A Wonder Either Way, by Mick Halpin

A WONDER EITHER WAY

By Mick Halpin

(5200 words)

The Job Market remained restrictively constipated, and so the exceptional applicant essayed original, fantastic means to squeeze clear. Some escaped the dreary consistency of the crowd. Resumes came into Schwer & Fehlen fluorescent yet still tasteful; several a week required an authorized-signature signing, Fed Exed by overnight couriers as if important paperwork truly commanding immediate attention. Illustrative graphics adorned otherwise uniform resumes, and would have impressed less-experienced eyes than Martin Sprudel's. He spotted instantly those standard in common clip-art libraries. One resume appended an enticing crossword puzzle, the applicant's qualifications providing all the answers to the ten engaging "needs, up and down." One was delivered as a message in a bottle. One came encased inside a plastic fish. On the whole, such gimmicks did nothing to impress Mr. Martin Sprudel, M.BA. In his tenure as guardian to the unwavering, high standards of the conservative Schwer & Fehlen establishment he had internalized, automated, a bullshit filter. Sprudel had seen just about everything. He viewed with quiet pride the caliber steadily climbing, as the years progressed, passing him in the halls with the respected nod. He was the (still youthful) executive who not only evaluated his corporation's needs in a changing world, but spun gold, or quicksilver, or steel, from the common dross to furnish.

As chief provider, premier recruiter, king Human Resource, Martin insisted on sorting every resume himself. His infallible filter read straight through exaggerations and virtual duplicates which otherwise would consume his teammates' attention. As well, many of these subordinates had inhibited their taste for exploration, dismissing what was dynamic and fresh in favor of conforming to standards already mapped and established in the company. Martin recognized that to lie static was to linger moribund. He felt vindicated by the modest profile in The Journal, a recognition that had indeed merited his congratulatory telephone call from The Chief herself, truly top-floor. Examining each C.V. for consignment was a humbling and time-consuming task, but was indispensable, worthy of his sacrifice.

Though rare, the occasional resume floored him. Martin found himself blinking, one mid-November day, at the Curriculum Vitæ of a recent, arresting graduate of the Harvard School of Business. Magna Cum Laude, internship with Price-Waterhouse then two years experience climbing through Arthur Anderson. Understated format of Occupational Goal, Location and Tenure, and Responsibilities that let the accomplishments speak for themselves, both form and content an example of professionalism and concision. It was the name atop which derailed completely the dynamic processing of Martin Sprudel- "Woody" (it actually read) "The Supraintelligent Wonder Maggot."

This had to be a mistake. No, there was no mistake here. This had to be a joke. It had to be.

Martin hit his speed dial. "Daniel, do you have a minute? Come on in here-" Daniel Steiger may be an ambitious yuppie, but Martin knew to disregard personality flaws and prejudices. Steiger was, among the lot here in H-R, the most level-headed and valuable. He had an inductive instinct, as well as a gift appeasing place-seekers in- and outside of the company, so Sprudel could overlook the aggressive habit of never knocking before twisting open doors. "Daniel, let me have your- well, your evaluation of this applicant."

Steiger examined immediately the crisp bond-paper sheet. Circumventing ground he deduced already covered, Steiger wasted no time on exclamations regarding mistakes or tomfoolery. "Let's check the phone book," he suggested with a flash of spectacles.

They wound up checking www.555-1212.com instead. The screen hummed forth the conjunction of a world of information.

"Well," concluded Steiger, buffing his fingernails on his tweedy vest, "It appears that Woody The Supraintelligent Wonder Maggot lives at 76 Baggot Street, Dublin, Ohio, just like it says on his resume."

Sprudel examined again the burnished summary. "So Dan. . . your input?"

Steiger shrugged dismissively. "I figure, what the hell, there's a local phone listed. Assign Ganz to do the research and set up a primary interview. He's got the credentials, Woody our boy."

"This I have to see," agreed Martin. The unconventional occasionally stopped him cold, the gimmick squeezed through. He lifted the sheet again, and then set it down. Sprudel had a conviction against fidgeting. "I wonder though, Dan- with a name like that, can we even assume it'll be a "boy"? Likewise, should we address the appointment, do you think, to Mr. Supra- intelligent, Mr. Wonder, or Mr. Maggot?"

"It's Mr. Supraintelligent Wonder Maggot, actually," assured the confident young man with his level delivery. Ganz, a professional workhorse in place since the days of Martin's predecessor, ushered the applicant into the office and introduced the chief of Human Resources. "Mr. Sprudel is here solely in an observatory capacity," Ganz explained, assuring the young executive that he would address and field all questions and that such evaluative tools were a component of Schwer & Fehlen's procedural commitment to teamwork and excellence. But the well-dressed visitor would not leave it at that, and instead of following Ganz's example into the proffered seat, addressed the clipboard-cradling man in the corner, professional to professional. "Mr. Sprudel, your reputation, and that of Schwer & Fehlen, is highly regarded. I am glad to see you in attendance of this meeting and I thank you in advance, as I have Mr. Ganz, for your time."

Sprudel acknowledged him with a respectful nod. Instinct offered to return the cordiality, but to do so would be to address the applicant by name. The chief wished to see the aspirant address the question, to advance explanation, of his own initiative. He kept the reply short. "I am honored by your recognition, but please recall my role here is solely observational. You may address all questions to Mr. Ganz, our designated associate."

"Of course and presently. Research into this corporation has reflected very favorably upon your approach to personnel management, Mr. Sprudel. From implications of the column in The Journal, I anticipate an excellent and insightful dialog, should Schwer & Fehlen grant me an advanced interview."

Sprudel gave the applicant another nod and returned his professional smile, secretly, with genuine pleasure. The profile was several years old, at current, and was of course that of a departmental officer. Researching a company's CEO, yes, no professional would walk into an interview without investigating that- but the HR department head, and several years back; this candidate must have invested substantial thought and time into his decision upon S & F, if he found and then drew implications from the profile. Martin listened with interest further heightened as Ganz shuffled and re-examined his papers, then began. "So! May I address the applicant before me as, Woody The, Supraintelligent Wonder Maggot-?"

"You may address the applicant before you as Woody, or, if you prefer, as Mr. Supra- intelligent Wonder Maggot," consolated the applicant gently. Ganz, that awkward lemming! The name had already been established during small talk as the two entered the room, Sprudel scolded. But the well-dressed professional cloyed no embarrassment, no impediment from the interviewer's slip. He merely took matters from there, and initiated a discussion of needs and qualifications demonstrating a command well-versed and intent. Sprudel found himself enthralled in the discussion. Woody (leaning slightly forward with hands confidently folded or, alternately, settled back in his chair with one leg casually crossed) radiated comfort with his command of all the material before him, and asked a number or questions equal to the number presented by Ganz. His concise, complete, answers directed (perhaps by a design almost imperceptibly subtle) the interviewer's natural inquiries toward areas deep within Woody's background. The queries and requests for elaboration focused on specific points, evidencing in-depth research, and included open-ended questions, strategically placed, answering which Ganz had either to declare Woody perfectly suited or had to defer for lack of certainty. It was the most masterful display of interviewing discourse Sprudel had ever seen.

"Well," Ganz sighed after one hour and fifteen minutes. "I can see, we have proceeded to advance past our allocated time of-"

Woody was far beyond Ganz's league so Sprudel stepped in to close the interview properly for Schwer & Fehlen. "Sir, you have demonstrated resourcefulness and talent. You will achieve a manifest position in any global corporation, I can assure. Schwer & Fehlen have been informed and impressed, and will explore the possibilities of a specific placement for a candidate of your abilities."

"May I assume the interview has gone well then, sir?"

Gone well! Sprudel was touched; the lad was still impressionable, bore a fresh hue of naivity. There was room for growth, neighboring all that talent: something Sprudel saw he could contribute, that Schwer & Fehlen could polish. Visions of potential exciting him, Martin Sprudel extended his hand and answered, "We will consult our internal supervisors and see if there exists a position suitable for your recruitment. You may schedule a second appointment with Ms. Janice on the way out. I look forward to discussing the specific possibilities at that time."

As he said this, Woody shook him by his hand- his left hand. In afterglow this seemed a touch odd. He recalled now that throughout the interview the applicant had not opened his right hand at all; no matter, that some medical condition maintained that his fingers remain curled. A minor physical quirk that lesser applicants would call to attention, thinking Schwer & Fehlen held some special soft spot for handicapped individuals. No; all that mattered to Schwer & Fehlen, on Sprudel's watch, was the quality of one's abilities and their potential contribution to the proud old institution.

The second interview went, if possible, better than the first. Sprudel, Steiger and two departmental administrators, Farnham and Phibs, discussed company direction with Woody for three and a half hours. For a young man, he proved extraordinarily articulate and knowledgeable. Woody's conversation was underlain with logic; his focus upon results. Ganz attempted to butt in and change the course of discussion to mundane concerns of hours, parking decals and responsibilities; Woody remained warm, polite and deferential to Mr. Ganz, when Sprudel had seen inferior candidates become cross or condescending. This youth had a future in management, treating all employees as team players, encouraging them to believe in their importance, whatever their capacity.

"The boy is good," announced an excited Phibs, after they had all left-hand shaken and declared their eagerness to speak again. "You were right, Sprudel, that did have to be seen to be believed."

"I judge he may be suited for The Job," whistled Steiger, drawing consideration and then four heads bobbed in nodding agreement. The Job was not a Top Job- selection of Directors was, at S & F, exclusively reserved for the discretion of their seclusive Chief. It was, however, for HR, as high-profile and painstaking a consideration. The Job, which had been vacant for seven months and seen temporary assignments of no less than six stop-gap junior managers, was a co-administrative posting to Ms. Edna Burke. None of the six talented individuals, who had returned to superb service within their own departments, had stopped-up the gap adequately for Ms. Burke. Three of them, in fact, had come to Human Resources wishing to place permanent-file grievances against her and her exacting manner of management. Nothing had been put on record, thanks to Steiger's careful intervention, nor had any of the six been fired. The demanding Ms. Edna Burke was the unmarried sister of The Chief.

If anyone was qualified and capable of pleasing (and, indeed, outperforming) this perfectionist workaholic, it was Woody The Supraintelligent Wonder Maggot. His placement in this important position would make profitable a key internal sector- and panacetically cure a lingering grippe for HR.

"The boy is good," Farnham dictated. "Has flair, and purpose, and energy."

"But what do you think," interrupted Ganz, who still lingered outside the group, "about the name?"

"Ganz attempted to make an issue of it, in the primary interview," confided Sprudel in low tones. Phibs considered, and then declared:

"As we agreed, the boy has style. What his story is, is likely irrelevant. Maybe it's a 'Dances With Wolves' Native American sort of thing. Yes, I see, that certainly must be it. In the same manner that we would draw no conclusions from a name such as Goldstein, Rodriguez, or Nguyen, I propose we disclaim any prejudice here."

The four nodded, voicing their agreement, but the unimaginative workhorse Ganz remained unconvinced. "There is more here than is meeting our eyes, but you are intentionally overlooking it. This situation is clearly unconventional, yet you're all circumventing normal procedure to the point of assigning a stranger a key post, solely because you want him."

Steiger consolated Ganz, stating that he was contributing key points to the discussion and then explaining the regular interview and examination procedures were being followed in due course. The references contacted at Arthur Anderson and Price Waterhouse, for example, had provided elaborate and glowing recommendations that had not once mentioned the moniker.

Ganz completely lacked instinct- the sort of man to pass up free sirloin because he had been sent to the store for a can of tuna fish- but Martin recognized was correct on one matter: they did want him. Schwer & Fehlen needed this distinctive applicant, a brilliant goldmine stumbled upon in the U.S. Mail. The next three days brought eager expectation, rumor and excitement, and then a terrifying scare as answer to their initial offer. Usagi International had been courting Woody as well, those bastards. He was interested, flattered in particular by their generous advance. It looked as though S & F would lose him; Sprudel proved himself bold and adept at certain channels, as Woody demonstrated that hardball bargaining lay well within the realm of his talents. Negotiations documented by fax prolonged eight tense hours.

In the end, Sprudel had extended Schwer and Fehlen far out on a seldom-used limb, and documents signed. 'At nine a m the following Monday,' Sprudel had the delight of announcing to Ms. Edna Burke, her new co-administrator would report to his desk. "Make it six-thirty," dictated the hardened skeptic at the other end of the line. "And I want H-R's file and appraisal of this one up here, Now. I want to have this character in his place and down to work Monday by the time I breakfast with my sister, at seven."

Sprudel was not intimidated by her reference to The Chief. He knew the risk, but he had intimate knowledge of his situation, and knew the coup he was about to produce, on Monday. "Personnel files are internal H-R documents, Ms. Burke. You know perfectly well, procedurally speaking, I cannot offer access to them. Besides- Besides," he calmly overrode her barked protests, "speaking personally, executive to executive, I believe you will find it most effective if you allow him to make his own introductions. You are in for a surprise that delights me to just think about it."

"So you, the Human Resources Director, are going to sit there giggling with your thumb up your ass, not preparing me with a single iota of data about my new co-administrator- the person this entire venerable establishment relies on me to work in the intensest and most intimate harmony with?"

"All I will say, Ms. Burke- and this I stake my reputation upon- is that this is the cleverest lad I have ever seen."

"You are not even going to tell me his name?"

Sprudel smiled. "Nope."

Sprudel dawdled in the lobby that Monday morning, believing five-forty-five early enough to assume his post. He did not have to pretend interest in the concerns of Ron the night receptionist long; at ten minutes of six, the glass doors parted and the young go-getter strode immaculately in. Two hours before sunrise! He exchanged a respectful nod with Mr. Sprudel, and Martin returned the quiet grin. Two hours before sunrise and here he came, raring. And there he, Martin Sprudel, had been waiting, where a less-intensely dedicated H-R Chief who reasoned six a m early enough, would have missed the entrance entirely. "That man is our newest professional, up on the top floor," The Director told Ron. "You never need to bother him with the verification of identification." Sprudel acknowledged the man's bright Yes Sir, and calmly rounded the corner to H-R. He was at his desk before six, dutifully sorting resumes with a touch more than satisfactory benevolence.

His demeanor carried him well into the morning. It was an efficient high, to have put in three hours by the time the last of his co-workers arrived. It was akin to a third cup of coffee. "Mr. Sprudel," and "Mr. Steiger," each had greeted the other, the exercise of refined professionalism quietly congratulatory. Today was the big day.

Around nine-thirty, as Martin had been expecting, his telephone rang on the internal line. "Sprudel here," he cheerfully announced.

Silence sputtered from the receiver. "Yes, Hello, Human Resources," he greeted again.

The dull banging sounding forth confused him for a minute, and then a demonic voice roared into his ear. "IS THIS INSULT SOME KIND OF A JOKE?"

Ms. Edna Burke slammed her end of the phone against the edge of her desk a few times more. Sprudel waited. "Look here, Strudel, I- you- !! What you imagined your gain would be, I cannot fathom, you dried-up piece of-"

"Ms. Burke, you must slow down. I can barely comprehend what you are saying," Martin understated. Whatever Woody had done up there, this mad bitch had finally slipped her leash.

"GET YOUR ASS UP HERE, STRUDEL!! OR IT'S YOUR M-----------G JOB!!!"

Martin decided to attend to the conflict personally.

Three secretaries and a half-dozen workers from nearby departments cowered curiously outside the entrance to her suite. Depreciation of company assets accelerated to the tune of several hundred dollars a minute, from the sounds in there. Confidently Martin strode in, turned, and directed those gathered back to their respective posts, as there was work to do and important matters for each of them to attend to. He moved deeper into the fray as the gossips officiously dispersed.

Edna Burke's bull neck had gone beet red, and the head attached to the front of it recalled immediately to mind one of those predatory deep-sea fish, that lurk in watery abysses alien of light until violently exhumed to this world for scientific study. She glared at Martin open- mouthed, exhausting gasps of air for several seconds, then shrieked and flew at him across the ruins of her office.

He quickly sidestepped behind a desk (overturned) and calmly inquired, "What was the first thing that upset you, Ms. Burke?"

Keeping cool, Martin had learned, was the best policy when faced with difficult situations. Oftentimes confidence and control won the day, even when they were only illusions. Here, his direct, unaccusatory question acknowledged that she was upset, focused the blame of her actions on someone else's behavior, and gave her a concrete issue to address. The vice- president had already spent her physical exertion, as well; Ms. Burke's claws dropped to her sides as she slouched into the chair Martin officiously righted for her descending rump.

"All frickin' morning I spent waiting for your man, this mystery wonder-boy who was supposed to be such a peach. I was in at six a m sharp, to be ready for him from the second he thought of crossing my door- no show. I see your people, over the weekend, installed all the new computer equipment and accessories in the new office; I see the lights on, but no one there. So I got myself busy and settled in to wait.

"Seven o'clock, he still hasn't shown. I go off to breakfast with my sister- with my sister, Sprudel!- and for your frickin' sake, I don't say a thing. She even mentions, 'I heard your new co-administrator begins his assignment today-' and I, out my own kindness, don't announce the fact that you screwed the frickin' pooch, that he wasn't in! I gave benefit of the doubt, that maybe you hadn't been able to get in touch with him Friday night and alter the hour from nine to six-thirty. So all morning I sit there like a dumb-ass flunky, waiting-!"

Martin did not understand this at all; he had seen Woody enter the building, obviously before Burke herself had. There was no time to be wasted with unprovable protestations; mind reeling to understand what could have possibly gone wrong, Martin carefully righted another chair, and (reassuringly mimicking his peer's body language and posture) sat down, bidding her to continue.

"Nine-thirty; you've already wasted three and a half hours of the entirety of Schwer & Fehlen's imminent time, I finally walk in there, to see if there was a note, or even a message-" Martin could tell her rage was growing again. He hushed her to a stop.

"Sshh shhhh, Tell me exactly what you saw first."

"I looked and there was no note," sobbed Edna Burke. "Nothing at all, I thought at first- and then I looked closely at the terminal and thought, 'That's odd . . . ' On this brand new, custom keyboard before a brand-new computer, there was already a piece of trash. This little- this little thing sitting there on the 'g' key. It looked like a little piece of rice-"

Oh no.

"I glanced up, wondering, and my eyes fell on the nameplate- my new associate- it-"

"Stop there," advised Martin in a voice that sounded dead. He left his chair and stumbled toward the door. Her phrase echoed through his mind, where the answer to this mystery should be: looked like a little piece of rice-

"Something is dreadfully wrong here," he announced, at Edna's doorway. For once- for the moment- she was silent. That scared Martin Sprudel all the more.

He got Mawson racing down to interview Dottie the day receptionist, Ganz to pull up Ron the night receptionist's home phone number, and O'Cleary to pull Woody The Supra- intelligent Wonder Maggot's resume from the permanent files, so recently after having been consigned. Ron related, their immaculate go-getter had left the building just ten minutes after he entered, not bothering to acknowledge the receptionist's greeting. Sprudel ran the local telephone number given on the resume through the internet. He stopped himself fidgeting, then stopped himself once again, and in two minutes he knew- the five-star Ambassador Hotel. Martin grabbed his coat and briefcase.

He caught the individual he'd known as Woody The Wonder Maggot lounging in ratty briefs, eating Pringles and zoning to the tasteful in-room pornographic movies. Martin tipped the bellman a twenty and closed the door behind. Woody fixed the elder executive a confused and insolent stare.

"What precisely is your game, young man?" demanded Martin. The youth- once eloquent, and purposeful- scratched himself in protest.

"What the hell are you so upset about, pops? You got exactly what you hired."

"Explain youself."

The brute sighed, exasperated, and pantomimed strangling his intruder. "Where the hell in that contract did it specifically say you were hiring a human? You hired a graduate of Harfart Business School, who'd interned at Price-Watercloset, and worked two years at Asshole Anderson. You hired a, a- all those things it said on that resume. And I dropped him off this morning."

"This is not amusing, Woody- this is criminal breach of contract, given the one-hundred and fifty thousand dollars and the company car, of which you took possession last Saturday."

"Ain't nothing criminal, and stop calling me 'Woody.' I'm sick of that little maggot- you've got him now. Me and him are through."

"Woody-"

The young man was on his feet, in Martin's face. "Stop calling me 'Woody!' My name is Sequoia Lee Lewis-" he punctuated each word with a finger, jabbed in Martin's gut- "I've been doing and saying what that invertebrate yuppie punk said for nine whole years- NINE YEARS!- and now I'm through. Check the frickin' bank records if you like; deposited your advance Friday afternoon, then he shifted the fee into my account- signed possession of the car over to my name Saturday afternoon. In one hour here at check-out time, I'm rolling my rich ass back home and seeing what all those delinquents think of me now."

Martin was too shocked to speak; this man looked the exact physical duplicate of the one he had seen enter the building that very morning, but it was simply not the same person. Just as once a name atop a resume had thrown him, so now did this unexpected shock, and so Martin had to impotently endure this man's point-blank glare for nearly a full minute. At length, he merely repeated, "Those delinquents?"

The raging youth turned aside. "Yeah, like I used to be. Check the precious records, if you want. I was fifteen and kicked out of school. I was sleeping in the pines. Woke up one morning with, with a maggot on hand. Everyone thought I'd gone crazy, I was so smart all of the sudden. So smart---"

His voice had sunk low, and he continued speaking, staring out the window. "I don't know how it worked. I couldn't grasp that. Bee-dances convey information; some insect sign language, I didn't understand no matter how many times he patiently explained it. It works; he simplified it all through some method that even people, even I could comprehend."

"The maggot?"

Martin heard a sad chuckle. "Yeah, who'd have thought?"

"You are saying, all you had to do was hold this maggot in your hand, and it could convey comprehension, information, complex social direction-?"

The man- his back still to Martin- held both his hands out palm empty. "All gone."

"Maggots only live a matter of days, young man."

"I told you, I don't understand how it worked."

"Maggots feed on dead matter."

Sequoia began to cry.

"And even assuming all that was true- which is clearly, clearly impossible to consider- why would Woody have chosen to leave you? Don't tell me it was you who abandoned the arrangement- a maggot that intelligent could have outsmarted you into doing whatever it wanted, all the while you thinking it was your idea."

"He was ready to fly," choked Sequoia. "I don't know, he ordered all sorts of specialized computer equipment, microtouch minikeyboard, suprasensitive mouse- I guess he thought he could do it on his own, from here on out. I mean," Sequoia sobbed, "he figured that if he could acquire such employment on the basis of his merits, he could complete the tasks and win your respect with them. Dignity, it's all----"

Martin was alarmed to find himself considering. This was an indefensible excuse, for an extreme, outlandish state of events- but this man, also, was not the applicant whom he had seen in action, for many hours at this point. Everything was different- speech tone, vocabulary, demeanor, body language-

No. This was a tale about a protopupiary arthropod. An insect!

But insects, Sprudel's dynamic processing mind had to recall, built complex physical structures which altered environmental living conditions- keeping anthills warm underground, beneath feet of snow in which people froze to death. Insects were born knowing how to coordinate actions for productive effort. Single bees could, without the benefit of spoken word, acute vision, or any hearing, systematically explore designated territories, catalog variable resources, and then accurately navigate a return course analogous to hundreds or thousands of miles to efficiently communicate their report. . . .

He applied his Human Resources. "Sequoia, I now offer you two minutes in which to convince me your story is true."

Sequoia turned around, wiping his eyes, and began throwing articles into his suitcases. "Take you two minutes and shove it, pops. Believe me or don't, it's no difference. I'm out of here."

This was convincing. Reiteration would have signaled unconceivability. Martin positioned himself close to the busy youth's confidence and said softly, eyes down and hands folded, "If authorities determine some con has been artificed, there will be pursuit and incarceration. If you have anything else you have not revealed, I suggest you tell me so we can sort this between ourselves."

The man became annoyed once again. "Already told you, ain't nowhere in that contract I signed- he signed- does it say you hired a human being. You hired Woody The Supraintelligent Wonder Maggot. You wanted him so bad, you gave him one hundred and fifty thousand dollars' worth of salary in advance, plus a Mitsubishi 3000GT. Thank you, that is all, I am out of here."

"Sequoia-"

Thank you, that is all."

Martin hit the street in a cold sweat. I did hire Woody The Supraintelligent Wonder Maggot, he thought. I did give him one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in advance and a brand new company sportscar. If this was a con, he looked like an absolute idiot. He was no good. He was a fool. Stop. You are not a fool. You are intelligent, hardworking, and dynamic: evidence supports you. You have led a key department of a world industry leader for many years, without a single serious misstep.

Sprudel did not believe the gentleman upstairs was a con man. For this proposition he had no evidence; God alone would know what to make of all that nonsense. Sprudel had to rely on his instincts, which had served him long and well. He had acted correctly in this affair.

But that means, he realized, in his fevered brisk walk down 5th Avenue, you really did hire-

"Sprudel!" shrieked that cow. "In the name of God, just when things were returning to normal-"

"It's here somewhere," he assured them all. The heat in here was unbearable, after the chill clasp of the street. Or the heat, from his run- "It's here somewhere! Quick! I need dead flesh, for when-"

The maintenance crew shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, curious in the doorway to which they'd been shoved. Martin flung aside shattered components, sorted torn paper. "He's here somewhere-"

"Like a madman, he burst in and started this," declared Edna Burke, triumph in her voice. "Like a mad man."

That nepotic bitch has it out for me because I saw her crying, thought Martin. Well as soon as I find him, her days are numbered, if I choose it play it out that way. He thrust aside shattered splinters of oak, jabbing himself deeply.

"A madman," celebrated Edna Burke.

"I see," declared a terrible voice, that he recognized at once.

"Ask Farnham, Phibs and Ganz- we agreed, when Ganz protested there was something wrong," Steiger piped up. "Ask them! But Martin, working so hard lately, went ahead with the deal regardless."

A glance up confirmed to Sprudel all he needed to know.

"I see," boomed the voice again, lower.

Damn the secretaries and gawkers, thought Martin. "Either an actor far too clever for the Hollywood gamble or the honest truth- a wonder either way," he laughed, to reassure. He discerned from their grumbling that they did not understand.

One last sheaf and- behold! There it was! So small! Martin lifted the maggot with a gentleness (he hoped they noticed) no madman could convey. He placed the wee beastie within tender palm and curled warm fingers about.

An expression of shock, pure horror- then acceptance- electrified the features of Martin Sprudel, stopping The Chief, the executives, the titilated secretaries and lowly cleaning crew, every soul in that top-floor office, cold. It was either elemental wonder, or pure, dumbfounded despair.

"Martin?" addressed Daniel Steiger, a long and silent moment later.

He said at last, "Men are such foolish little shits."

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A WONDER EITHER WAY

By Mick Halpin