Pure Slush

flash ... without the wank

Bells and Whistles

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by Tom Fegan       Recovery Period  > 

 

It was a cold morning when I stood outside my apartment and read the news about my most trusted man’s death. Ben was in charge of the communications room for the security department at Norcom. I was his boss. Norcom, a telecommunication and network manufacturer, depended on its shield of cameras, alarms, and secured access to protect its campus from interlopers. My security officers were window dressing in management’s eyes

A rash of thefts had occurred at Norcom. Equipment and accessories were vanishing and the perpetrator unseen. We moved left; the thief moved right. Thousands of dollars of company property had been lifted.

“When are you going to quit reading that obituary over and over again?” groaned my girlfriend Jo as we sat eating breakfast.

An undercover detective was sold some equipment by a fence. Who revealed the insider was Ben. Suicide spared Ben a stiff prison sentence. 

“Bells and whistles can deter theft but can’t catch a thief in charge of the controls. Ben manipulated the cameras and alarms so he could move undetected; like a phantom. He was smart.” I nodded. “Thinking he’d never get caught is what did him in.”

“So, you’re in for a long day,” Jo said, standing the coffee pot next to my coffee mug. “So I guess I’ll pick up the kitty litter from the store on my way home from work tonight.” 

 

published 22 May 2013