7. Johnny B. Goode

"Sorry, Sir. Are you Mr Adam Kowalski of Treesome? Mister Woodward asked me to pick you up. There's been a change of plans. He found out that «Blaszczykowski» is no longer the hottest place in town and he felt ashamed he invited you to have dinner in a place like this. Would you be so kind and come with me, Sir? The limousine is parked right in front of the door."

Adam Kowalski looks good for his 70 years: a stout and stout-hearted man in an expensive suit, a deep voice like a singer of opera, smelling like a man of success. Adam Kowalski, born in 1947. His suppliers and clients nicknamed him AK47, after a Russian machinegun: when you have the power in your hands, you'll be the last man standing in a forest of chopped trees.

His generous smile signals approval about Mr Woodward's little detail of high quality. He speaks slowly, something I didn't expect. People who talk fast are only interested in convincing others; they want to give an impression, sell what they came for, without wasting time, so they can run off to their next victim. People who talk slowly are interested in the one they talk to; they want to be sure this other person has time to listen and think about what the speaker just said. Mister Kowalski knows how to make a first impression.

He says: "I assure you that there is nothing wrong with the food here. I've eaten here more than once and—"

"The wine doesn't match our standard, and the entertainment is hardly worth mentioning, as Mr Woodward said. Now, please, Sir, come with me. If you like it here, I'm sure you can judge Mr Woodward's taste after you've visited the place he thought would be better for the occasion."

Adam Kowalski finishes his drink and puts his glass on the bar. He searches his pockets for some pocket money to pay for it, but I'm faster. I put a 100 zloty banknote on the bar and tell the waiter to keep the change.

"Change? That whisky is 170 zloty, Sir."

Happily to have more cash in my pocket, I take out another 100 zloty banknote, put it on top of his brother, smile, and calculate that's 42,50 euros for one whisky, make that 50 euros, indeed a way to keep your restaurant in the top ten of places-to-be, with a three-month waiting list for reservations.

I open the back door of the limousine for Mr Kowalski, walk around, and get in. When I turn the key and start the car, the doors are already locked and barrelled, not possible to open from outside or inside. Without a sound, the car starts to move, and without a sound, Scarlett turns around on her hiding place in the front seat, showing the barrel of my Makarov (my Russian handgun, a souvenir from my adventure in Geneva) and a wonderful smile of welcome to her former boss: "Hello, Adam. Long time no see."

Such a small handgun should not impress Mr Kowalski, AK47, but women always say that size doesn't matter as long as it moves. The slight movement of the Makarov is enough to paralyse the AK47, who stutters: "What is this? Why are you pointing that gun at me, —"

He wants to say Scarlett's real name, but she interrupts him: "I thought you'd forgotten my name, calling me «dear employee» when you fired me. Well, I've forgotten it myself. I call myself Scarlett now. A new name, a new woman, a new profession, and I've learnt how to fire too. All that wood and timber and planking… It wasn't my passion. I'm glad I'm out of the woods. My new job is more entertaining: I'm in the meat business now. I cut off greedy fingers, I cut off horny dicks, and my favourite pass-time is to cut out loveless hearts. It pays well: one 80-kilo human body contains enough meat for a year, and you can easily lose 20 kilos without missing it…"

I interrupt the happy, loving couple and say: "We've arrived at the place of our meeting, Mr Kowalski. We've made reservations in the most exclusive place we could find: your own house. If you can be so nice to open the gate with the remote control in your pocket…"

"Please, call him Adam, Red. Give the keys to me, Adam. Thank you. And your mobile phone too. Will you be so kind and open the door for our guest, Red…? Step out slowly, Adam. There's no need to rush."

"My video system records day and night. When you kill me, the police will come for you and arrest you. You'll go to jail for the rest of your life.", Adam mutters.

"Don't worry about me, Adam. In all those twenty-six years, you've never worried about me. You always trusted me to handle everything by myself, without bothering you with questions about details. I never needed a boss who ordered me what to do and how to do it. I solved problems before you even knew they existed. When I lost the job, I didn't lose lost those skills, you know. Let me show you…"

Scarlett hands me the gun and opens the front door of Adam's villa. She steps inside. The beeping stops when she enters a 6-digit code: "You see? I asked your new girl for the code and… she gave it to me like it was your business card. And she's also switched off the video recordings half an hour ago. Nobody will disturb our intimate dinner."

"Dinner?", Adam asks.

"Yes, of course, dear. Didn't Red tell you there was a change of plans? I prefer to dine with you in a more private place. Red is not only a reliable driver. He's also an excellent cook. He promised me to prepare you a dish you've never had before: your own private parts on a plate. That's why we had to pick a private place. We can't put private parts on the table of a public restaurant as crowded as «Blaszczykowski». Imagine what the clients would say: «Waiter, there's a pubic hair in my soup…» It would ruin their reputation, and I heard that it's already going down fast on the list of hottest places-to-be in Krakow, so…"

We enter the kitchen. I put the barrel of the Makarov against the back of Adam's neck while Scarlett loosens his belt. His expensive trousers drop on his expensive shoes.

"You can't do this…"

"Don't worry, dear. I was married. If you've seen one, you've seen them all. It's really no big deal…" The boxers drop on top of the trousers. "… no big deal at ALL. I wonder if it's enough as a main course. Perhaps we should make it a starter. Now, let's see if we can find some high-quality kitchen knife, stainless Polish steel, sharp as the humour in the books by Ronaldo7. You must have quite a collection of sharp knives, Adam. How can you cut the budget, if you don't have the tools to do it with?"

Scarlett opens drawers and takes out an item here and there, a blunt knife to spread butter on bread, a large fork for the barbecue, a small potato knife, but she drops them where she found them and continues her search.

"Next to the stove stands a wooden block with five knives.", I say.

Scarlett puts the block on the table beside us: "This one is nice. Oh, this one is even better. Or shall I take this one? It's meant to cut bread, but I like the teeth, like a wood saw. Let's see if I can find something to try the knife, for a starter. Ah. Goosebump sausages. Do you want some, Red? Do you want some, Adam? These sausages are so tasty… Rich in taste and low in calories. And a bottle of cold beer to drink with it."

Scarlett is having fun in the kitchen, pouring cold beer in high glasses, cutting slices of sausage, putting a frying pan on the stove, filling the space beside it with oil and herbs and pepper and salt, finding some tomatoes and unions, cutting them into pieces and baking them on a small fire in the frying pan…

Scarlett hands Adam and me a filled glass and lifts her own: "I propose a toast: to Adam Kowalski. When our little dinner is over, he will never ever screw his staff again."

Adam doesn't drink. He doesn't cry or wet his trousers either. The man has balls (I can't see them; I stand behind him, at a safe distance, and neither am I interested to see them, but still). If I stood in his shoes, humiliated in his own house, threatened to get his private parts on a plate for dinner, I don't think I would be capable of Adam Kowalski's dignity.

"Is this because I fired you?"

"No, Adam. This is because I'm so happy with my new life, without money, without respect, without anything useful to do, living in a jungle between junkies and whores where I have to fight for my life every night, not knowing how to get enough money to eat, not knowing how to tell my two daughters they have to stop with their studies and find a job as a cleaning lady, in a country where one out of five shares my unemployment problem… That has nothing to do with you firing me. This is just a cosy company meeting, to celebrate the twenty-six years we've been together, closer than most married couples. I know you too well to expect a golden handshake, but after everything I've done for you… A letter…? «Dear employee»…? Don't I deserve something better? All I wanted was a little attention, just some sort of «thank you», having dinner together like we used to do in the old days, when the office was crowded with employees and we had our one-day-per-year day out. But you needed to cut budgets and lower the costs. Competition is killing. If you can hire one woman who does the job of fifteen, you save a lot of money, so you can buy a bigger house… with a 40.000 euro kitchen… and a lot of sharp, high-quality kitchen knives…"

"I only did my job."

"I only did my job too. That's no reason to fire me."

"I don't deserve this punishment. I never did anything against the law. I never killed anyone, I never robbed banks, I never violated innocent virgins, I never used drugs or drove drunk, I always worked hard…"

"I always worked hard too, but you decided that was reason enough to fire me and take everything away from me. I want to do the same to you, for the same reason. An eye for an eye, but from my point of view: I want you to feel how it is to be a woman. I'm going to cut off your balls, I'm going to cut off your dick, I'm going to fry them with tomatoes and onions, and you're going to eat them for dinner."

Adam is not looking forward to this exclusive sample of Scarlett's skills in the kitchen, but he's not running away from it either: "You can tear out my nails. You can burn my buttocks. You can cut off my hair. It will hurt like hell, but I can handle it well. My conscience is clear and I have nothing to fear.

» We worked so many years together, but you don't really know me, Scarlett. I'm Good. My mother raised me with that song, «Johnny B. Goode» by Chuck Berry. I was 11 years old when it came out. Mum played it almost every day on her old gramophone player. She said to me: «One day you'll be a man and you will be a leader, way back in the woods among the evergreens. Maybe one day your name will be in lights, but only if you be good tonight. Work hard, be honest and always keep your promises. Behave like Johnny Be Good, so you can always look everybody in the eye and feel proud of yourself.»

» I've followed her advice all my life. It made me what I am. I've always been a good person, I've always been a terrific boss for any employee, and I've fired everyone who didn't agree with that."

Scarlett nods: "You've always been a terrific boss. By working for you, I earned more than I could have made in a similar position at another company, but that doesn't mean you should fire me because you found some other, cheaper, chick to clean up your crap."

"It means that I'm not afraid of what you plan to do with me. I'm Johnny B Goode. In this world, we, the Good, are here to be punished, and you, the Bad, are here because you like to hurt others. You can't hurt me. I'm immune to pain. If someone commits a minor crime like stealing a pack of cigarettes or taking the bus without paying, they give him a work punishment. I've worked my whole life, I've been punished my whole life, but I will survive, always, like Gloria Gaynor. I'm Johnny B. Goode."

Scarlett is in doubt.

The Boss continues: "I'm seventy years old, Scarlett. I could have retired five years ago, but I continued to work and to be your employer. I did everything for you and more. I would never fire you without an extraordinary reason, and the extraordinary reason was that I HAD to fire you and hire SecretAppy, to save the costs. That program costs 1.800 zloty per month and you cost 18.000. If you think I did that out of greed, then you should open your eyes and look at the ones who really control Treesome: the bank, the taxman and the shareholder put pressure on me; they want more and more and more. Market conditions are not easy, you know. Competition with other companies is hard; it ruins the prices and makes profits lower and lower. Are you going to bomb all those other companies too? That way, lots of other employees will lose their job, thanks to you. Sharing the pain doesn't take it away."

Scarlett feels beaten. She was so full of joy, so eager to start the torture, but her hatred backfired in her face. It's not a pleasant view. She sits down at the table and starts to cry.

I stick the Makarov between my belt and say: "Pull your trousers up, Adam. You've hurt the lady. I give you the chance to make it up with her. I'm going to prepare dinner."

The refrigerator is full and so are the cupboards. Adam's overweight is not from ordering fast food and take away. I prepare lasagna with vegetables as a starter, followed by turkey steak with a sauce of fresh mushrooms and blue cheese. The champagne ice cream from the freezer, combined with strawberries and whipped cream, makes a dessert that would pull «Blaszczykowski» back into business.

Adam tries to make Scarlett stop crying, tries to put his arm around her, but she pushes him away: "Don't touch me. I hate you."

She turns her back on him and watches me putting the secrets of the chef on plates.

We eat the lasagna in silence, until I'm fed up with this cold war: "I don't ask you to forgive each other, and I'm fine if you kill each other, but you save that for after dinner. I've done my best to put a nice meal on the table and I want you both to honour my work, by being friendly and nice company, by chatting about the weather or the results of last weekend's football matches or the latest fashion or whatever it is people talk about. If you refuse, I'll lock you both up in a broom closet, together, until you've learnt how to behave."

Both Scarlett and Adam can't hold their laughter. "You sound exactly like my mother when my two sisters and I had a fight.", Adam grins.

"I locked my two daughters in the bathroom once and told them they could come out after they signed the peace. It took them ten minutes. After that, just mentioning the bathroom was enough to make them behave.", Scarlett laughs.

I break a little more ice, put a spoonful of champagne ice cream into three high wine glasses, pour Seven-up on them and say: "Champagne-spoon for poor people. In fancy restaurants, the bill goes up like a space shuttle with tasty tricks like this. It hardly costs anything and everybody likes it. I propose a toast, to end this cold war and to welcome a peaceful future."

We raise our glasses and enjoy the cold surprise.

When I serve the main dish, the mood is better, almost good. Still, I need to do something before dessert, to cure the pain between them.

"This is good. This is excellent.", Adam says with his mouth full.

I stop eating, put my knife and fork down and look him in the eye: "You're right. This is good. It's healthy, with hardly any fat or calories, lots of vitamins, great taste, not much work, not expensive, and full of protein. The best part of it is: you didn't even have to prepare it yourself. The work was done by others. All you have to do is enjoy. That's exactly your definition of Good, Johnny B. Goode. Your mother tried to teach you how to be a good person, not how to run a business. You did well with the business, we can't deny that, but you failed at being a good person."

Adam stops eating too. Scarlett doesn't. She knows revenge is a plate that's better when it's cold, but turkey steak with mushrooms and blue cheese is definitely better when it's still hot.

I continue: "You are not a good person, Adam. Your logic of being a good person has more holes in it than Swiss cheese, and it smells a lot worse too. You put pressure on your suppliers, let them work twice as hard for the same lousy salary; you put pressure on your employees, let them work three times as hard; you cut rainforest to sell it with a profit, and that profit is higher if you don't care about the consequences of what you do to others. Being a good person has to do with responsibility, not only for yourself (we can see you've always taken good care of yourself) but for the people and the world around you. You are right, you could have retired and Scarlett would have lost her job anyway, or you could have retired and let her take over the business, but for you, there was only one option: maximum profit for you, and no responsibility at all for the problems your greed causes to others or to our planet."

Adam has heard enough. He defends himself with a short: "Everyone does that."

"When everyone behaves badly, it doesn't make it good, Adam. If you are a good person, which good things have you done in your life?"

"I gave work to lots of people."

"You got something in return for that, and you did it to make a profit. Having a good business is not the same as doing something good for others."

Adam cuts off the discussion: "You can't change the world by being generous because the world will not change its behaviour. When you bankrupt yourself, you can't afford to be generous.", and he continues to eat. He's a businessman. He doesn't listen to arguments of good and bad; he only listens to arguments of profit and loss. If any boss wants to make money, he calculates: you have to pay something to the ones who work for you, but you have to keep looking for cheaper solutions. What justifies your behaviour? The final amount on the yearly account.

I don't give up this easy: "That's right: you're not responsible for what everyone does, but you are responsible for your own behaviour and for the world around you. Scarlett did an excellent job for you, for twenty-six years. Her only flaw was that she never made you a cup of coffee; she was an office manager and not a waitress. For her work, for your company, and for you, she showed a professional responsibility. You failed to pay her back that responsibility. You fired her, with an impersonal letter, without inviting her for dinner, without even saying goodbye to her. You are not a good person, Adam. Because your mother is not here to teach you, I will take over her part."

"Will you put me in the broom closet?"

"I will make you pay."

"I already paid for this dinner. I paid the bill for all this food."

"As you have already paid Scarlett for her work. But you forgot one thing: you can retire, but she still has twenty years of working life in front of her. She will need a lot of willpower, a lot of strength, and a lot of patience to survive those twenty years, fighting herself back to a position from where she can retire without the problems you gave her. You're going to share the responsibility for her future."

On a piece of kitchen paper, with a pencil I found in a drawer, I copy a large number from a document on my spiPhone: "This is a bank account for responsibility reasons. You're going to transfer, here, now, an amount of 100.000 euros to this account. Half of it will finance the study of Scarlett's two girls. The other half will finance any future company that Scarlett wants to start, it will cover her living costs between now and finding a new job, and it will solve the financial problems she finds herself in now, thanks to your lovely letter of last Monday."

"100.000 Euros? That's a lot of money.", Adam says.

"No, it's not. 100.000 euros divided by twenty-six years is one month of Scarlett's last salary for each year. You're getting a cheap deal. There's also another way to calculate this: you said SecretAppy costs only 10% of Scarlett's salary. That's 450 euros instead of 4.500. You're saving over 4.000 euros per month, plus the costs of office rent and maintenance, which will lift your annual result at least 60.000 euros, thanks to the kind treatment you gave your beloved management assistant. In two years, you have recouped your 100.000 euro investment. Book it as a loan in the company's administration, and book it off next year as a bad debt; that's how all the banks do it. The taxman pays 20% of your costs. You're getting off cheap."

"Do I have an alternative?"

"Yes. You will not be able to look me or Scarlett in the eye if you don't pay. Your mother meant that emotionally, hoping you would feel bad after treating another human being badly. I mean that physically. Scarlett will take out both your eyes with that big barbecue fork over there. She will make sure you'll never have to look at the terrible consequences of your behaviour anymore. You can keep your private parts, by the way. My offer is a lot more interesting than the one Scarlett gave you. An eye for an eye…"

"I see…"

I hand him back his smartphone: "You can use your phone to make the transfer. Your SecretAppy secretary is waiting for your instructions. All you have to do is tell her to make the transfer to the number I gave you."

"And if I don't?"

"You won't get dessert. Champagne ice cream with whipped cream and strawberries. You don't know what you're missing."

"100.000 Euros is a lot of money for a five-course dinner."

"That's the price of doing business with us. You know this lady; she's a marvellous negotiator. You can send her to a meeting with a Mr Woodward from Brazil and be sure that she'll come back with the best deal for you. The problem starts when you fire her: she'll sit on the other side of the table."

Adam is just struggling a bit for the form. I know he's not as bad as he wants us to believe. The AK47 is loaded with blanks.

I say: "Come on, Adam. This is nothing personal: nor your private parts, nor your private money is on the table. This is business. You'll earn back that money fast enough. Make the transfer. You have the time until I finish preparing dessert."

Scarlett helps me to clean up the table and wash the strawberries. We leave Adam alone with his conscience and his decision between good money and bad behaviour.

Scarlett whispers: "Did you mean that? Did you really think I would take his eyes out with a barbecue fork?"

"I've seen you in action, Scarlett. I know what you're capable of. When you start a job, you go eyes out until it's finished. I'm glad you're my friend, because I wouldn't know where to hide if you were my enemy. In the AK47 world of business, an eye for an eye is just a normal way of working. You've been in that world for twenty-six years. I don't doubt your qualities."

"I'm not talking about taking his eyes out. I was referring to the fork. Everyone knows popping eyes out on stalks goes easier with a teaspoon. You still need to learn a lot about spy work, Red."

Behind us, we overhear a private conversation between two very intimate lovers about an even more intimate subject.

"SecretAppy. It's me. Adam Kowalski. Please recognise my voice for identification."

"Good evening, Mister Kowalski. What can I do for you?"

"Please, transfer the amount of euro 100.000, that's one hundred thousand euros, from the company's current account at the Malopolski Bank to the following account: <classified information>."

"I repeat, 100.000 euros to the account with number <also classified, of course>. The transfer is in progress. Is there anything else I can do for you today?"

"No, SecretAppy. That will be all. Have a nice day."

"Have a nice day, Mister Kowalski. It's always a pleasure to work for you."

I put the three plates with fruits and ice cream on the table. The dessert takes away the bitter aftertaste of the course before. Sweet strawberries, sweet whipped cream and sweet ice cream with champagne flavour… You can't get anything better.

Scarlett says: "A lousy assistant, if you ask me."

Adam raises his eyebrows: "Why? She's friendly, she never makes mistakes, she does her work with pleasure, she even has a pleasant voice."

Scarlett puts three cups on the table and fills them with flair: "She doesn't serve you coffee. I do. Freshly brewed. Colombian beans. I hope you enjoy it because it's the first and the last time in your life I've made coffee for you."

Adam enjoys it.

* * *

At the entrance door of her building in Jungleland, after walking Scarlett home, I say: "It's time we say goodbye, Scarlett. It's been fun, but even the best songs come to an end and…"

"What do you mean?"

"You've had your revenge. I hope you liked it that I took over when you lost the upper hand: the study of your daughters is guaranteed, and so are the necessary savings for a chance to a better future, available at your disposal, without the usual discount for the taxman."

"You've promised, Red. You've promised to help me get my revenge. My most urgent problems are solved now, that's true, and I really appreciate your help, and I thank you for it, also on behalf of my daughters, but… I still want my revenge. The responsible person cannot walk away from this without finding me on his way out. I want my revenge."

"But…"

"Don't you pay attention to what people say when you're in a business meeting? Did you think it's all about eating food and drinking champagne? It's about getting information, finding the weak spot of your opponent on the other side of the table, so you can earn back the money you invested in the wining and dining. Who runs the company? Adam Kowalski gave you the answer: the bank, the shareholder and the taxman. One man down, three to go. I'm just getting warmed up."

That ice cream was meant to cool her down. It wasn't enough. This woman has so much rage burning inside her that it would melt Antarctica. What do I do?

"You've promised, Red. There's no way back."

Why do women always have the last word?