The Mayan Apocalypse by Mark Hitchcock Page A

with knurled handles snapped back to its resting position.
    Morgan rubbed his arms to prevent knots from forming in the muscles. Lactic acid burned the fibers of his triceps, biceps, and everything connected to them. Morgan leaned forward and groaned.
    â€œNeed a nurse. Maybe a pretty nurse.”
    â€œI’m fine, McNair. Stop fretting over me.”
    McNair Adams sat on the bench of the adjoining bench press machine, a towel dampened by his own sweat in his hand. Even while seated, he was tall. On his feet, he stood six-four and carried two hundred and forty-five pounds of muscle. His black skin glistened under the overhead lights of the Rockpoint Fitness Gym.
    â€œYou may be my boss, but you don’t get to tell me who to be concerned about. I am a free moral agent.”
    Morgan sat up and smiled. “I’ve seen your paycheck. There’s nothing free about you, and as far as being moral—”
    â€œHey—I’m a good boy, and you know it. I’m also a pretty good chief financial officer.”
    â€œThat’s because everyone is afraid of you.”
    McNair chuckled. “As they should be. As they should be.”
    â€œMost high-level execs lead by example, not intimidation.” Morgan buried his face in a white terry-cloth towel.
    â€œLesser men, my friend. Lesser men. Besides, you know that’s not true. Most guys in our business lead whatever way we can.”
    â€œI know. I agree with you. Not because you’re right, but because I’m afraid of you.”
    A laugh exploded from McNair. “I’ve known you since you were a teenager, Morgan. You’re not afraid of anything.”
    Just the dark and loneliness. “It’s all part of the act.”
    â€œSo what’s eating you?”
    â€œWho says anything is eating me?”
    McNair leaned forward. “Like I said, I’ve known you for a long time. We’ve been working out together for the last five years. Aside from your little foray into alcoholism, we’ve been coming here three times a week to keep old age at bay. I know your routine better than you do. You’re overworking everything today. Why?”
    â€œI was out of town for a few days and wasn’t able to work out. I need to work out the kinks.”
    â€œYou’re doing a lot more than working out kinks, pal. You’re being self-destructive. What’s got you going?”
    â€œNothing. I just need to expend some energy, that’s all. Now leave it alone.”
    â€œNope. You may be my boss, but you’re also my friend.”
    Morgan tossed the towel aside. “And that gives you the right to poke your nose in my business?”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, it does.”
    â€œI can replace you, you know.”
    McNair shook his head. “I’m the best-looking chief financial officer in the business. The board loves me.”
    That made Morgan laugh. “We need to work on your self-esteem problem.”
    â€œHey, truth is truth. Now spill the beans. Are the nightmares back?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhen was the last time you had one?”
    Morgan stood and stretched his back. The blazing pain had subsided, replaced with a growing stiffness. “I had one the other day.”
    â€œThe other day?”
    Morgan shrugged. “I may have had another one last night.”
    â€œ May have had? You don’t have the kind of nightmares people forget about. Did you have one last night, or not?”
    â€œYeah.” Morgan looked away. He always had nightmares. Talking about them didn’t help. They came. They went. They left him gutted and curled up like a fetus on the sofa.
    â€œYou never went to the shrink like you said you would, did you.”
    â€œHe can’t help.” Morgan picked up the towel.
    McNair rose and wiped his face again. “First, he is a she; second, I’m sure she could help you.”
    â€œI’m not going to do it. I’ve got to