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Dedication
Howard hurried across the room to claim the far table. His lunch would be warm because it had been in his desk drawer since the morning. There was a fridge in the break room but Howard preferred not to use it now. They spent their day making sure that not a single penny went unaccounted for in the whole corporation, but you couldn’t trust any of them not to pinch your lunch. He had spent the past three days trying to track down a missing deposit of $56,894.00. That was an important job. It showed that the company trusted him. They valued his honesty. Yet when his can of Mountain Dew had disappeared from the communal fridge on September 14, 2003, nobody seemed to care. Wasn’t stealing still stealing, no matter what it was?
Howard was more careful now. He stapled his lunch bag shut every morning before he left the house. Carefully now, he removed the staples and brought forth the contents of the bag. An apple, a tuna sandwich, a container of vitamins, and a can of Mountain Dew. He opened the Mountain Dew and popped the vitamins into his mouth. His diet wasn’t always as complete as it should be. But a man had to look after his health.
He picked up his apple and began to polish it with his paper napkin. Hello...what’s this? He hadn’t noticed this puncture before. Had someone poisoned it, perhaps injecting a toxic substance below its skin? There wasn’t any bruising, so whoever had done this must have acted only moments before Howard retrieved his lunch. Maybe when he'd stepped away from his desk to make copies. He looked at the paper bag. Someone had tampered with his lunch, then replaced the staples, making sure the metal points went through the exact same holes as the original staples. They probably thought they were clever.
He looked up and around at his coworkers. Was one of them watching him particularly closely, waiting for the poison’s terrible effects? Who was it? Was it Jane, chatting and laughing with two men at her table? No, she’d never even noticed him. She had no idea what kind of responsibility he carried. Could it be Myron, pouring over some report while he stuffed another bag of chips into body? Myron looked up at him as if reading his mind, and then glanced quickly back at his work. No, it couldn’t be him. Myron wasn't clever. He probably didn’t even realize what important work the company entrusted to him.
Ronnie. Talking smiling Ronnie. Hadn’t it been Ronnie who had come by his cubicle earlier that week to ask about the missing money. “Found that chunk of change yet Howie?” he’d asked. At the time Howard had thought he was mocking him, laughing about his work. But now, in light of the apple incident, it was different. Yes, Ronnie showed alltogether too much interest in the missing money. Ronnie was looking at him now, smiling and nodding, now turning back to his chatting. He’s probably waiting for me to keel over, Howard thought. But I’ll show him. He’s not half as smart as he thinks he is.
Howard stood, grabbed the apple, and walked purposely across the lunch room to the far garbage can near Ronnie. Should he make a witty remark? Something like “I just don’t feel like eating an apple today?” Or something more pointed, like “Nice try, Ronnie.” No, Howard decided, he’d keep his cool. he couldn't prove Ronnie had done it. Better not to make an accusation. Better just to let him know that he knew. He paused, made eye contact with sneaky thieving Ronnie, and then purposely dropped the apple into the trash. It’s dull thud seemed to echo across the room.
Howard returned to his table and watched Ronnie closely. Didn't he keep peering over this way? Maybe the apple wasn’t all he’s gotten to. Of course! The sandwich was an obvious target. All that open tuna, all that bread. It was a breeding ground for bacteria, poisons, or parasites. The apple might have been the red herring. Ronnie had expected him to find the puncture on the apple, and then to eat the sandwich. People would blame Myron. Ptomaine, they would say. You should have out your sandwich in the fridge. Oh no Ronnie, not today. I’m on to your little plan.
Howard stood, wove his way across the room, and deposited his sandwich into the garbage. As he returned to his sat he felt triumphant. Well played!
As he sat there, flushed with the thrill of victory, he sipped his Mountain Dew. Suddenly, it all became too clear. Ronnie was a genius of monstrous proportions. It had been the vitamins, hadn’t it Ronnie. It had been the vitamins all along. The flush of victory he imagined he had felt was clearly the feel of the venom passing through his body. It was probably one of the Belladonna alkaloids. That would explain the warm feeling, the dry mouth, the ache in his stomach. As the lunch room began to clear out, Howard sat and waited to die.
When the room was empty and he noted the clock was now at ten past one, Howard stood up. Perhaps he’d been wrong. Perhaps the poison wouldn’t take effect for hours. Yes, Ronnie was clever. Howard would die at home, or on the subway, and no one would ever know the truth. But maybe Ronnie could be thwarted yet. Howard shoved his hand into his mouth and flailed his fingers about in his throat. Gagging and heaving, he threw up into the garbage can. First once, and then again. Yes, the vitamins were there. He’d saved himself with his quick thinking. He could now plan his revenge on Ronnie at his leisure.
It was quarter past one. He’d better get back to his desk. Long lunches was really just a fancy term for stealing time from the company. He’d stay at his desk an extra twenty minutes, just to even things up. He had important work to do.
