Free Shake the Trees by Rod Helmers Page A

knees.  The flip-flops looked like they needed to be sterilized.
    Suddenly Marc spoke up.  “Sam, there are three people in this company that wear whatever they want.  Me, Dr. Bob, and you.  We don’t have anybody to impress.” 
    Dr. Bob was now massaging Sam’s shoulder muscles.  Sam looked at Marc.  “I’m trying to impress you.”
    “You’ve already done that, Sam.”
    “What about the other Division Directors?
    “They wear suits and ties,” Marc responded.
    “We don’t even allow those assholes on our floor, dude.” Dr. Bob added.
    Marc cleared his throat to change the subject.  “Sam, my intuition tells me that you think our business plan is a little on the sleazy side.”
    Sam had that deer in the headlights look.  Marc had hit the nail on the head, but Sam certainly hadn’t said anything like that to anybody - even Sandi.
    Marc smiled and continued.  “That’s okay, Sam.  It’s a common misperception.  Dr. Bob has a little road trip planned that should allay those concerns.  Don’t you, Dr. Bob.”
    Dr. Bob took his cue and finished up the shoulder massage by messing up Sam’s hair - just the way Sam did to Dustin.  “Come on, Dawg.  I haven’t had breakfast yet.  I’m starving.”
     
    Where are we going?” Sam asked as he and Dr. Bob settled into the limo.
    “To the plane, Dawg.”
    “I thought I was dude, or cowboy,” Sam joked good-naturedly.
    “You were.  But it looks like Marc wants you.  So now you’re The Dawg.”
    “So the Director of Sales and Marketing is The Dawg?”
    “Exactly.”
    “What is Marc?”
    “The Master.”
    “Okay.  I get it.  The Dawg serves The Master?”
    “Exactly.”
    “What are you?”
    “I feed The Dawg.”
    “The Director of Data Mining feeds The Dawg?”
    “Of course.”
    “What about everybody else?”
    “Worker ants.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “The plane.”
    “When do we leave?”
    “After we eat.”
    “Where do we eat?”
    “On the plane.”
    “Huh?”
    Dr. Bob laughed.  “American leases a corporate jet. A CitationJet.  It’s staffed and catered.  Two pilots and two stewardesses.  I ordered blue crab omelets, sweet rolls, and fresh squeezed orange juice.” 
    Dr. Bob’s eyes seemed to glaze over as he apparently contemplated the breakfast he’d ordered.  “What was I talking about?”
    “Why we eat before we leave.”
    “Oh, yeah.  We’re going to The Palms Gracious Living Retreat.  It’s one of our elder resorts in Venice, Florida.  About a hundred miles south of here.  It’s like twelve minutes in the air.  Straight up and then straight down.”
    “Why are we taking a catered private jet for a twelve minute flight?”
    Dr. Bob looked Sam in the eyes as if he was attempting to communicate a critical point.  Then pointed both index fingers at Sam and cocked both thumbs.
    “Because . . . ?”  Dr. Bob asked. 
    “I’m The Dawg?”  Sam replied tentatively.
    Dr. Bob simultaneously released both thumbs.  “BAM!”

 
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 9
     
    The sun had been up for less than half an hour as Rodger Rimes sat at the kitchen table watching a plume of dust make its way up the ranch road.  Rodger stood up to pour a second cup of coffee.  It wasn’t time for the school bus yet, so it couldn’t be Sandi returning from the highway, he thought to himself.
    “Looks like we have a visitor, Betty.”
    “Oh.  I forgot to tell you.  Chubbs Mulligan called.  He’s coming over to talk to you this morning.”
    Rodger shook his head.  His wife kept claiming that she’d retired from ranch secretarial duties.  Apparently that now included taking or even passing along telephone messages.  Rodger walked back over to the window.  He could now make out Chubbs’ ancient dirty white Ford F-150 pickup.  It leaned to the left and bounced heavily along the rough ranch road.
    Chubbs owned the Circle M Ranch.  The Circle M took in nearly twenty thousand acres including the headwaters of