Free Run into Trouble by Alan Cook Page A

producing a ticket to the “Pageant of the Masters” for each of them. Peaches drove them back to Laguna Beach from Newport Beach on the bus.
    The Irvine Bowl was an outdoor amphitheater with tiers of seats rising gracefully in an arc from in front of the stage. It reminded Drake of a Roman theater he had seen on the island of Cyprus. It also bore similarities to a Greek Odeon, such as those at the Acropolis of Athens. Like the ancient theaters, there wasn’t a bad seat in the place. Not everything of value had been invented in the last hundred years.
    The show couldn’t start until dark—about 8:30. It gave them a chance to talk to Fred. Drake decided it was time to change the direction of the conversation from how good Melody looked.
    “How long have you been with Giganticorp?”
    “Fifteen years. I joined right out of college.”
    Melody said, “The Company must have been small then. I’m trying to remember when I first heard of it.”
    “It was started in the late forties by a group of retired military officers and scientists who wanted to make sure that the U.S. stayed on the leading age of weapons and war technology. In some ways we got caught flat-footed by World War Two.”

It had grown rapidly and become very large, all in twenty years.
    Drake had a question. “Since it started small, as most companies do, how did it get its name?”
    “That was a joke. You know how military men are with their big egos. They decided that if they were going to start a corporation, it was going to be a big one. In reality, it started in an old warehouse not much larger than a garage. It was just Casey and half a dozen scientists.”
    “How did Casey get involved?”
    “His father was a lieutenant general in the army and on the original board of directors of Giganticorp. He died a few years ago. Casey was a senior at Stanford, majoring in business. They were working on a shoestring and needed somebody they could get cheap to head it. They pulled Casey out of school and made him president. I suspect they were planning to bring somebody in over him if they were successful.”
    Melody spoke above the murmur of the voices of hundreds of theater-goers, chatting as they drifted toward their seats. “It sounds like Casey was so successful they never replaced him.”
    “That’s it in a nutshell. He proved to be good at getting military contracts—although, of course, the connections of the stockholders helped. The corporation grew faster than any of the founders had dreamed.”
    “I take it you’ve grown with the corporation over the years.” Melody kept a straight face, not looking at Fred’s waistline. “What’s your position?”
    “My official title is Vice President of Marketing Operations.” Fred pulled two business cards out of a pocket of his sport coat and handed one to each of them. “I get involved with a lot of special projects.”
    “Like Running California.”
    “Precisely. Although I have to admit that was Casey’s idea. He runs almost every day. I’m not a runner, but I admire people who can do that sort of thing.”
    Fred was smiling at Melody as he said this.
    “Are you going to help Casey with his Senate race?” Drake asked.
    “He hasn’t asked me. I was as surprised as anybody when he made the announcement. He doesn’t have an organization yet.”
    The sun had set, and the show would start soon. Drake still had a couple of additional questions. He watched Fred’s face closely. “Are you aware of anybody betting on the outcome of Running California?”
    Fred looked genuinely shocked. “Betting? You mean betting on who will win?”
    “Or who will finish and who will drop out?”
    Fred shook his head so vigorously that the flab on his cheeks shook.
    “No. This is a clean race. It’s strictly on the up and up. If you introduce betting, you have all sorts of possibilities—such as runners being tainted by the offer of money to do certain things. Why? Have you been