Jonathan could physically survive the trip.

Conner couldn’t say he didn’t feel the pang of guilt. It was mostly his idea to bury the boy’s body. But if they hadn’t their lives would have been ruined long ago, never to recover. It was a necessary decision, an executive decision. In this vast machine, he had at least been able to effect some small change that saved their lives. Insurance came with a price, after all. The price was on their souls, but he couldn’t risk it becoming more real, affecting things that mattered. A price was paid and another was due. Conner and Michael could handle it. That wasn’t theory; that was fact.

Conner was lost in thought, staring at the computer screen in front of him, every stress and concern piling one on top of the other till it seemed a mountain. Start at the bottom, he thought, and work your way up. This trip needs to be done. Get that done, get it out of your life and move on to the next problem.

There was a knock at the door a fraction of a second before it opened, which meant it was someone higher up the corporate food chain than himself. Underlings always waited for permission; not so with upper management. Tom Doley stood in the doorway, his chinless face like putty pushed into a grin so wide his whole head changed form. But it was a false smile; Conner could see that in his eyes.

“Let’s kick off for a while,” he said. “Hit the Iron Horse Tavern. This day’s over anyway.” Tom Doley was one of the cadre of managers who oversaw the investment department. The whole company was layer upon layer of managers, investors, advisors, assistant vice presidents – any sort of title that sounded important was just stacked in and on top of every other title.

“Sure,” Conner said. “I was just finishing up.” He had been out with Tom before. They would shoot the shit about interdepartmental strife, bitch about how things would be if only their learned wisdom and guidance would be utilized. The usual workplace bullshit every employee, from a store cashier to the CEO of a Fortune 500, engaged in whenever not in earshot of someone who had the ability to fire them. But this seemed different. Despite his entire face being mashed into a smirk, he seemed to be trying too hard, like a grieving family member at a funeral who still has to smile and thank people for coming.

“Meet you there?” Tom said.

Conner didn’t even look at him when he said, “Yup.” He felt Tom’s gaze linger on him a few moments before he shut the door.

Iron Horse Tavern was quiet. A few people sat at its unnecessarily long bar and a couple of senior citizens at the tables. Iron Horse was one of those places that are utterly devoid of character; put some interesting Americana on the walls, slap together a menu and then advertise all these neat local beers on tap so the newly established young generation of beer connoisseurs can pretend their slide into alcoholism is fueled by an intelligent interest in the finer consideration of hops and barley. Generally Conner played right along with that – order some beer that you’ve never heard of based on the sommelier-type description on the menu. Today he just ordered a Budweiser.

“You drink that shit?” Tom said. He had a double IPA infused with who-the-fuck-knows in a pint glass.

“Sometimes. Roots, you know. My father drank these till the day he died.”

Tom nodded, trying to find his opening. Conner could sense it; they weren’t here for good times. There was something that needed to be said, but Conner certainly wasn’t going to help him get it over with.

“I heard you lost a friend a little while ago,” Tom said. “Sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks. Old friend. We hadn’t been in touch for a while, but we grew up together. Used to do a lot of hunting together. It was one of those things where your buddies all get married and have kids and you don’t keep in touch.”

“Yeah, I didn’t realize you were a hunter.”

“Not much anymore. Who has the time, right?”

“I’ve done that clay pigeon shooting? That was pretty fun.”

Conner nodded. “Yeah. A couple times I’ve done it. It’s like golf. They have whole courses set up at some of these clubs.”

“You’re taking off at the end of the week, right?” Tom said. “I saw that you’re going to be out. Where you off to?”

“Upstate New York. Myself, my brother and another friend. Doing one last hunting trip as a send-off for the guy that died – Gene was his name. We thought it would be a good way to remember him.”

Tom Doley nodded and looked into his beer, seemingly considering the situation. The whole charade was becoming tedious, so Conner threw him a bone. “Why? Something going on?”

Tom’s putty face seemed to scrunch and twist like what he was about to say caused him physical pain. “Well…it’s just the timing is really bad. The fourth quarter reports are coming up and…”

“There’s always a quarterly report coming up.”

“I know, I know. But it’s just things in your department aren’t looking good this year.”

“That’s not news. They haven’t looked good for three years now. You think I like having to say that? It’s fucking killing me.”

“Hey. I know it is, brother. I understand. That’s why it just seems like now is not a good time to take a little vacation. Some of the managers upstairs are looking to make some cuts. We just can’t compete anymore, and without significant investment income we’re going to be looking at some hard times to come.”

“What are you trying to tell me here?” Conner asked. “Layoffs are coming?”

“That’s the word.”

“They’d be stupid to lay off anyone in my department. We’re the only chance they’ve got. They want to hire some outside firm? They’ll be paying double in fees. You know this. They know this. They’re just looking to

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