Cream
By Mark SaFranko
To anyone who ever encountered him, Eltenberger had always seemed a bit “off.” There was “just something about him,” as people like to say. His intense gray eyes seemed to bug out of his skull. His gait was full of odd little hitches. Instead of enunciating his words, he tended to mumble, as if to himself. But as is the case with many such individuals, being “off” didn’t prevent him from doing extremely well at his job. He did well enough, in fact, to support a wife who was out of gainful employment most of the time, pay the mortgage, meet the payments on a new SUV, and even manage two weeks’ vacation every summer. What went on between Eltenberger’s ears—as with most everyone else muddling through life—didn’t much affect how he functioned in the world.
He’d been at the company a few years now, and had worked himself into a solid position. He’d long had his eye on becoming manager of the graphic artists’ pool, both the permanents and the freelancers, and as far as he could see, there was no legitimate competition whatsoever from within the firm—which was a small company based on the eastern fringe of Albuquerque. If he faced a potential obstacle, it was that he was looked upon as somewhat difficult to work with. His boss, Tomgarten, unfailingly mentioned this to him during his annual reviews. And he had the sense, though no one ever came out and confirmed it directly, that his coworkers weren’t particularly enamored of him. Still, when the time came for a promotion, he had to figure that his was the name that would be announced. Results were what mattered, and he produced.
Until he realized that he faced a second, more serious obstruction: Bradley Schelling. Schelling, who’d been brought on a few months back as a temp and quickly became popular around the office, might indeed turn out to be his stiffest competition to win the vacant supervisor position when Amelia Hernandez retired at the end of April. Schelling was one of those jackasses—at home, Eltenberger referred to him as a blowhard—who made friends and allies of virtually everyone. He fluttered around the office like a gigantic butterfly, babbling like the garrulous disk jockey he once was, but whose work, in Eltenberger’s estimation, was decidedly subpar. He also couldn’t help but notice that Schelling was spending more and more time in Tomgarten’s office, door closed, prattling on and laughing with the boss as if they were best friends planning the takeover of the world. What made it all worse was that Schelling invariably emerged from those tête-à-têtes with a wide grin on his face, which could mean only one thing: he was the one who was going to nail Amelia Hernandez’s vacant job.
From that moment, Eltenberger could hardly contain his jealousy. And when he overheard Elise and Simone from Legal and Contracts whispering one afternoon that Schelling was probably going to be named manager of Graphic Arts, he was beside himself.
“What the hell does that idiot have that I don’t?” he groused to his wife over dinner.
And she answered, “I don’t know,” while pouring herself more sangria, which Eltenberger knew she was addicted to even if she would never cop to it. Carole was so preoccupied, with drinking and picking up and caring for stray cats, mostly, that he suspected she scarcely paid attention to what he said anymore, so long as the bills were paid.
Fine by him. He didn’t really want to be involved in his wife’s petty concerns, just as he didn’t want her too involved in certain areas of his life. When the time came, if she was ever questioned by certain people, Carole would have no idea what they were talking about.
Eltenberger had hatched a plan. It had descended on him deep in the night, forming piece by piece like an automobile coming together on an assembly line, and he’d chewed it over, examined it this way and that until it made perfect sense, even in the bright light of the New Mexico morning.
When it was revised and polished, it went something like this…Eltenberger had hatched a plan. It had descended on him deep in the night, forming piece by piece like an automobile coming together on an assembly line, and he’d chewed it over, examined it this way and that until it made perfect sense, even in the bright light of the New Mexico morning.
Everybody in the office knew that Schelling was a caffeine addict, the worst in the place, accounting as it did for his obnoxious ebullience, and that he always made sure the refrigerator in the break room was stocked with his favorite creamer—a vanilla almond variety manufactured by a major company. Eltenberger had read on the public library’s computer, in the interest of not being traced, that sodium cyanide actually carried the taste of that particular nut. All he had to do was spike Schelling’s condiment with the stuff and the pain in his rear would be out of the picture altogether.
It was such a simple solution to his problem, Eltenberger was surprised it hadn’t occurred to him earlier.
He studied as much as he could about the toxin: how to measure it, transport it, conceal it, and finally, and most importantly, how to make sure the quantity was powerful enough to be effective.
Eltenberger howled out loud. It was an insane plan. Utterly insane. You had to be wary of plans concocted in the middle of the night—they could be as crazy as dreams. But many times in life the crazy stuff was what worked, didn’t it? Think of the Wright Brothers. A man on the moon. 9/11….
One thing was for certain. They would never be able to link the poison to him. He would make sure of that. And come hell or high water, he was going to be captain of the Graphic Arts department.
Eltenberger got into the office early every morning, almost always before anyone else, which was essential to his scheme. If he didn’t deviate from his routine, he wouldn’t draw attention to himself. And it had been wise of him to never express his dislike, his pure hatred of Schelling publicly, because they’d never be able to attach a motive to him.
It would be a simple matter to siphon the poison into Schelling’s personal creamer when no one was looking, then sit back and watch it take effect. He took no chances: he tore off a paper towel and positioned it between his fingers and the loud, yellow-colored container when he injected the deadly substance.Eltenberger got into the office early every morning, almost always before anyone else, which was essential to his scheme. If he didn’t deviate from his routine, he wouldn’t draw attention to himself. And it had been wise of him to never express his dislike, his pure hatred of Schelling publicly, because they’d never be able to attach a motive to him.
That morning he peeked furtively from behind his credenza as Schelling hustled back and forth from the break room to his cubicle carrying his “Land Of Enchantment” mug until just before noon, when he suddenly announced, “I’m not feeling too good. I think I’m going to head home.”
It was working.
Someone remarked that the flu was going around; another voice countered that it wasn’t the flu, it was a virus. Then the conversation sputtered out, everyone went back to work, and Eltenberger peered over his cubicle wall just in time to catch the back of Schelling’s head as it bobbed out the front doors and towards the parking lot.
Eltenberger forced himself to suppress the laugh bubbling up inside his belly. He knew he couldn’t allow himself to relax just yet. His paramount concern now was removing that contaminated container from the fridge before someone else used it; people were famous around here for helping themselves to what wasn’t theirs. If it wasn’t necessary, he didn’t want to create collateral damage, though it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be rid of some of the other annoying chatterboxes infesting the place.
To his immense relief, no one else used the creamer before he was able to get it out of the refrigerator. When the break room was vacant, he poured the remaining liquid into the drain, rinsed the empty container and tossed it into the recycle receptacle, which would be emptied that evening by the janitorial crew.Eltenberger forced himself to suppress the laugh bubbling up inside his belly. He knew he couldn’t allow himself to relax just yet. His paramount concern now was removing that contaminated container from the fridge before someone else used it; people were famous around here for helping themselves to what wasn’t theirs. If it wasn’t necessary, he didn’t want to create collateral damage, though it wouldn’t be the worst thing to be rid of some of the other annoying chatterboxes infesting the place.
To Eltenberger’s surprise, Schelling took a few days to die. Once the news got around, there was much frantic discussion in the office over what could possibly have happened to him, since he’d been in fine health. Hell, he was one of those people who never even missed a day of work. It was a bizarre mystery to everyone who knew him.
Two days later, Tomgarten summoned Eltenberger into his office.To Eltenberger’s surprise, Schelling took a few days to die. Once the news got around, there was much frantic discussion in the office over what could possibly have happened to him, since he’d been in fine health. Hell, he was one of those people who never even missed a day of work. It was a bizarre mystery to everyone who knew him.
“Can you believe this shit?” The boss shook his head in consternation. “Schelling goes and kicks the bucket, and now I hear that his wife claims something is very fishy about what happened to him. According to her, he had a constitution of iron. He was the healthiest man in the world! Absolutely no reason whatsoever for him to go into convulsions and die.”
“Convulsions…?”
Eltenberger feigned shock. When it began to sink in, he was shocked. It was as if up to this point, he really didn’t believe that he’d committed murder. Not knowing what else to do or say, he sat there shaking his head. Secretly he was pleased that Schelling had suffered, but he was also anxious about events that might be, and probably were, unfolding beyond his control. How could he think something like this could ever work? He was as stupid as any other nincompoop who thought he could get away with the perfect crime.
Tomgarten leaned forward in his chair.
“He might have been poisoned,” the boss whispered confidentially. “Can you believe it?”
“What?”
“I’m not kidding.”
Eltenberger whispered, “No,” with all the conviction he could muster.
“I got a call this morning from security that the police are about to invade our space and question everyone who knew Schelling. That means you and me and everybody else in here. As if we need that disruption, when we’re facing so many deadlines! Something like this could cost me my job!”
“Really…?” muttered Eltenberger.
Tomgarten shook his head solemnly.
Eltenberger hoped that his own rising panic wouldn’t show. “When, do you think?”
“When what?”
“The police…”
Tomgarten shrugged. He seemed distracted, as if he’d already moved on to thinking about something else. “I don’t know. I wasn’t told. Maybe they want to catch us all by surprise.”
Eltenberger gulped. He hoped it wasn’t audible. “W-why us?”
“Right!” Tomgarten exploded. “Everybody here loved Schelling, didn’t they? Why would the cops even want to sniff around this place?”
The boss let out a small, tight chuckle. “Come to think of it, Eltenberger, you’re about the only person in this company who didn’t consider Schelling his closest friend.”
Eltenberger felt himself blanch. What could he say to that? He’d just opened his mouth to deny the insinuation when Tomgarten hoisted his forefinger. “Listen, at the end of the month I’m going to promote you to manager of Graphic Arts—the entire department and all attendant responsibilities will be yours.”
The noise Eltenberger made was something between a grunt and a moan. This was what he’d wanted all along; but now, suddenly, all the joy was gone from the reality he’d yearned for.
“Wow… Well, thanks for letting me know.”
The boss raised his eyebrows. His employee’s response was tepid, which apparently surprised him.
“Is there a problem? I’d have thought you’d be elated.”
“Of course.” Eltenberger suddenly got up to leave. “Of course I am…”
“One more thing,” added Tomgarten. “And this is what I just can’t…well, it’s the goddamndest thing.”
Eltenberger stood with the doorknob in his hand, waiting.
“Before you open that door… There’s no way you would have known this, but I was just about to fire Schelling. The very next day after he got sick, in fact. Can you believe the coincidence? That guy spent more time flitting around the office BS-ing than he did working! In fact, his work was crap. It was a miracle he lasted here as long as he did. You were always the cream of the crop in that department, Eltenberger.”
Eltenberger stared dumbly at his supervisor.
“But you, of all people, must have known that, right?”
Suddenly Eltenberger felt caught in a slowly encroaching, invisible vise grip.
The phone on Tomgarten’s desk began to buzz. He glanced down at the digital display.
“Gotta take this. By the way, keep what I just told you between the two of us, okay? I wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. We’ll talk about the particulars of the promotion later—salary, bonuses, all the rest, once the Schelling situation blows over.”
In a daze, Eltenberger pulled the door closed. When he looked up, there was a cluster of unfamiliar figures hovering near his cubicle. Two of the men were dressed in the dull blue uniforms of the beat policeman. Another pair were dressed in cheap, severe-looking suits. All four were staring in his direction.
Jesus…they were here already.In a daze, Eltenberger pulled the door closed. When he looked up, there was a cluster of unfamiliar figures hovering near his cubicle. Two of the men were dressed in the dull blue uniforms of the beat policeman. Another pair were dressed in cheap, severe-looking suits. All four were staring in his direction.
One of the suited men was exchanging words with Ellen Pettinson, whose cubicle was next to his.
Were they talking about him?
Eltenberger was frozen to the spot. He was suddenly at a loss for what to do. He couldn’t very well bolt out the door with all eyes on him. Slowly, he made his way to his desk and sat in his swivel chair.
“Emmett Eltenberger,” said one of the cops as the cluster closed in on him.
“Yes?”
“Got a few minutes to spare? We’d like to talk to you about Bradley Schelling.”
“No problem,” he lied. “No problem.”
It took some doing, but he managed to hold himself together during that conversation, and subsequent interrogations by the police. What was most astonishing was that they could never manage to hang anything on him, though he had the distinct and dreadful impression that they wanted to. For a while he lived in constant fear of being arrested, but it never happened. Of course he regretted the stupidity of what he’d done, but it was too late for that now. At this point, not getting caught was all a matter of luck.
All he could hope for was that he’d stay lucky. For some reason he did. And he got even luckier: after taking over as manager of Graphic Arts, he steered a tight ship, kept his and his underlings noses to the grindstone, set records for company efficiency and profits, and for his efforts was named “Employee of the Year.”It took some doing, but he managed to hold himself together during that conversation, and subsequent interrogations by the police. What was most astonishing was that they could never manage to hang anything on him, though he had the distinct and dreadful impression that they wanted to. For a while he lived in constant fear of being arrested, but it never happened. Of course he regretted the stupidity of what he’d done, but it was too late for that now. At this point, not getting caught was all a matter of luck.
At the dinner where Eltenberger was feted, Tomgarten had this to say: “Despite the tragedy our company suffered last year with the death of Brad Schelling, Emmett Eltenberger proved himself more than equal to his new duties as manager of Graphic Arts. Which goes to prove what I’ve always believed: sooner or later the cream will rise to the top.”
There was a smattering of applause. Eltenberger sat at his table with his proudly beaming wife, and smiled. Despite the terrible thing he’d done to secure his position, he couldn’t deny that his boss was right. ■
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