Business Doctors - Management Consulting Gone Wild (13 page)

The van that was carrying him sped across the highway at a steady sixty miles an hour. “I knew it was going to be a long journey and drank more water than my bladder can handle. I have to take a leak.”

“Don’t even think about it, Stone. We know how the story goes. We stop here for you, you get off and then happily roll down the cliff, right into your buddies waiting down there with open arms. You think we don’t watch the news? Don’t you try to do a Jamal on us.”

The rest of the journey to the court was silent. Neither Jason spoke nor the guards.

After the vehicle reached its destination, Jason Stone asked “How long more do we wait?” He was sitting outside the court with handcuffs, waiting for his turn. The two security guards he had travelled with, kept a watch, to ensure that he didn’t try anything funny.

“A few minutes, maybe more,” replied one of the guards.

Some time later, a restless Jason turned to the guard again, “My bladder’s gonna burst. Get me a bottle here or allow me to go to the loo, unless you want me to mess up the floor here. I gotta go now, guys. There’s no cliff for me to roll off here.”

The first guard looked at the other. The empty bottle idea suggested by Jason wasn’t practical and the imagined horror of having him urinate on the floor outside the court didn’t seem too appealing either. The news channels would have a field day reporting it. Or maybe the human rights lobby would make their lives a living hell for denying a fellow human his fundamental right to pee. That left only the third option, the most civilized of the three proposed, of allowing him to use the restroom. After a little thought the second one nodded. The first one pulled him up by his arms and helped him get onto his feet.

Jason dragged his feet slowly with both guards on either side. After reaching the lavatory, one of the guards unlocked his handcuffs and the chains around his feet. “One minute. And make it quick.”

Jason smiled at the guard and nodded in a sign of acknowledgement. The metal cuffs had cut into his wrists and ankles. He rubbed his hurting wrists and pulled the lavatory door behind him.

“Stone, time’s up. What the hell are you doing in there?” the guard tapped on the door. It was close to a minute and there was no response from inside. Also, Jason didn’t seem like the artistic types who’d be wasting time drawing graffiti on the toilet walls.

“Shit!” exclaimed the other guard anticipating the worst and kicked the door open. There was no one inside. The tiny window for ventilation was wide open. One of the guards pulled the toilet seat cover down. He wasn’t being courteous. He climbed on to it to take a look outside through
the small window. All he could see was a crowded street with a flood of human traffic outside.  A few heads stared back at the unusual sight of a face popping out of a toilet window of a courthouse. The guard pushed his head a little further and looked at the wall. Jason had used a rope to scale down the thirty feet wall and had disappeared into the crowds.

“How the fuck did this rope get here?” asked the first guard.

“He had help. The bastard had it planned all the way,” said the second.

* * *

Several miles away, Kruger managed a daring escape from the Florida prison using a gun and grenades smuggled inside and holding guards at ransom. The story raised eyebrows as metal detectors did not go off while he escaped. This was unusual as the detectors were believed to be super sensitive. There were claims that they’d go off even if a mosquito flew across the device after sucking iron-rich blood.

Kruger had walked through them with his weapons and escaped by getting into a waiting car outside. The security guards realized later on that the gun was made of plastic and the grenades were actually painted lemons carefully selected for their shape and size and then expertly painted over. Kruger’s reputation came in handy as he had been held in captivity for his role in minor bombings in the neighborhood. No one doubted his expertise with creating bombs out of the most basic ingredients. His video, demonstrating how a mint candy dropped into a cola bottle could create what seemed like a mini-explosion, had gone viral over the internet.

Kruger’s escape was also the cheapest of the lot for WFB and made Woody happy for not burning a hole in his pocket, unlike the others he had planned.

* * *

Over the subsequent weeks, the media reported several such cases of prison breaking incidents. Almost all of them seemed to have been made possible by assistance received from prison officials. There was also some short-lived speculation in newspapers and news-channels on whether these escapes could be related. However the modus operandi, the locations, the timings and the profiles of the escaped convicts were too disparate for anyone to believe in such a conspiracy theory. The hunt for the convicts at large intensified.

* * *

Though Schneider would have wanted the project to be completed three months back,
he was still part of it. He had been involved throughout the execution of the plan he had created. He wondered whether it was the dough, the uniqueness of the problem, the threat from the Don or the irresistibility of Angie that kept him going on. What made it scarier was that he had started enjoying the challenge, despite the possible legal and ethical implications.

As an exception to the rules that the firm strictly followed, for this project there had been no contractual documents of any kind – no proposal, no statement of work, no service agreements and no signoffs. As promised, WFB kept making payments on time, whenever an invoice was generated by Schneider’s team, which he thought
was ironic for a client company that was experiencing an internal cash crunch. Woody’s lack of clarity about financial management was actually a blessing in disguise for Schneider. The engagement fees had helped keep the flame burning at Schneider Associates.

The fact that he had been able to dole out bonuses this year too and additionally had also been able to retain the entire team of brilliant handpicked consultants made the WFB project a bitter-sweet pill. He did not mind the fact that half of his team was sitting in office without active projects because he knew that the moment economy looked up, he would have the manpower to lock in the big deals. In the meanwhile, he personally enjoyed playing the knight in shining armor to Angie by rescuing WFB from what would have been certain downfall.

He kept track of the number of competing consulting firms that couldn’t avoid handing out pink slips to their consultants. Some of the top consultants that he personally knew were given just enough of a notice period to enable them to find alternate options. However, in a brutal market, such opportunities were far and few in between. Schneider tapped into his own contacts from his earlier clients and managed to place a few friends from other firms in bigger firms that could absorb the economic shocks better. In a market that was far from effervescent, that was quite an accomplishment. While the smaller consulting firms fought hard to win the same clients, the camaraderie between individual consultants, many of whom had spent two years in the same business school, was high.

Three months back, Schneider was in the same situation. Project Lean & Mean had s
aved his firm, if only temporarily. And he was just doing his bit to keep the family boat afloat.

*
* *

“Hi,” said the voice on the phone as Schneider switched off the lights in his office and started walking towards the exit.

“Hi Angie. It’s been a bad day for me. So, before you make any new requests, let me tell you that the answer is No.”

“Oh, c’mon honey, you don’t have to be rude every time I call you. In the last three months, we’ve met every week and every time I call you give me this lame excuse. There’s always time and place for a drink. I promise I won’t make the first move”. Schneider could visualize Angie’s teasing eyes and luscious lips as the sugary words started clouding his senses.

“Angie, like I said. The answer is No. We both know how these casual meetings always end up.”

“I promise, no alcohol this time. And if coming over to my house doesn’t make you comfortable, we can meet outside.”

“No way, Angie! There’s no way I can allow Woody’s goons to see you outside with me. No one in his team knew me when we first met. But now, almost everyone does. I know my ass isn’t as cute as yours, but I still love it. And I’m not giving anyone any more reason to kick or, God forbid, prod it.”

Schneider had promised himself that he wouldn’t fall for Angie’s charms again. But every time she called, he found it bloody hard to resist her silky smooth voice even when he knew she’d make unreasonable requests.

Angie’s deep sigh on the phone was clearly audible and Schneider could almost imagine the sad expression on her pretty face. He didn’t want to go all out and meet her. But hearing her sigh, his heart melted a little, and he felt guilty turning her down outright. He had tried the latter option feebly a couple of times anyway, without much success.

“I can talk on the phone if that’s ok with you,” Schneider thought he wasn’t compromising his stand with that offer.

Any other circumstances and Schneider could’ve gone out of his way to woo her. But he knew it wasn’t in his best interests to keep contact with anyone, or anything, remotely connected to WFB.

Chapter 1
2

When Woody first received the list, the
final
deliverable of the consulting assignment, he saw a ray of hope. This could be his ticket back to underworld superstardom. But he also had serious concerns about the efficacy of the consulting team’s recommendations.

Most of the convicts on the list seemed to be amateurs. They lacked the brawn and the raw gangster appeal that was the most prized attribute within his work-force.

The other issue was related to logistics. His team did not have bright ideas on getting the guys from the list out from the prisons and at his doorstep.

Even if they did, there were no plans of inducting them into his team. The traditional initiation process did not seem like a good idea, considering the little fortune he would be spending on them.

This was when he had called up Schneider, while he thought about how he’d coax him to sign up again. Pleasantly for Woody, Schneider had shown little resistance and had agreed to help him. There was only one condition from Schneider - the consulting fees for the next phase would be re-negotiated.

*
* *

Schneider had come with the weapon of his choice – the
issue tree
. But this time, it looked like a different one than the one he had shown to Woody perfunctorily before signing off the last time round. With WFB at the node, there were various departments of Woody’s empire – from finance to operations, and of course human resources. Or as Woody would prefer - recruitment. Schneider had then explained how someone like Jamal could join the operations department for his casino business with his eye for the counters. Likewise, Hendrik could take charge of the technology related needs, and reduce the dependency on freelancers such as Blizzard. Kruger could look after security, arms and ammunition.

Woody was impressed with the education he got. The list, as described by Schneider, effectively filled the gaps in his organization. Woody was also aghast at the realization that he was a sitting duck without these. Whatever doubt he had regarding Schneider’s methods vaporized after the meeting. Along with the complete freedom to initiate the execution phase, he also offered Schneider unrestricted access to his resources.

***

Schneider needed a parking place for the new recruits. Woody had offered to house them in the city, across various empty apartments that hadn’t been given out on rent. Schneider, being more sensible, had suggested that the location should be isolated and preferably outside the city. That way, it would all stay below the radar. If there was ever a huge bust by the police, the location and the people could be sacrificed, without dragging Woody and Schneider into it. Woody offered his guesthouse located on one of the smaller islands off the coast of Southern California, just a few miles away from Santa Catalina.

Originally, it was a farmhouse that Woody had bought many years back. In a bid to convert it into a weekend getaway resort, he had invested heavily in giving it a makeover. A shrewd middleman had sold it to him saying it would be a prized and exotic asset added to the WFB real estate business. The fact that the remote, inaccessible location would keep the regular tourists away never came up during the negotiations. For many years, the expensive guesthouse had been empty and away from the prying eyes of the general public.

Now, for the first time, the guestrooms were getting occupied, as the escaped convicts trickled in and made themselves comfortable in their new home. The entire ambience was new and unfamiliar to them. With all the blue and green colors that their guesthouse was surrounded with, they figured that they were on an island. The fresh air felt unusual. The confines of their cells made way for comfortable, though not lavish, rooms. The itchy, bug-infested mattresses got replaced by clean well-made beds. The long serpentine queues for lunch disappeared. More importantly the food here was actually palatable. They were masters of their schedules here. No fixed time to get up, no dimming of lights after 9 P.M., no hard labor, no communal showers. There were individual bathrooms and no fear of accidentally dropping the soap.

However, there were a few aspects that did not change. They were cut off from the outside world. Though the landscape changed, there was still no activity in their vicinity, sans their own. Private security personnel, as opposed to prison guards, ensured that the guests did not
venture out into the open. There was no access to phones. Just like in the prison, they had loads of free time. Apart from a gym, a pool table, playing cards and some magazines, there wasn’t much to keep them busy. There was no television, no radio and no phones. The fact that the entire process of filling up WFB’s guest house took close to 3 months between the various escapes meant that some of them like Jamal had to cool off their heels for a longer time than others.

After months and, in some cases, years of confinement, the problem of having too much time on their hands was something most of the guests had grown accustomed to and they devised ways to address it. Many of the rituals they followed in the prison got adapted to their new environment. Little groups started forming. These new associations had little to do with their past alliances, their city of origin or their ethnic backgrounds. The group here was too diverse and heterogeneous for that. It was just the instinct to survive that got them bunched together.

However, none of all this translated to freedom. The guards around them ensured that the discipline was maintained.

“Hey, fancy pants!” one of the convicts yelled out to a guard. “How much longer do we have to put up with this crap?”

The guards had received directions to minimize their interactions with the convicts. But that didn’t deter the convicts from trying. Unless, they did something really foolish – like trying to escape or beating up another guest – they would usually not interfere in their day-to-day schedules.

“Prison seemed better,” Chang muttered to Kenny Krannert.

“You are welcome to go back. I’m happy here,” Kenny responded turning the magazine in his hand, tilting his head and staring intently at the centerfold. “Do you think those are real?” Kenny took perverse pleasure in scanning the nude photos on each page. It was an activity that could keep him enthralled for hours, even though he wasn’t exactly appreciating the technical perfection, the lighting or the flexibility of the models posing in the photos.

The stories of guards beating the shit out of those trying to misbehave was enough to discourage new guests who came in late into the guesthouse from displaying their bravado and attempting to throw their weight around.

One evening, some of the convicts got together in the lawn to chat.

Jason said, “This is bloody frustrating. We’ve been here for several days now. We have no fucking clue where we are, who got us here and what the fuck’s going to happen to us. Anyone got a fuckin’ idea?”

Many people had raised this question several times, and expressed their irritation.

Jamal who had been fiddling with the Rubik’s cube for a while, finally completed all sides of the puzzle and tossed it to Jason. “Can’t answer that question for you, man. But instead of just blowing your top off, you could spend your time working this out - till someone comes up with a damn good answer.”

“A genius in our midst, huh?” Jason turned the cube around to check all sides.

“When did you learn to do that?”

“My mother gifted one to me when I was twelve. That was the cheapest thing she could find for me at Target. And maybe she felt it was an easy way to keep me occupied for hours and keep me from getting into trouble on the streets. There was a lot of shit happening in the hood in those days. She didn’t want me to end up like the rest of the boys she’d seen growing up in the locality.”

“Though her intentions were noble, I can see for a fact that she didn’t succeed much. Any other tricks up your sleeve, Houdini?”

“Sure! If you have the inclination, I have all the time in the world,” Jamal turned around and started searching. “Where’s the pack of cards? If only these dumbass nuts were considerate to keep things back where they belong -”

“Here it is,” Kruger was holding the pack in his outstretched hand.

Jamal took the pack from his hand and passed it to Jason. “Shuffle it for me, will you?”

Hearing the buzz, a few other convicts had gathered around Jamal. Anything that remotely promised any iota of entertainment or excitement in the confines of the guesthouse succeeded in grabbing their attention.

“Chang…just to be sure…and for those who might think, Jason’s on my side… why don’t you give it a few cuts?” Jamal collected the pack from Jason and handed it over to Chang.

Bullet, the only female convict in the guest-house, came over, “How do we know Chang’s not on your side?”

She always carried a don’t-mess-with-me kind of a look. With all the right curves in the right places, she could actually pass off as attractive, if she chose to get the unruly hair away from her face and toned down the aggressiveness in her voice. She had learned from mother nature and plenty of real world experiences that a threatening appearance, more than actual strength, played a bigger role in keeping predators at bay. On most occasions the strategy worked. Now the tough demeanor had become second nature for her.

“Be my guest, ma’am,” Chang opened his palm and allowed Bullet to pick up the pack. She shuffled it a few more times and gave it back to Jamal.

“Ok. You guys happy?” Jamal got a few nods. “Watch carefully now.” Jamal kept the cards face down on the table.

“You gonna make them all fly now?” The buddies who had gathered around him tried to play down the suspense with their playful comments.

“Yeah! Make
'em disappear. Now that would be something to see” “No…convert them into cash.”

“Shut the fuck up, people. You are breaking my focus. I have to concentrate for this. So, please.” Jamal’s words and his eyes had an air of seriousness that nobody wanted to mess with.

He picked up the first card on the top of the deck, turned it around for all to see and announced, “Three of spades”.

He kept it face down, separately, a few inches away from the pack. He then picked up the next one from the original heap, “Jack of hearts,” and kept it face down above the first one in the new stack.

“Five of clubs - ace of diamonds - two of hearts - king of spades -”

Jamal picked up pace and continued with the process until all fifty-two cards had been moved to the new stack.

Jamal finally looked up and smiled.

“That’s it?” Bullet seemed unimpressed. “This is what you wanted to show us? That you can count and name cards?” She got up to leave.

“Hang on, babe, there’s more. That was just the preparation. The real act is just about to begin,” Jamal held Bullet’s wrist.

Bullet yanked her hand and sat back on the chair, “You
babe
me again, darling, and I’m gonna pull your long tongue out, turn you upside down and hang you naked from the ceiling with it.”

Chang whispered to Jamal. “I wouldn’t mind the latter part, but I’d prefer if it happens in private.”

“I heard that.” Bullet hit Chang hard on the head. “Now get on with your stuff will ya?” she turned back at Jamal.

“You guys broke my focus. Does anyone remember the last card that we put on top of this pack?”

“Yeah. It was eight of diamonds,” Jason said sounding confident.

Jamal picked up the top card and turned it around. “Bingo! Eight of diamonds it is. Do you remember the second last card that we put in there?”

Jason shook his head.

“Anyone else?” Jamal looked around at the others.

A few shrugged.

“I think it was the King of clubs,” Jason tried, this time not sounding as confident.

“Ace of diamonds,” Jamal corrected Jason, picked up the next card and without looking at it, displayed it to the rest. “And then we had a nine of hearts, and a queen of clubs…” Jamal went on, picking cards, naming them accurately without looking at them and then dropping them face up on the table. After fifteen cards, Jamal paused, “You guys are probably thinking there’s something fishy here. So let’s make this a little more challenging. Blind-fold me.” Jamal pulled out his bandana and handed it over to Chang who politely obliged.

Jamal started the guessing game with the cards again and continued building the momentum, “…and finally the first card that we started off with…three of spades,” he slammed the last card on the table with extra force, with the bandana still covering his eyes.

“How the hell did you manage that?” Bullet couldn’t believe what she had just seen.

“I could tell you my secret. But if I did reveal it all to you, I’d have to kill you and then do that upside-down thingy you were explaining a minute back.”

“Cut the bull-shit, Jamal.”

“Well, some call it photographic memory. I don’t know how it works. It just does. Of course, the card trick did not develop overnight. I started off with five cards and then continued adding five more to it, till I had covered the entire pack.”

A group emerged from behind the curtains, led by Alex Dobson. Since the time the convicts had started dropping into the guesthouse, they were getting split into two factions. This was unplanned and inevitable. Alex had become the de-facto leader of the second boisterous group. Gabriel, Andres and Emiliano swaggered in after Alex.