Speedy Rewards

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Mark

“YOU’VE GOT to be kidding me! It’s not even seven a.m. and it’s already starting!” Mark Goodwin looked down at his phone. “What the hell does Phil want at this time of the morning?” He waved his arm with a flourish over his head, wrist snapping backward, as he stepped off the treadmill. Grabbing a towel, he dabbed his forehead before answering the call. “What is it, Phil?” He made no attempt to hide the annoyance in his voice.

“Mark, sorry to bother you, but we have a situation here.”

Every time Mark heard that nasally voice, it grated on his last nerve. Phil, at one time his superstar manager, had become a thorn in his side. An incredible embarrassment, and the district just wouldn’t be “right” until he found a way to get rid of the... uh....

“What?” Mark sighed into the phone.

“Well, we had a bit of an accident,” Phil continued. “In our parking lot. A delivery truck—a Coke truck—lost control and drove through the pricing sign.”

“What? Jesus Christ!” Mark cringed as he took the Lord’s name in vain. He took a deep breath and crossed himself before continuing. “What do you mean it drove through the sign?”

“Um, I mean it’s like wedged in between the poles. And the shrubbery and landscaping are all torn to shreds. It’s a disaster! We’re gonna need a tow truck.”

“Good God, why? This is probably going to cost a fortune.”

“No, nobody was hurt,” Phil said in a less than sarcastic tone. One more reason to get rid of him. He demonstrated zero respect for authority. “Although my third-shifter, Ezra, was nearly killed. The truck almost broadsided him. Anyway, Coke has already called a tow truck, and I’ve reported the damages to maintenance and will complete an incident report with safety and security. I just thought I should inform you.”

“Fine.” Mark pursed his lips. “Make sure you check your business planner this morning. We have some important price changes today.”

“Already done.”

“And keep your outside displays clean. Last time I was there, they were ghastly.”

“Mark, I’ve told you, you can’t leave soda pop sitting all day in the hot sun. Those two liters explode... and the packaging fades. It’s impossible to keep them looking decent.”

“Just do it. And two liters do not explode. They’re not bombs. They’re carbonated beverages. I’ve been in this business for thirty years and I’ve never seen a two liter explode.”

“Fine. Next time it happens, I’ll take a picture and send it to you.”

“Just do your job and quit arguing. Do it, or I’ll find someone else who has no problem following company policies and procedures. In this economy, that shouldn’t be difficult.”

“The displays are full, fronted, and faced. Both outside and inside.” Phil was beginning to raise his voice. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ve got a long line at the register.” Click.

Mark prided himself as an excellent judge of character and now wondered how he could possibly have been so wrong about someone. When Phil first started in his district, Mark had tremendous hope for him. He’d demonstrated such potential, so much that Mark had elevated him to the status of a training manager and had even selected Phil for advanced manager training. He’d placed Phil in his busiest store, and for quite some time—several years, actually—he outperformed most of the other managers in the district. Phil had not only achieved and exceeded sales goals for his store, but he’d also reduced losses, slashed employee turnover, passed all inspections, and consistently achieved close to his maximum monthly bonus.

But so much had changed. Recently. It all started one day a few months prior when Mark picked Phil up. They were riding together to the corporate offices for an important meeting. Mark had selected Phil to accompany him because the meeting was to highlight the implementation of a new program, and Phil would be the perfect candidate to assist him in the district-wide rollout. But while en route, Phil took a call on his cell that gave Mark an entirely different perspective of his star manager.

The call, from a newspaper reporter, ended up being a telephone interview. The paper had contacted Phil because he’d participated in an outreach project to benefit homosexual youth. As part of the interview, Phil confessed to the reporter that he himself was a queer.

Now, it really didn’t matter to Mark one way or the other what someone did in the privacy of their own home. He couldn’t care less who Phil, or any of his managers, slept with. That was a private matter, Phil’s personal business. What he did care about, though, was that this article was published in the local paper. Not only did it cast negative aspersions on Phil, but also on Speedy Mart. And more specifically, it made Mark the laughing stock of the entire region. He knew instantly that he’d quickly become the brunt of every joke amongst his fellow district managers, especially because he’d been so vocal in his praise of Phil. Twice he’d nominated him as manager of the quarter, a rather prestigious regional award within the company. Everyone knew how proud he’d always been of Phil. Christ, he was proud of himself for having found and hired him. But now! Now everyone would just think of Mark’s district as the fag district.

Good Lord, as much as it pained him to admit he’d made a mistake, he’d made a mistake. A huge one. And the only option he had was to quickly rectify it. After learning of Phil’s abominable proclivities, he began implementing a plan. He’d been through similar situations in the past. Many times, actually. He’d used a systematic method to root out a particular bad seed in his team, and the way he’d done so was to establish a trail of documentation. All he had to do was begin writing Phil up for any sort of offense, making him look bad. He could demonstrate in his paperwork how Phil’s performance had deteriorated and his attitude right along with it. And really, it wouldn’t be altogether inaccurate. Usually when he started riding a manager hard, breathing down their neck like that, their attitude did plummet.

The situation with Phil really made no sense and left Mark shaking his head. How could Phil have seemed so good when he really was a homosexual? Obviously a queer couldn’t be an effective manager. How could someone like that ever command any respect from his crew? How could anyone ever take him seriously?

And now, Mark could hardly stand even talking to him. The very obvious aspects of Phil’s personality and mannerisms that glaringly indicated he was a flaming homo literally turned Mark’s stomach. How could he have not noticed them sooner? The way he talked with his higher-pitched, nasally voice. The delicate, feminine manner in which he moved his hands and arms. The way he became so emotional about things. Yeah, Mark should have sensed it. He should have been able to identify these flaws early on, but for some reason, those things didn’t seem to really matter all that much. Not when Phil’s performance had consistently been so... spectacular.

At times Mark found himself angry, consumed with rage, even. Why couldn’t Phil have just kept his dirty little secrets to himself? Everything would’ve been so much easier. Plausible deniability, wasn’t that what they called it? Stereotypical behaviors could be explained away. Not every man was a macho fucker.

Mark had dealt with this his entire life. People had often characterized him as being softer. He grew up in a household where even his siblings ribbed him for being a p***y or pansy. He’d never fit in with the jocks at school, although he himself was a runner, and he too had been accused of having a nelly voice and squishy mannerisms. But he’d done the right thing, the thing he was supposed to do. The thing that his military father expected. He suppressed his private, perverted feelings and kept them hidden. He dated girls and eventually got married. He started a family.

Nobody... NOBODY... had any idea what he harbored inside his heart. No one knew of his temptations, his dark desires. He’d always done the noble thing, the thing that was required. And when he saw people like Phil, people who were like him in so many ways but were not strong enough or loyal enough to their faith and their families to suppress their evil lust—when he saw these people flagrantly broadcasting their sick, perverted s****l habits for all the world to see—it infuriated him.

Mark placed his phone back on the countertop then headed to the kitchen for a bottled water.

“Who was that?” Sandy, his wife, wore a white terrycloth robe and with hair still damp, must have just finished her shower.

“No one,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “Just one of the managers with another crisis.” He raised both hands to make air quotes.

“Oh.” She opened the fridge and removed a pitcher of orange juice. “Well, you’re the district manager, right? Aren’t they supposed to call you when they have problems?”

Mark sighed dramatically. “I’m a district manager, not a twenty-four-seven hotline for every little issue.”

She shrugged. “You run today?”

He shook his head. “Treadmill. My knee’s kind of achy for some reason. And I got a lot to do today.”

“Well, don’t forget to take out the trash before you leave.”

He stepped around her to grab the refrigerator door and snagged a water. “Got it,” he said, rolling his eyes as he strode down the hall toward the bathroom.