shoes especially stood out, furthest to my left, as though they didn’t wish to be viewed but had to be in on the scene, were a pair of purple lady’s shoes, with older, wide ankles, since there were no hose, socks, or pantsuit. There was probably a purple dress in that ensemble, however.
I heard a voice say, “We’re all here; hit the lights.” The lights went out, and it was pitch dark.
“Hey!” was all I could say. I was getting a little more nervous at this point.
“Don’t worry, Mr. ‘Smith’,” the first voice said. “We’re not here to accost you. We just need a little information.”
“Information?” I said. “You need some information? Why don’t you turn the lights back on and ask me then?”
“This is to protect you, Senior Smith,” a South American voice said. “We know who you are, but obviously we don’t want you knowing who we are. We have lives to protect.”
“Well, I have a life to protect, my own! Who are you?” I tried not to sound nervous.
“Very well, Herr Schmidt. We will trade information, if that is acceptable to all?” The American accent was beginning to slip a bit more, being replaced with a German one, probably east German; I heard the murmuring of approval among the out of sight group.
The east German cleared his throat and said, “We represent others who are very interested in the condition and profitability of the Lovely Chocolate Company, those who would to go great lengths to protect its good name to the public.”
I sat, still stunned. Someone heard me in the boardroom, after all! “Go on,” I said. “You have my attention.”
“You possess knowledge of the company heiress, Miss Susan Lovely, as being involved in some--- how would you put it, an illicit love affair?”
“Yes, I’ve said that. I said that just a few minutes ago--“ I clammed up. I didn’t want these people guessing that I knew some of them might be on the board.
“We wish to know the name of the man with whom Frauline, er, Miss Susan Lovely, is involved.”
These people were serious.
“Why? Why don’t you ask her?”
An Italian voice spoke up, saying, “It is not our practice to embarrass the one most important person in our company. If she didn’t like our probing, at this point she might possibly go to the airwaves saying that the chocolate company was interfering with her private business. That might ‘tilt the apple-cart,’ as you Americans like to put it.”
Americans? These guys were foreigners!
“Why don’t you have the board of directors deal with her?”
“The fools!” a woman’s voice said, trying to speak in a deeper tone like a man. “They don’t listen to anyone but themselves! They are fat, lazy, complacent, and cannot see into the future. Also, they are unaware of our existence, which works in our favor.” She sounded British, but that could be from a number of countries.
“Besides,” a Spanish-accented man’s voice said, “they don’t run the company---we do.”
“We?” I questioned.
“Herr ‘Schmidt’,” the east German said. “It is time for a trade. We have given you information, and now we require information in return. It is time for you to answer our question. What is the name of the man with whom Miss Lovely is having an affair?”
“Wait a minute! You don’t exactly sound like an above-the-board type of operation here!” I said. Guess I sounded a little braver than I felt, because it got quiet again.
“Mr. Owen,” said the east German, probably trying to be patient. “We are not an above-the-board type of operation here.” I remained respectfully quiet, until he said in addition, “We are the cartel.”
I had to think for a moment. “The cartel? You mean, as in drugs?”
“No, Mr. Owen, you have assumed the worst of us. Where are we located?”
“In the men’s room.” I said.
“Think bigger, Mr. Owen.”
I thought bigger, and said, “Lovely Chocolates?”
“Precisely, Mr. Owen. Chocolates. And more.
“You run illegal chocolates?”
“That is such a distasteful way of putting it, Mr. Owen. We simply run chocolates. It’s a business, like any other.”
“You run illegal chocolates,” I said, stalling for time. “Why?”
“We run a business, and chocolate is the one thing people won’t give up! Try as they may, Lovely Chocolate is, to some people, addicting.”
“Won’t give up? Illegal chocolates?”
“Correct, Mr. Owen,” said the voice, still remaining calm and polite, but getting a little impatient. “This has been a one-way flow of information. The name, please.”
“Why should I tell you? What are your intentions?”
“Mr. Owen, do you wish to sit here