Midnight of the Phoenix

By Jim Brewster

: Darius Bey, an Egyptian immigrant, has risen to preeminence in corporate America by devious financial manipulation. He conglomerate, International Holdings, Inc., has recently acquired a medical research firm whose data from a new vaccine indicates a cure for AIDS. Initially heralding a miraculous break-through, more extensive testing in Zaire divulges an alarming morality rate. Unwilling to release the damaging results to the FDA, Bey plans to aggressively market the drug while secretly buying millions of shares of company stock with the aid of his Mafia partners. Aware that he must stay one step ahead of the certain SEC and the FBI investigation, he plans to dump the stock after its initial run-up blaming his executives, specifically a newly hired VP Marketing.

Beys devious plan entangles four applicants for the new VP Marketing position. They have been brought in as a group for interviews. As the interviews proceed, they become increasingly aware that something is wrong with the project. What started as competition for a job becomes an ominous involvement leading to violence. Almost by accident, the candidates start the domino effect that leads to the unraveling of Beys plans. In the process, two love stories develop among the applicants. Finally exposed, Bey seeks to escape only to die in a fiery plane crash as he is taking off for the Caymans.

There are four principal characters in addition to Darius Bey: Tom Orrick, divorced ex-Bronco defensive back; Elyda Nelson, a beautiful Black woman with limited expectations yet the most eager for the job; Chris Parker, Boston Brahmin, graduate of Hotchkiss School, Yale University, and Harvard Business School, engaged to a Back Bay socialite; Sue Benson, Miss America runner-up, embittered by her hero fathers infidelity. Other characters involved are executive recruiters, Orricks Bronco buddies, and a nubile young Latino who plays to Beys well-known appetites.

The story is dialog driven. The location is set in downtown Phoenix, Arizona with sorties to various towns in the Valley.

The title derives from the legend (Egyptian) of the ancient Phoenix consumed by flames at midnight but reborn at dawn from its own ashes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 3, 2001
• ISBN: 9781462802876

Jim Brewster

The author, a veteran and graduate of Washington and Lee University, is a retired sales executive. He has written and produced five stage plays and has a published novel, The Silver Star. His business experience includes executive positions with US Steel, Arvin Industries and a long-term association with a Japanese steel company. He and his wife have lived in many parts of the country and have traveled to Japan on a number of occasions. They currently live in suburban Phoenix.

Book preview

MIDNIGHT

OF THE

PHOENIX

Jim Brewster

Copyright © 2000 by Jim Brewster.

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 permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-7-XLIBRIS

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Ask me no more if East or West

The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;

For unto you at last she flies,

And in your fragrant bosom dies.

Thomas Carew 1595-1639

The Legend of the Phoenix

According to legend, the phoenix lived in Arabia; when it reached the end of its life (500 years), it burned itself on a pyre of flames, and from its ashes a new phoenix arose

CHAPTER ONE

Tom eased the MG onto I-25 from the Denver Tech Center and headed north to Boulder. He had taken down the roof to let the cold air clear his head. The afternoon meeting had been another fiasco. He had been unable to convince his boss to try a new approach with one of his most recalcitrant customers. It ended, as it always seemed to, doing it the old fashioned way. Oh, well, another day wasted.

Sneaking a glance to the west, he saw that the sky was dark and brooding, promising snow. This was the weekend for Steamboat!

Making the big turn onto the Boulder Turnpike, he began to check off girls he could ask for the weekend. Of the several names that came to mind, he got stuck on Sally’s. He owed her. She was a fun gal but she always seemed just a hair off center. Well, he’d call her anyway; maybe she’d be busy. He had to admit it was pretty late to ask anyone. If Sally couldn’t go, he’d go alone and really get in some serious skiing.

Back in his condo in Boulder, the TV reported that weather was on the way. Climbing into his tattered Bronco sweats, he still debated whether he should call Sally. Passing his dresser, he caught sight of the picture she had given him in September after her trip to Bermuda. Staring at the healthy body, barely covered with the suggestion of a bikini, he made his decision. He dialed her number.

Hi, Sally! Tom. How are you? Hopefully his friendly voice would bridge the three-week silence.

Tom, Tom? Tom who? Have we met?

Not an auspicious beginning. Sal! I’m sorry I haven’t called. I had to make a quickie to LA and things got a little crazy. I missed you. Like to see you. Say, I was wondering—I know it’s awful late but if you were free this weekend, would you like to go to Steamboat? The skiing should be really cool!

There was a long pause during which Tom knew that his credibility was on the line. Having lied about the LA trip, he didn’t expect much.

Oh, Tommy, I’m sorry but I’ve got another—I—I made another date—. Oh, Tom, you bastard! Yes, I’m free. That’s the reason I’m so easy. I’m free. If I charged you, I’d never get a call.

The implication that she was a prostitute did not ease Tom’s guilty conscience. Sally, don’t say things like that. You know you mean a lot to me. It’s just that sometimes I get tangled up in this nutty business I’m in and don’t get time to do the things I really want to do." These were half-truths and they both knew it.

Oh, forget it, Tom. I could take myself off the market if I didn’t care about you. Sure, let’s do Steamboat. The trouble is, I’m pretty sure you do mean skiing, not enjoying its more intimate pleasures.

Everything in its season, Sal. Thanks, that’s great! Could I pick you up tomorrow about three? Will that work? I’d like to try to beat some of the snow boarders over Berthoud Pass. OK?

That’s cool. See you tomorrow. Bye, lover, Sally ended softly as she disconnected.

Lover! Well, there’s the hook. He knew too well that Sally was thinking permanence and he was not ready to plan a three-day weekend. He’d met Sally at a wild party one of his old Bronco buddies had thrown. She was an absolute 10, and had come on to him! But after the pain of his aborted marriage, he wasn’t ready to start a long-termer with anyone yet, a 10 or not.

He pulled a Beck’s Dark out of the refrigerator, drained half of it, and reached for a can of corned beef hash. Opening it, he dumped it into the frying pan. Just as he was turning on the burner, the phone rang.

Hello

Thomas Orrick?

More or less, who’s calling?

My name is Melvin Sachs, I’m with Cassidy, Stewart and Fine. We’re what are vulgarly known as headhunters out of New York. How are you, Thomas? Do you have a minute or two?

Melvin, this is a genuine pleasure. May I turn off my gourmet hash?

Switching off the burner, he sat up on the counter. Now, Melvin out of New York, what may I do for you?

Great, Thomas—

Excuse me, Melvin, could I convince you to use Tom, then I’d be sure you were talking to me.

Certainly, of course, you bet, Tom. And you must call me, Melvin, but then I guess you were, weren’t you. Fine, fine. Well, well, to cut to the chase, I want to talk to you about a rather fantastic career opportunity. People I have the ultimate respect for have referred your name to me and I believe that we have a rather miraculous match. This happens only rarely and I am truly excited.

Boy, Mel, you went by me so fast I never saw you. ‘Fantastic career opportunity, people you have the ultimate respect for.’ I got to tell you, I’m impressed. You’re talking about little old Tommy-boy. What is it you’re trying to feed me, Mel?

There was a momentary pause as Sachs attempted to adjust to Tom’s casual manner.

Ha, ha, Thomas, err, Tom, we deal in bull offal not feed. Tom had to credit Melvin with a score on that recovery. Could we be serious for one moment, Tom? I really would like the opportunity of talking to you about this fantastic career opportunity. Would it be at all possible to meet with you Saturday? I could fly into Denver on the early United flight and we could spend an hour or two, whatever you wanted. I think you’d find the conversation very interesting, Tom!

Tom was impressed Here was a guy who would fly to Denver on the spur of the moment to try to woo him to some off the wall career opportunity. Mel, you have my attention. I tell you what though, I have plans to go to Steamboat skiing this weekend, and somebody else is involved so I can’t very well change the deal at this point. See what I’m saying, Mel. While he was doing this, his mind ran a quick evaluation of the present, increasingly frustrating job.

Oh, yes of course, I see. Steamboat–certainly–skiing—naturally inopportune. Tell you what. Let me check the schedules and see if I can get in and out of Steamboat on Saturday—if I can, would you give me one hour for a chat? I promise not to take more of your time than that but I truly think you’d be interested in what I’ve found.

Tom weighed Melvin’s earnestness and extreme motivation against the flack he would get from Sally and his own desire to use all the available time skiing. This weekend was not working out as he had planned.

Well, Mel, if you want to make that kind of trip, I certainly won’t play hard to get. I have a condo at the Bighorn Lodge Resort, Number 89. Let me give you the number. Do you have a piece of paper and a pen?

There was a momentary pause, Now, I’m ready, Tom, if you please?

Number is, area code 970-857-9031. I have a tape on the phone so if I’m out at the time, simply tell me where and when you want to get together and I’ll be there.

Wonderful, just wonderful! Let’s leave it this way; if I cannot get the flights, I will call you within the hour. Otherwise, the next time you hear from me will be to arrange our meeting. I am so pleased, Thomas, err, Tom. I look forward with great anticipation to meeting you and thank you so much for taking the time out of your weekend.

Well, Mel, I hope you won’t be disappointed after coming all that way. I’m a pretty low-grade possibility.

Sorry, Tom, I know pretty well who you are. It’s my business to act the detective. I’ve checked you out pretty thoroughly. You are my number one choice. See you sometime Saturday and thanks again. The voice signed off with a click.

Tom held the receiver for a minute letting this strange conversation sink in.

What the hell, he thought. How did I get to be a viable candidate for some hotshot job? How does he know anything about me in the first place? Flying to Steamboat from New York for an hour’s chat! Sounds weird to me but if he wants to spend the money, the least I can do is listen. Sally will really love it!

Tom had no sooner hung up from this strange call than the phone rang again.

Well, whadda ya know! The phone doesn’t ring for a week, and then two calls in a row. Must be my new toothpaste.

Toothpaste? The familiar gravel voice of his father came over the line.

Oh, hi, Dad! Yeah, saying toothpaste is considered excellent exercise for your facial muscles.

You don’t have enough muscles, you got to develop facial muscles? I think you’re weird.

Tom could image the expression of amusement on his father’s face.

Oh, didn’t I tell you, I’m auditioning for a high wire act that requires a bulldog bite. You just can’t cut it with flaccid jaw muscles.

Could we slow down, son, I’m not quite up to your stand-up comic routine. How the hell are you anyway? Haven’t heard from you in quite a while. Your mother was beginning to get concerned.

Sorry, Dad, I guess my routine here doesn’t excite me that much, but that’s a poor excuse. I’ll try to be more regular. It was a promise that neither father nor son expected to see fulfilled.

S’ok. Long’s you’re all right. Let me put your mother on, hang on.

"Tommy! Hello, darling. How are you? We haven’t heard from you lately. Is everything all right?" Her voice was tinged with the soft edge of her hurt.

Sorry, mom. Yeah, I’m great. You? How are you doing? Good, great, glad to hear it. Dad not working too hard? He tried to deflect her gentle reprimand.

Oh, Tommy, ranching is just getting too hard—ten, twelve hours a day, and it’s almost impossible to find good help that’ll stay. Right now we have only one, fairly reliable hand. With winter coming on we may get through. Any chance of you coming up any time soon?

Her concern and the question were too closely related for him to miss the point. His mother needed his help in convincing his father to retire. His Dad had been ranching their 1000-acre spread for thirty years but a freak accident had left him with a crippled leg. Tom knew it was past time for him to retire.

"Actually I was about to call you. I got a ski weekend lined up for tomorrow but how about a week from Sunday—that fit? I’ve accumulated some vacation time

Wonderful, Tommy, how long could you stay? The question he always hated to answer.

Oh, I don’t know for sure, three, four, five days maybe.

That would be just marvelous! Dad will be so pleased. Oh, Tommy, it will be so great to see you!

As he hung up, Tom realized his life was suddenly getting very complicated.

CHAPTER TWO

Elyda inched the car west through the five o’clock snarl of traffic. Alden Park Manor was still eight miles and an hour away. She groaned as the cars began backing up for another accident. She might get home by seven if she was lucky.

Frustrated and exhausted she turned into the frontage street that lead to her apartment. Pulling into the carport, she climbed wearily out of the car. The phone was ringing as she unlocked the door. Hoping the caller would hang up before she could answer, she, reluctantly, lifted the receiver.

Why don’t you get a helicopter, then you might get home at some reasonable time. Do you know it’s almost seven o’clock? This is ridiculous!

Oh, hi, Sophie.

You sound like, I don’t know what? You all right?

I’m fine, Sophie, just a little beat. Tough day, that’s all. How are you? How goes the big time? Elyda was so tired she had to force herself to sound pleased her friend had called.

If this is the big time, honey, I’ve been sadly deceived. So be it! It is fun at the moment. Listen, I know you’re tired and this isn’t the time to talk but I do need to see you as soon as possible. Something kind of intriguing has come into the office that I think you’d be interested in. Sophie’s crisp tone was excited.

You mean a tall, very dark, handsome moneybags?

Sophie’s boisterous laugh burst through the phone. "No, honey, no! That is the big time and I won’t be calling you when that happens—me first, remember? No, this is a job; excuse me, an executive position with a real hummer of an outfit in Phoenix. You gotta let me tell you about it, but not now. I’m guessin’ you’re not feeling receptive at the moment. Tomorrow, lunch, Fishbone’s at noon. I’ll make the reservation, OK?"

Well, la-de-dah! Must be some kind of job, or position, for you to spring for lunch. Sure, that’s fine, tomorrow noon. I’ll see you there as close to noon as I can get there. I apologize for being so out of it, just pooped, I guess

Been there, done that! But, honey, I’m gonna change all that! See you tomorrow.

Elyda slowly put down the phone. Sophie was obviously excited but it failed to penetrate her depressed exhaustion.

She dragged herself into the bedroom, kicking off her shoes. Struggling out of her dress, she let it fall to the floor as she sank onto the bed.

She knew why she was so tired–far beyond any demands of the job. Aware of all the conflicting feelings that gave her no peace, she closed her eyes hoping sleep would erase them.

But as she knew it would, her daughter’s face stared at her–the bewildered look of a child with no mother. Elyda had tried to make peace with herself after letting her mother keep Stacey for the school year but the hurt face would not leave her alone. Elyda choked back tears–she simply would not cry again.

The job had been the reason she had let her mother keep Stacey. The irregular hours, the constant stress, the anxiety over whether Chrysler would accept the new designs, the shortage of qualified help, and the threat of losing her position all combined to keep her in constant turmoil.

And, finally, there was the loneliness of her monastic existence. She was too exhausted to go to the parties Sophie kept urging her to attend so there was no one in her life that meant anything to her. Her life was an endless cycle of tedium, anxiety and loneliness.

Her agreement to meet Sophie for lunch only complicated her life. She not only had to drive the ten miles to the restaurant but she had had to reschedule a meeting for three o’clock, which meant that it would probably last past six.

She got to Fishbone’s at twelve fifteen—delayed in traffic as usual. Looking around the sea of white faces until, waving wildly from the rear, she saw Sophie.

Honey, I’d about given you up. Come here. Sit down. You don’t look so great to me. What’s the matter? Fill old Sophie in.

Oh, sorry, Soph. Traffic! Same old, same old. I’m all right. Didn’t sleep all that well last night.

Listen to me, baby, you need a man bad! Sophie’s voice carried to several of the nearby tables. Heads turned toward them. Elyda visibly cringed.

I don’t need a man! I need some sleep, is all. She hissed as a warning to Sophie.

Well, if you don’t need a man, you need a woman! Sophie’s high-pitched