Committed

COMMITTED by A.R. Kirby Episode 1 In which the playboy of the Adriatic has a very bad day Everyone on the planet (and even off it, just ask an astronaut) has good days and bad days. It’s natural; part of life. You get good days where you make all the traffic lights and lunch is a pleasant surprise. You get bad days when the cat pukes on the sweater you were about to wear and the dishwasher backs up and floods the kitchen. Without exception, each and every person in the lobby of the KBC Hospital lobby was (to varying degrees) experiencing the latter. Granted, the ugly and bad-tempered nurse in charge of the makeshift triage unit was having a horrible night, what with all the shrieking and the apparently unending flow of new patients. But by comparison, her night was much more pleasant than the one experienced by the slender coed huddled in a corner of the lobby holding her eye in its socket with a dirty, blood-soaked bandanna. It was, without a doubt, a rough evening for anyone and everyone involved. While he was not one of the wounded seeking attention in Podgorica’s largest hospital, Christian McKenna assured himself that his own night was undoubtedly the worst. Although not one to indulge in self-pity, it was a conceit of Christian’s to believe his problems were more important than anyone else’s. And he did have problems. O ne year ago... Committed by A.R. Kirby To begin, he was soaking wet. The custom-made dark gray suit and coordinated handmade tie he’d picked up on his last trip to London clung to him in a manner the tailor never intended. His normally pert red curls lay matted on his forehead, and an occasional rivulet of water would slip from his hair and run its way down his face into his collar, although he seemed not to notice. He sat quietly in a hard plastic chair with his elbows on his knees, chin cupped in his hands, staring at the chipped linoleum floor, apparently unaware of the hustle and bustle around him. It all seemed surreal and out-of-focus as he observed the chaos all around him – gurneys moving quickly in and out of the lobby, cries and moans from the injured, doctors moving from patient to patient making rapid-fire diagnoses – but none of it seemed to register. He sat and stared blankly, giving him the appearance of a recently-decapitated man who, if he could just hold it still and in exactly the right place, could keep his head from falling from his neck into his lap. He’d been in this position long enough that the occasional drops of water falling from the hem of his trousers formed little pools around the bottoms of his polished black wingtips. As he ignored the chaos resulting from the student demonstration gone so-horribly-wrong earlier in the evening, he wondered exactly when it was that his day went bad. He sifted through the events of the past 48 hours, pausing occasionally to block out the occasional waft of tear gas that assaulted his sinuses every time a new arrival stumbled through the hospital lobby door. Looking back, he quickly remembered that Tuesday was fine, even better than fine; it was a banner day by anyone’s standards. His meeting in Prague was an unprecedented success for both Christian personally and his father’s company, McKenna-Montenegro Enterprises. After months of schmoozing and cozying up to some of the city’s most prominent businessmen (as well as more than a few of the much less reputable but still wealthy ones), Christian succeeded in obtaining a new multi-billion dollar line of credit for the company. Securing the capital not only meant MME would be able to launch its new Robotics Division on time, but it was a linchpin event in Christian’s business life. Although he’d held some 2 Episode 1 position in McKenna-Montenegro Enterprises since age 14, this was the first time his actions made a significant impact on the company. His success in Prague meant he’d be gaining an increasing role in the company’s operations. Christian even allowed himself the fleeting but heady thought that his time to shepherd McKenna-Montenegro into the future might be sooner than he dreamed. Later that evening, he celebrated his success at Hradcany, one of Prague’s best restaurants, with Svetlana, a svelte blonde model of Hungarian descent. Christian’s taste in food was seemingly at odds with his Scottish heritage; he was fond of exclusive and trendy dining spots across three continents. His taste in women shared much with his taste in restaurants; he had a favorite in every city, and each tended to be expensive, high-class, and difficult to get into – at least at first. All through dinner (an exemplary roast duck with raspberry glaze and several bottles of a smooth French Cabernet), Christian regaled Svetlana with tales of his business prowess. He told her how his work today would eventually lead McKenna-Montenegro Enterprises to become one of the world’s leading robotics companies; how he personally would become a household name; and how his company would lead all of eastern Europe out of its technological backwater and into the twenty-first century. Svetlana smiled and nodded through all this, picking at her dinner on occasion, and, more frequently, refilling her glass of wine. She did, however, respond enthusiastically when Christian invited her to come back with him to his suite at the Corinthia Towers. Normally they stayed at her apartment in the suburbs and he would leave sometime in the night. “I’ve never felt this good before,” he remembered confiding to Svetlana as they left the restaurant, slipping his arm around her waist as he spoke. “I’m finally doing something important.” Without going into detail (although Christian did vividly and repeatedly while recounting the events to himself), let it suffice to say that the remainder of the evening with Svetlana went as well for Christian as did the rest of Tuesday. Maybe even better. It was Wednesday morning when life began to go awry. Perhaps, 3 Committed by A.R. Kirby Christian thought in retrospect, the series of minor annoyances set the stage for the major problems to come later in the day. His wakeup call at the hotel was thirty minutes late, throwing his carefully arranged schedule into complete disarray. Christian generally disliked schedules; no one back home in Montenegro ever expected him to arrive at the plant earlier than 10, and he generally did whatever he wanted once there. While traveling, however, he found them a most necessary evil. An unintended 36-hour layover in Albania will do that for a person. He skipped breakfast (a massive no-no for Christian; he truly believed a good breakfast was the most important meal of the day) and then gave himself a nasty crack on the forehead getting into the shower. With Svetlana still snuggled under the blankets in his suite, his goodbye was awkward, but he promised to call as soon as he got to Stuttgart. Two broken shoelaces and a slight aggravation with an overeager desk clerk about a minibar charge later (yes, he ate the Toblerone), he was back on schedule. By this time it was 8 a.m. and he had just over an hour to get to the airport and check in for his flight to Stuttgart. He grabbed a cup of coffee and a banana from the small café in the hotel lobby and headed out the door onto the street. Fortunately, a car was waiting for him outside the lobby; unfortunately, as he was carefully managing his belongings and navigating his way into the back seat, he stepped into a puddle and completely soaked his left foot. As the driver navigated through the city’s morning traffic toward the airport, Christian sat in the back seat and took off his shoe and sock, trying to get them dry before he had to get on the plane. He rolled the window down a bit, stuck the sock most of the way out, then rolled up the window again so the sock flapped like a tiny black flag as they drove across town. Once again satisfied with his ingenuity (albeit a tad uncomfortable wearing only one shoe), Christian eased back into his seat and began reviewing the events of the coming day. He’d arrive in Stuttgart around 10, be at his meeting at 11, seal the sales deal by lunch, and then catch a flight to Paris in the late afternoon. 4 Episode 1 His cell phone rang. He checked the display and saw it was his office calling. “Christian here. Go ahead.” He yawned slightly, awaiting the latest sales figures or other administrative business requiring his attention. “Oh, Mr. Christian, Mr. Christian,” his secretary, Mischa, sobbed on the other end of the line, “It’s Mr. Seamus, sir. He might be dead by now…” She then broke into a full wail the likes of which made generations of hysterical Croatian women proud. Christian chalked it up to some gypsy blood in her ancestry. Between squalls and sobs, Christian dragged out the basic information from his secretary. His father was “dictating a letter” to one of the girls from the secretarial pool that morning and had a massive heart attack. Christian hoped the paramedics had the decency to put pants on the elder McKenna before taking him out of the office and to the hospital. There was no further word on his condition. The decision to go back to Montenegro was immediate. His father – and the company – needed him. He calmed Mischa to the point where she could take basic instructions and got her to make changes to his flight arrangements; a ticket home would be waiting for him at the airport. He called his client in Stuttgart and tentatively rescheduled the meeting for next month, then called Brigitte, his date in Paris, to reschedule as well. Christian could think of no more calls to make, so he sat back in the seat as Prague whizzed by unnoticed. The significance of Seamus’ heart attack began to sink in, along with the inevitable questions that began banging around in Christian’s head: What will happen to the company if Seamus dies? What will happen with the robotics division? What will happen to me? “Good Lord,” Christian muttered to no one in particular, and rubbed his face, feeling the beginnings of a panic attack stirring in his gut. His breathing became shallow and rapid, and he began to worry about things he could not control, at least not from the back of a black sedan in Prague. He felt lightheaded and hot; it was getting 5 Committed by A.R. Kirby stuffy in the back of the car. Christian loosened his tie, and leaned over to open the window a bit. Some fresh air would help him clear his head and gain some control over his emotions. He was so engrossed in getting his mind back on track that he completely forgot about his sock drying outside. He was slightly shocked when he saw it flutter briefly in the car’s wake before landing in the gutter. By the time he arrived at the airport, Christian had composed himself, although he felt a little funny wearing one finely-tailored shoe with no sock to match. Otherwise, a calm surrounded him; he was prepared (at least he told himself so) for whatever the rest of the day threw at him. Christian eventually made his way to the Malev Hungarian Airlines counter, where a bored-looking man of about 60 put down his sudoku puzzle long enough to confirm the reservation change Mischa made for him. His flight back to Montenegro didn’t leave for another couple of hours, so Christian headed straight for the airport bar where a million thoughts a minute whizzed through his head despite the best efforts of the significant number of vodka tonics he downed. His flight was finally called to the gate, and Christian headed for it, only wobbling slightly. He made it on to the plane without incident, but by the time he arrived in Budapest for his layover, his head was throbbing from the vodka and the incessant howling of the colicky baby in the row ahead of him. The flight out of Budapest was no better; Christian wondered if Malev had a monopoly on extremely unhappy infants. Christian had never been so happy to see Ivan Mirko, his father’s right-hand man, and the sedan waiting outside the airport. He made a dash from the cover of the terminal through the rainstorm, and slipped into the front seat of the car beside Ivan. “My boy, my boy, I’m so glad to see you!” Ivan punctuated his sentence with a bear hug, an unusual show of affection from the hairy Croatian. “I know it must have been an awful morning.” You have no idea, Christian thought, but quickly turned the subject 6 Episode 1 to his father. Ivan relayed what he knew, essentially repeating what Mischa told him earlier. They would head directly to the hospital, where Christian could find out more. As they neared the center of town, traffic became heavier and heavier, until the car was stopped, along with hundreds of others in front, beside, and behind them. Christian looked through the rainstreaked window and noticed a number of people walking, sodden and downtrodden. Ivan noticed Christian’s wonder and spoke. “It looks like the student demonstration is finally breaking up,” he said in heavily-accented English. “It’s about time.” “What demonstration?” Christian asked. University of Montenegro students were generally not ones to get riled up about much, if anything. “Well,” Ivan replied, “I understand it is about government corruption.” He snickered slightly. “It seems some of the good students can’t understand that society and industry need some influence in government in order to progress.” Christian smiled. Since the old communist days, government corruption was the rule in Montenegro, and McKenna-Montenegro Enterprises was far from innocent in such matters. “They need to demonstrate some other time,” Christian said, looking at his watch. “We’ve got to get to the hospital and see what’s happening with my pa.” To be continued... 7