any rate, there are some issues that need to be addressed with regards to this particular trip. We will be meeting with a man in America, who has no idea that we’re coming. He initially borrowed thirty thousand dollars from the Company, but with the interest and subsequent loans he was granted, he owes over five million. That was over two years ago and we’ve only gotten seven hundred thousand of it back. He hasn’t been keeping with the minimum payments and, for the past five months, he has failed to make any payments or contact us. Boss is being rather gracious about it, understanding that maybe the man has had unexpected expenses for a month or two. But now he feels that this could drag on for quite some time and he feels that we need to instill in this man a sort of motivation.

We know how it works, Justin, Tag said sharply. He had been at the Company far longer than Justin and did not need a reminder of what his job title was. He was Senior Collector Tag Jones, after all.

Justin glared at Tag. But that’s where we start to run into problems with this particular case. There’s nothing for collateral. He drives an old Ford pickup truck and he doesn’t bother to put it in the garage. He has a fairly nice house for the area, but he doesn’t seem overly conscious of the security. He has no cameras, not even the standard alarm system. From what I gather he doesn’t even lock the doors half the time. He owns nothing overly expensive and there’s nothing that he really cares about.

The guy’s got nothing? Juniper asked incredulously. After all the people he had met during his time with the Company, he found it hard to believe that there was someone who didn’t obsess about at least one thing. He’d even noticed that most of his colleagues were obvious about what they held as their prized possessions.

There’s always something, Tag corrected him. One of the things that had been ingrained in his mind during his fourteen years with the Company was that there was always something; no matter who the person, no matter what the situation.

Justin, who had never had many dealings with the green employees, rolled his eyes, exasperated and at the end of his patience. He thought that their objective was a relatively simple one and he did not see why any of them would be having trouble understanding these simple concepts. Any other questions? he asked sardonically, looking between Alex and Juniper.

Why are you such a condescending git? Juniper asked in a measured tone. Alex snickered. Tag and Tryp looked at Justin, interested in what he had to say on the matter.

Justin glared at Juniper, then returned to his usual, self-satisfied smile. We’ll be meeting in the hangar tomorrow morning. Be there early.

And I won’t, Tryp said with a satisfied smile, raising his coffee cup in a toast to himself.

America

It was four o’clock in the morning when the alarm on Tag’s cell phone jarred everyone in the car to life. Tag, Juniper, and Alex had been trying to stay awake so that they could sleep during the hours they were set to spend on an airplane. Somewhere around two, their efforts failed. Juniper pushed open the passenger’s side door and three aluminum cans, which had held energy drinks a few hours before, came clanking to the ground. He winced at the sound; the amount of caffeine that he had consumed during the night was finally starting to wear off and it left his head swimming.

Tag pushed his sunglasses against the bridge of his nose, hoping to block out any traces of light that were leaking into the hangar through the high windows and the open door. It was also to keep from exposing the red of his eyes. He did not feel like hearing yet another lecture from Justin on something that was none of his concern.

The sunrise was visible through the low window on the door of the hangar, but no one acknowledged it. The only effect the sunrise had on them was that they were all wearing sunglasses and cowering away from the light. Alex did, however, spare it a glance as he sat on the hood of Tag’s car. The reverie was interrupted when Tag shoved him off and warned him about scratching the paint.

Upon seeing a dark blue car pulling into the hangar, Alex, Juniper, and Tag hurried onto the plane. It was not that they were eager to leave; they just did not think they could stand the self-righteous speech that Justin would make if he got on the plane first.

After a thorough inspection by Thomas Maen, a man who had been doing inspections of the aircrafts of the company, as well as the cargo that they transported, for as long as Tag could remember, the plane was in the air in a shorter time than they had hoped.

Within minutes of taking off, Juniper, Alex, and Tag were all nodding off, during which time Justin took the liberty of using his laptop to research the area to which they were traveling. The surveillance advisors in America had gone so far as to set up cameras around the perimeter of the house of Asa DelSegno, the man who was the reason for this visit. For hours, Justin sat and watched the live feed, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. There were no pets. There were no spectacular deliveries that they might intercept as collateral. All that sat in the driveway was the black Ford F-150 pickup truck, about which they already knew. The only thing that the cameras seemed to pick up was a great deal of motion within the house. Then a window on the second story opened. As soon as he saw movement on the monitor, Justin perked up and began paying closer attention.

According to the time stamp in the corner of the screen, it was half past midnight. A young man in a plaid shirt and faded jeans sat on the top board of the dilapidated fence that separated the DelSegno’s yard from the yard of their neighbor. He pushed his sandy brown hair out of his eyes. A blonde girl wearing a short white sundress and cowboy boots was climbing down the garden lattice that was fastened to the side of the house. She looked to be in her late teens, as Justin perceived it. As she neared the fence, she shot a glance over her shoulder at the dark house. That glance did not last long, for she took the boy’s hand and allowed him to help her over the fence. Within a few seconds, both disappeared from view.

It was nearly dawn when the girl hopped over the fence once again. The boy leaned against the top plank of the fence, holding the girl’s hand. Their heads were leaned close together in the dim light of the morning. The girl was tracing circles in the grass with the toe of her boot. It was at this point that Justin wished there was audio, for they appeared to be having quite a conversation. A large, shaggy golden retriever bounded up behind the boy. The dog skidded on the grass, slamming into the back of the boy’s legs. His knees buckled and he fell into the fence. The girl appeared to be giggling as she leaned down to help him up. Something must have made a sound within the house, for both of their attention was drawn there. The girl leaned forward and quickly wrapped her arms around the boy’s neck. It was only a few seconds before she released him and ran toward the house. She shimmied up the lattice as a light on the second floor of the house flicked on. The boy watched her until she was inside the window. When he saw the light, he, too, took off at a run away from the house. His shaggy golden retriever loped after him.

Even in the dim light, Justin could tell that this girl was distinctly Asa DelSegno’s daughter, for she had the same emerald green eyes and blonde hair as her father. This set a thought into Justin’s mind and, as the hours dragged on, he started to formulate a plan.

As the plane was touching down, Tag had just started to come back to consciousness, enough to realize that he needed to get moving. Juniper woke on his own as well, though he was not at all pleased by this. Alex, however, needed to be prodded in the side with a pencil before he was forced back into reality. Crap, he muttered as he reluctantly opened his eyes.

Tag, who had exited the plane as soon as he could, shouted up to them, Get moving. There was nothing that he hated more than being on a collection trip longer than absolutely necessary.

Alex and Juniper trudged down the stairs and into the hangar. Justin, however, strode along, a smirk on his face and a spring in his step.

There was a black car with tinted windows sitting in the corner of the hangar. When they opened the doors of the car, they found that the keys were in the ignition and there was a white envelope tucked in the glove compartment, as there always was. In the envelope, there was a list of things that Isthmus wanted done, as well as the specifics of exactly how he wanted them done. Justin read them aloud, for none of the others made an attempt to take the paper and read it for themselves.

I’ll pick up the things from town, Tag said the instant he heard the option. He would opt to do whatever it was that got him away from the rest of the group. No one disputed this. Tag was the only senior Collector on the trip, therefore he was the delegator of duties.

The rolling hills alongside the road held none of the aesthetic appeal for them that they may have held for someone going on a leisurely drive. The brilliant sunshine that made the day warm held no pleasure for them, either.

Juniper had his arm out the window, his fingers continually strumming on the outside of the door in an agitation that was only curable by repetitive movement. He was unaware of the action until Justin turned from the front seat to glare at him, seething with irritation.

Yeah, yeah, Juniper muttered, knowing what Justin was irritated about. Grudgingly, he pulled his hand back inside the car. In moments he was tapping the same frustrated rhythm on his leg.

What state are we in? Tag asked offhandedly as he stared out the windshield.

Pennsylvania, Alex responded in a bored voice.

Three hours of rolling farmland scenery and tall mountains passed before they pulled off the highway onto an exit that led to an even more rural road. Houses were sparsely located, though they eventually got more dense. Even at their most dense, they did not total that of a suburb of a small city. When they reached the sign that marked the town to which they were supposed to be going, Tag glanced over his shoulder at his companions. Juniper, keep that anger in check, will you? Alex, stop being so timid. And Justin, don’t pull your stupid crap, or I swear you will pay for it. Got it? he asked sharply.

Alex, Juniper, and Justin nodded bitterly.

Satisfied, Tag hopped out of the car in the middle of town, holding the envelope of directions.

From the spot at which Tag got out of the car, he could see a stone spire that bore a clock on top of it. It appeared to be the courthouse of the town. There was something quaint about the scene that was odd to him. It was not common for him to see multiple church steeples protruding into the sky instead of tall, windowed walls of office buildings.

The scene of the small town was also contradictory to what they had been told regarding Asa DelSegno. Nothing about this area would indicate a man that owed millions of dollars to Isthmus.

Tag watched as the car drove away without him and he made his way to the businesses on the list.

Justin looked between the map that he had pressed against the steering wheel and the road in front of him. As much as he would’ve liked to have used the GPS unit mounted on the dashboard, he had been advised that most of the dirt and gravel roads in the area were not documented on it--they could only be found on local maps. I think this is it, he murmured, making a turn onto a dirt road. He looked up at the house they were sitting in front of. Though he had spent hours studying the comings and goings of the people within the house, there was something surprising about it that he could not describe.

The house itself was a mint green color with pale pink shutters. On the pale pink shutters, there were darker pink hearts that looked as though someone had taken the time to paint them by hand. It had the impression of a house designed in the nineteen seventies. The large yard was mostly filled by a garden that was blossoming with flowers.

The dilapidated fence barely stood between the yard of the DelSegno’s and a large yard that seemed to span for a few acres. Justin could barely make out a barn two hundred yards away from the fence. The swing on the porch of the DelSegno house was swaying gently with the breeze. White lace curtains were drawn to the sides of the window that appeared to be in the living room. The curtains had been closed when Justin was looking at the house through surveillance cameras, which he now saw. They were discreetly placed and would have been practically invisible to anyone who was not specifically looking for them.

The three climbed out of the car, trying not to look too conspicuous. It seemed that this would be the type of neighborhood that would notice a strange car and three young men that none of them had ever seen before. Juniper stepped onto the small stone path, paying special attention to the whereabouts of any tutelary pets. It was one of the lessons he had learned from his last assignment when he had to have stitches after being bitten by a Rottweiler. When there were no pets wandering around, they all moved a little more easily.

Justin knocked on the door briskly, using the small brass clapper that was twisted into an ornate heart. The house was too friendly; so much so that it was almost sickening to behold.

No answer came, so Justin knocked again and again. After the first five knocks,