.
It was 4:30 p.m.,
when I pulled open the door to the building that housed JL & Associates. Here it was sunny and warm. No hint of damp fog. As the summer sun dipped behind the tall office buildings, streaks of light boomeranged off the windows until they glowed red and orange.
The building was a San Francisco classic with a worn brick façade and ornate detailed cornices. It had a long narrow entryway with a security guard sitting at a desk near the door. Before I had gone a few steps, Justin was walking down the hall toward me.
“You’re here.” He took my arm and walked me over to the security desk.
“Hey, Larry. Meet a good friend of mine. This is Trisha Carson. She’s going to taste test our new products. Anything going on in the building?”
“Nothing’s happening. People are on their way home.”
A small television was sitting on the counter tuned to a pregame show for the Oakland A’s. The drone of the commentators echoed through the quiet lobby.
“When are you going to come over to our side?” Justin asked.
“Never. A’s fan ‘till I die,” he said pumping his fist in the air.
The JL & Associates office was a short walk down the hall around the corner from the security guard. A large clear glass window revealed a young man answering phones in a starkly modern reception area.
Inside, the RazzleD logo, etched in frosted glass behind the reception desk, screened off the rest of the office. There were offices off to the right hand side, a lab that could be seen directly behind the frosted glass in the middle and a kitchen, a tasting room and a conference room to the left.
“This is really nice. When you said new company, I was thinking ‘startup.’ Basic.”
“I told you my partners are wheeler-dealers, big money types. They think that first impressions are the only ones you get. They like to bring clients here. The philosophy is if the company looks solid, both on paper and in person, customers will sign on.”
I watched as two women working in the lab took off their white coats, hung them up and walked toward the reception area.
“See you tomorrow,” they said to Justin as they headed for the front door.
A few staff walked between offices before disappearing into the conference room on the other side of the hall. I could pick up muffled laughter as the door shut.
“You have a tasting room?”
“That we do,” he said. “Let me show you.”
The tasting room was set up like one in a Napa County winery. There was a highly polished curving bar carved from dark wood, tall green plants, expensive art featuring various athletes and sports, comfortable chairs and a small sofa.
Although we were alone in the room, I could still see the receptionist only 25 yards away. I sat down on a bar stool and glanced at him again. He could hear me if I yelled.
“The message that you left said the meeting didn’t go as you expected. What happened?”
“They don’t want RazzleD promotional booths at the swims anymore. To tell the truth, I wasn’t supposed to be at the Russian River swim.”
“There must be a reason. What did they say?”
“They said that the claims for the product’s results haven’t been scientifically proven. That the testing has been incomplete.”
“Are they right?”
“They are being too cautious. We can easily fix whatever their concerns are. But that’s where you come in. While we are readjusting some of our formulas—and changing some of the copy on the bottles—we still need exposure. We have a small foothold in the market. If we aren’t at the swims, people won’t see or try the product. It will impact our sales. Can you talk to Bill, maybe ask him to convince the board to reconsider, let us work the swims?”
“How can you promote a product, let alone sell it, if it isn’t what you claim?”
“We’re taking care of that. I just told you. It won’t be a problem.”
Justin paced around the room as he talked. Sounds like Bill and the board were having second thoughts, not only about RazzleD but about those behind it.
“I won’t be able to help. I was fired this morning.”
“No, shit. Why?”
“It seems that I have been asking too many questions about the Waddell death. People, including the board, have complained.”
“I told you to leave it alone.”
Justin walked over to the small couch and sat down.
“Who have you talked to?”
“The people on my cards. Remember my cards? Them mostly. And the police.”
Justin’s body stiffened. He blinked, stood up, walked slowly over to the bar where I was sitting. He ran both hands over the top of his head.
“Why would you talk to the police?”
“Everyone from the NPS security to my sister told me to tell the police my suspicions and then step away.”
“How many people did you say you talked to about the Waddell death?”
“And Jackie’s accident.”
“Okay, and Jackie’s accident.”
“And the brick through my car window. And the Russian River events.”
“Okay, tell me already.”
I said the names out loud as I counted on my fingers, “Pamela, Mike Menton, Daisy Menton, his daughter; my sister, you, my sister’s boyfriend, the security guard at work, Waddell’s coach and my hairdresser. That makes nine. Oh, and Inspector Carolina Burrell. 10.”
Justin blinked again.
“You okay?”
“Sure. I didn’t realize this had gone beyond writing people’s names on cards, that’s all.”
“I have a question for you. I thought you couldn’t stand Waddell’s brother-in-law?”
“You’re right. I can’t.”
“Well, then, why is he your partner? In this?”
I spread my arms out and looked around the tasting room, pausing to glance at the receptionist.
Justin didn’t miss a beat.
“You’re right I don’t like Spencer, but he came to visit me a while back with a business proposition.”
“RazzleD?”
“Kind of. Think big picture. Anyway, that’s what got me to Northern California. I thought this could work, so I signed on.”
“And that was it? No other reason?”
Justin went behind the bar.
“My name is Justin. I’ll be your guide to JL & Associates products. Today, we’ll be sampling one of our most popular products—RazzleD replacement drink.”
I laughed. The tension in the room eased for the moment. Justin was very good at changing the topic.
“Come on, tell me. Was that the only reason you came to San Francisco?”
“We keep you going…longer, stronger. How does that work for a slogan?”
“Lacks a little punch, to me.”
“Needs work, I agree.”
“Do you have family here?”
“Why all the questions?” he asked as he pulled out three small glasses with the RazzleD logo on the side and filled them with different color liquids.
“Try these and let me know what you think. They are all for after a swim/run/bike—hard exercise—maybe a competition or a really tough practice. It is for replenishing the body. The red one is pomegranate. The yellowish-orange one is mango/peach. The light green is what we call green apple. One of them is brand new. Let’s see if you can tell which one it is? Take a taste.”
I took a sip from each glass. “Mango/peach is my favorite. Green apple I could do without. Which one is the new? Wait, let me guess. Green apple.”
Justin laughed. “That obvious is it? We’ll have to work on it.”
“It’s bitter…very strange after taste.”
Justin reached into a cooler behind the bar and pulled out a RazzleD bottle with a purple liquid inside.
With Roberto’s warning to keep my mouth shut running through my mind, I took a deep breath and said, “Justin, I know Dick is your brother. I know Lucky is your father.”
He slowly, very slowly stood up, cocked his head to one side. Then quietly said, “Who told you? Pamela?”
There was sadness in his eyes. I waited.
“Sisters. Can’t keep their mouth shut, right? You know, you have one.”
I waited.
“This wasn’t my doing. I wanted to make a good nutritional product for athletes. Spencer had something else in mind. So did Dick, the wholesome winner, my brother.
“He didn’t want to know what was in the products I gave him, as long as they made him go faster. He was a fraud. I thought for a while Lucky cared, but look what he pushed me into. Setting me up with Spencer. What a joke. Got a card from him a while ago. He’s back in prison. All it said was, ‘You, Dick and Pamela are family. Stay together.’ I tried. They didn’t want anything to do with me.”
Justin walked out from behind the bar.
“Let’s go to the lab where I guess I’ll be working again.”
We walked down the hall and stood outside the large windows looking into the empty lab. Behind me, through the frosted glass, the receptionist answered a phone. The door to the conference room was open and it was now empty. The normal office sounds; people talking, phones ringing, copying machines running—were missing. Stillness inched its way down the hall. I folded my arms across my chest. A shiver went through me.
In the lab, there were long white tables, microscopes, Petri dishes, and big refrigerators with glass doors where different products were kept. It looked like a hematology lab in a hospital.
“Justin, you can still get away from this.”
He ignored me.
“I used to do product development. Not so much any more. Now, after last night’s meeting, I’ll have to do some formula adjustment. My office is down the hall. Come here for a minute. I want to show you something.”
“I don’t think so,” I said, beginning to walk toward the front office.
“You have nothing to worry about. It’s a good thing you know about all this. I like you. My brother, my sister—that’s another story. This will only take a minute.”
I glanced over at the receptionist and knocked on the glass that separated us. The young man turned around. I waved at him. He smiled and waved back.
“See. You’re safe,” Justin said.
Then, I slowly followed him as he walked to the end of the hall.
He had a corner office with a view of the neighboring building. There was a desk and computer to one side of the room, on the other wall was a floor to ceiling bookcase filled with ribbons, trophies, and plaques. I picked up a glass globe of the world and read, 2
nd
place, 200 meter breaststroke, 1984, Justin Rosencastle, FINA Worlds, Athens, Greece.
“Nice,” I said.
On one of the lower shelves was a heavy rectangular silver plaque given for another world competition around the same time.
“Very nice.”
I turned around and my arm hit his chest. Justin was inches behind me. I sidestepped away from him. His emotionless pale light blue eyes followed me.
“I saw a photo of you.”
“You did?” he said surprised. He moved back a few feet. “From a past swim?”
I began to creep away from the bookcase, toward the door of his office. Justin mirrored my steps and stood solidly in front of me once again, blocking the door. “It was swimming, but not recent. It was a picture of your high school swim team. You had an Afro back then.”
A cautious look crossed his face.
“Where did you see a photo of me from high school?”
“Pamela.”
“I told you not to bother her,” he said leaning toward me.
“I wasn’t bothering her. I was taking back some swim equipment that belonged to her—your—brother.”
“I made it very clear that you shouldn’t go near her.”
“Look, if I want to talk to someone, I’ll talk to someone.”
Justin tried to brush off the darkness from his face, but it lingered and he couldn’t quite hide it with a forced smile.
“What did she say?”
“Not much.”
“Spencer was there?”
“Yeah, he was.”
“Of course. You know, Spencer always played the odds, even in high school. He was a scumbag. When Lucky was sent to prison, I helped at the ranch. I was driven, compelled to keep the ranch going. I worked twice as hard as Dick who was always off at some swim competition.”
Justin turned around and started pacing up and down his office. He seemed a million miles a way. He slapped his hand down on the desk. Whap! I jumped.
“What’s the matter?”
“Spencer’s an idiot. If Pamela hadn’t married him, then I wouldn’t be involved with JL. It’s her fault. This is not where I wanted to be.”
“It’s not too late to get out.”
“Right, and I go straight back to prison. You know I’ve been in prison, don’t you?”
I nodded and moved over to the two-seater couch in his office.
“Justin, was Waddell married?”
He stopped and looked at me.
“Her name is Holly, right? Holly Worthington?”
“Yet another high school swim team member. They were married right after high school. Classic story. The stud swimmer got her pregnant. Father was a well known rancher. He made it clear that Richard was going to marry his daughter, or else. He did, but then he left town to go to college in Texas. Skipped out. His family knew he was leaving, but they kept it a secret. And then Holly disappeared for a long time. We all thought she followed him. No one ever suspected she’d turn up here.”
“And the baby?”
“No baby. She said that to get him to marry her.”
“How did you know she was here?”
“Waddell mentioned it. I was dropping off some product at his house. But Spencer had already told me.”
“Product?”
“Nutritional supplements.”
“That’s not what they were.”
Justin smiled a strange tight smile.
“What you dropped off was some form of High Test, maybe HT2, a street drug, an illegal drug. Is that what eventually killed him?”
“I hope so,” Justin said. “Waddell spent his life using people. Spencer heard him complain about losing his speed and he told me about it. Dick wanted me to develop something for him. He didn’t care what it was—legal, illegal. So, that’s what I did. He was happy to see the drugs, but never me. He kept asking for more, higher dosages. His philosophy was, if some is good, more is better. Did he ever thank me? Never once. I was treated like a delivery guy, completely disregarded. He wouldn’t talk to me at swims, never invited me to his house. I didn’t exist. Here I was helping him and he acted like I was invisible.