A Matter Of Respect

I work in a high rise in the dead center of downtown. To the east of our building the Mississippi
river eases by like a patient snake. In the afternoon the setting sun paints the window glass a perfect gold for a few minutes. I work a mid shift, so my first break kicks in just as the setting sun is painting this little part of the south in all its brilliance. 

I like this job. I'm still relatively 'the new guy' here. I wear a black suit to work every day. My sensible business shoes are actually a worn old pair of Harley harness boots I polish to a high shine every night before bed. I'm responsible for supervising the security functions on the top three floors of our building. The lower floors are owned by several different companies. Apparently the company I work for passes alot of money back and forth. When I read the job posting, it had simply read 'Needed. Security superintendent with verifiable experience.'  I submitted a brief resume. Before I was even called in for an interview my references were checked. The good ol' boy network is a close knit community of friends, and I am smack in the middle of it. I received a brief email from one of my old running buddies back home. It read  'Keep your head up Nails, somebody's checking your numbers.'  So I knew that my references had been scoured. This was comforting actually. I prefer to work in an strict atmosphere. All well built machines have close tolerances, I always believed. 

At the job interview I was scrutinized for the first few minutes. After answering the first and most basic of their questions, the man interviewing me seem to unwind a bit. I believe I had the job wrapped up when he asked me if I objected to carrying a gun. A younger fellow was standing behind the interviewer, jotting things down at random on a form attached to a clipboard. 

"So, how do you feel about carrying a firearm? Any objections or concerns?" Mr. interviewer asked me. 

He had a sharp look in his eyes. I could tell this had been a problem in the past, or just maybe my future employment was depending on my answer. Oh well, when in doubt just tell the truth.

"I don't mind a bit. I'm marksman certified and i'm perfectly comfortable with a gun. Most importantly I'm not too quick to rely on one, either." I responded. 

Mr. interviewer didn't smile, but I think he came as close as he could without losing his professional demeanor. The young man behind gave me a confused little scowl and stopped writing. 

"Fine then. If hired you will be assigned a firearm at our expense." Mr. interviewer said. 

The fellow behind him spoke up abruptly.

"We issue nine millimeter semi's like this." He swept his coat jacket back in a gallant little swoosh to show me his gun. Obviously he was very proud of it. " If you choose to buy an additional magazine it will be at your cost."  He finished.

I looked at him, looked at Mr. interviewer and spoke up.

"Would there be a problem if I wanted to provide my own sidearm?"

Mr. interviewer and his young assistant both looked at me questioningly.

"There's no need." The young man said. "The nine millimeter is the best gun for the job."

I nailed the young man with a stare.

"Sir that gun may be very stylish and pretty, but it's the last gun you would want in this building."

 Mr. interviewer was watching me intently as I spoke. 

"The muzzlespeed is to high and it has no knockdown power. It's not suitable for close quarters urban pacification. If you were to shoot a suspect here in this building with that pretty little thing it's likely the bullet will travel through them and hit someone or something behind them. And if i'm not mistaken you have a quite a few clients here that are worth a pretty penny." I finished, looking at Mr. Interviewer. "Here that gun isn't a matter of protection, it's a matter of liability."

The young looked flushed. He started to speak but Mr. interviewer cut him off. 

"What kind of sidearm do you use?" He asked

"I carry a Sig forty cal and a contingent. Two speedloaders and I use pancake holsters so they're not visible through my coat jacket." 

"Those are useless here." The young assistant said. "They're not good at a great distance and they only hold six shots apiece."

"Well now. If you can't do it with one bullet you might want to take up another profession my man."  I told the assistant, smiling. " Besides I said ( easing back into my chair a bit, putting the vibe out at the right time is worth its weight in gold ) this building is cut off and separated by walls and cubicles and offices everywhere. The longest shot you might anticipate to make here is no more than fifteen yards. A forty cal has magnificent knockdown power. And I can reliably shoot the eyes out of a tom turkey from here to hell and gone." 

I cast my stare at Mr. Interviewer. 'Time to close this deal' I thought to myself. 

"Sir you may want to keep in mind that this is a relatively narrow building. Lots of glass all around you. A fast bullet can travel an awful long distance, too. I'm pretty certain that your young hot shot has never fired his gun in this building. If he had, he would be carrying something else, and you would have one helluva lawsuit in your lap."

Three days later I reported for my first day at work. The young assistant met me as I stepped off the elevator. The distaste in his voice was tangible. He showed me to my office first, and introduced me to my secretary. She's a tall gal. Slender and pretty. Blond hair with long thick curls that reach about four inches or so below her collar. She has bright green eyes. She has a full chest and a narrow waist that tapers down to a very nice pair of hips. Obvious to me this lady takes care of herself. I met her with a friendly handshake and a smile.
 
"This is Ms. Peregot. She'll be assisting you with whatever paperwork you generate." Young Mr. hot shot said. The look he gave me suggested he doubted I was capable of generating much paperwork. 

"Please don't be taken aback if I ask alot of questions, ma'am." I told her politely.

She answered with a beaming smile. "I would be worried if you didn't."

We left the office and he took me on the dime tour of our three floors. As we were walking down one of the long corridors a young woman stepped out of a door to our right into our path. She saw us coming and bolted across the way. She looked like a mouse dashing into a bolthole.  In the brief moment I observed she had long flowing chestnut colored hair. Nice legs. I looked at Mr. hot shot.

"New girl." He said.

We wound our way around my new territory, his voice taking on a long boring monotone. No doubt he thought I was trying as hard to ignore him as he was me. He was dead wrong, too. I didn't just listen. Someone who doesn't like you might not emphasize something that can put your ass in a sling big time. So I make it a habit not to just listen, I consume. As we rounded a corner I recognized we were back in the hallway that lead to my new office. He stopped walking and looked at me with an apathetic glare.

"So, any questions?"

"A few." I answered. He rolled his eyes. So I decided to ask quite a few. " First off I noticed there are two places on each floor from where we can shut the two elevators down, not to count inside the elevators themselves. I'm assuming since our company has a sizable investment in security that there is an office at the ground level where the building super can shut down the elevators. That makes a total of ten places that the elevators can be compromised from excluding the other floors, only six of which are under our immediate control. I want our controls to be under lock and key on these floors. It took us roughly seven minutes to walk the round on each floor, and that was with stopping and speaking to every Tom, Dick and Harry on the way. At a full trot I can run the round in forty five seconds. I want our shutdowns for the elevators to have an optional timer with a duration of no longer than eight minutes. Worst case scenario, we could run to the stairwell at the end of each of our three floors, shut down each elevator manually if need be. If any shit hits the fan below us I want to be able to stay it before it gets up to us. If anything goes wrong up here I want to be able to confine it if necessary to prevent any secondary damage or loss of life. "

It was obvious he wasn't liking this. That meant I was eating it up, of course. I continued.

"Also this building has central elevator shafts. If someone detonates an explosive in here it will affect everything around it in a radius. Not just one side of the building. Everything above and below in an equal distance. Lower floors will collapse and the roof will be in our laps. If this company has a single overseas client from anywhere, sniffers up and down our stretch of the elevator shaft are a good idea."

Before he could protest I interjected. "I'll go down and meet the super. Give him the gospel and i'm sure he'll like the idea. I noticed this place doesn't have item numbers on any of the property here. No serial number tags on the backs of the pc's or filing cabinets. That means we're privately funded and ran, so I'm sure the money for these little improvements is at hand." I winked at the kid, watching him slowly deflate in front of me. " If i'm wrong i'll buy you lunch." I walked to my office and stopped at the door. "I'll be generating paperwork if you need me."  I closed the door behind me and stood there with a big shit eating grin on my face.