*LONE GUNMEN:
STANDARD
OPERATING
PROCEDURE*

*2 of 5*

 

*


*

	

*MAD JACK'S COMPUTER REPAIR, THURSDAY 11 P.M.*

"Thazz a strange bit of ... I'm not sure exactly what it is, boss."

Mad Jack Glamorgan looked up from his delicate soldering work and
glanced at what his nephew, and sometime stockboy, was holding. "Where'd
you get that?"

"It came in the stuff you bought at the last auction." The boy turned
the black box end for end and poked what looked like jack ports. "Those
storage spaces they were clearing out due to nonpayment."

"Give it to me." Mad Jack reached for the box, then quickly put it down.
He rubbed his fingers together and stared at the thing. "What else came
with this lot?"

"Shitload of wires and cables. Little cardboard boxes I haven't looked
in yet. Empty, used file folders. Unlabeled CDs. I tried one in the
boombox, but they must be for computers."

"Don't mess with any of it," Mad Jack said. "You going home now? Your ma
will scream at me if you're not home before midnight."

The kid made a sloppy salute. "On my way."

"Lock up behind you!" Mad Jack waited until the boy was gone, then
reluctantly touched the box again. He turned it over, like the kid had,
but more carefully, studying each of the in-ports with a critical eye.
It was as big as desktop CPU, but it was wrong, all wrong.

Centuries past Mad Jack's people had filtered through Europe, eventually
ending up in the New World with their traditions diluted and their kin
spread to all points of the compass. Mad Jack was aware that he had the
blood of wandering sorcerers and magicians running in his veins. He'd
always had a touch of luck, the ability to see to the heart of a
business partner's intentions, the odd premonition to stay home from
work, or take another path on a certain day. But in all his years he'd
never experienced anything like the dread, and sensation of blackness,
that he got when he touched the box.

It wasn't hard to find the cables his nephew had described; the kid had
left the contents of their latest acquisition strewed all over one
corner of the warehouse. Mad Jack didn't get the same bad feeling from
the wires, but when his fingers grazed the top of one of the little
cardboard boxes, his stomach started to churn. He forced himself to open
one of the boxes.

Row on row of little beige pills. 'Mary, Mother ..." Mad Jack thought.
He'd bought a cubicle full of drugs, and some vile piece of devil machinery.

Carefully he replaced the lid on the box and cleaned everything away
into the original packing crate. He found a hammer and nailed the lid
shut. Returning to his workbench he sat and stared at the black box for
a long time.

	

*EDWINA NORTON'S BACKYARD, FRIDAY 8 A.M.*

Wiping the perspiration from her arms and neck, Edwina Norton cooled
down after her morning run.

It was a strange morning. The sky had been clear when she woke up, but
by the time she'd put on her running shoes and headed out the door the
light had changed to an almost green-gray, and low clouds had completely
blocked the sun.

The air had felt humid as she ran, and her ears had popped several
times. Storm coming, Ed thought. It was close, but hadn't quite worked
itself up to cutting loose yet.

Inside the radio was playing something mindlessly cheerful, and Sven was
in the middle of the living room floor doing stomach crunches. Ed stood
in back of the couch and watched him, returning his happy grin as he saw
her. He was such a nice boy, she thought. Incredible body.

He'd already started the coffee, she could smell the enticing aroma
coming from the kitchen.

Sven was the best roommate she'd ever had, Ed reflected as she went for
coffee and OJ. She'd miss him when he left, but suspected he'd be one of
the few who kept in touch. His reaction when she'd told him they
wouldn't be sleeping together any more had been flattering and touching.
Sven liked her as much as she liked him, but their relationship had been
temporary and they both knew it.

A low rumble of sound came from outside. Ed opened the kitchen window a
hair; had that been thunder, or a passing truck? The mix of fresh air
and coffee smelled good, and she pulled a kitchen chair under the window
and sat with her cup on the window ledge.

She'd been waiting for the last two days for the phone to ring. She
didn't quite know what she was going to do if he didn't call; she'd
stopped herself from calling the Gunman's office twice yesterday. He'd
call sooner or later - Ed knew when a man was interested in her. But
sooner would be better.

"I folded the laundry, love." Sven came into the kitchen and dropped a
kiss on her neck as he passed. "I'm going to be out for the evening.
Don't worry if I'm late. We're going to play some hockey then find a bar."

His mother must be incredibly proud, Ed thought with an internal
chuckle. He cleaned and cooked and did laundry as if these chores were
natural and effortless. He even cleaned the bathrooms. Scrubbed the
bathrooms, Ed amended. Sven was gorgeous, dependable, affectionate. Some
young woman in California had a once-in-a-lifetime gift headed her way.

"He's gay, right?" Ed's friend, and once employee, Mary had kept
repeating during the first month after Sven had moved in. "Normal men
don't ..."

"Cook, clean, and find women old enough to be their mothers attractive?"
Ed had inquired with only a dab of sarcasm.

"Oh. God no. Ed ... you're a dish." Mary had retreated with laughing
disclaimer. "You're also notorious for finding sweet young things. As
long as I've known you ... one guy in the over 40 range, you sly bitch.
It's the laundry that really gets me."

Mary's husband was - and there was no way Ed could have politely
expressed it - a slob. He had been raised by a mother who opened soup
cans for him until he was in his late 20s. Nice guy, just typically
male. Ed had never been interested in any 'typical' man.

To get a date with her a man needed to be able to compose five
consecutive sentences that didn't contain information about sports, or
himself. He had to have a sense of humor. Looks were appreciated, but
men of unique or strong character were what really got her motor racing.
To get a second date with her a man had to make her motor race.

Sven had been a no-brainer. Although their politics didn't quite mesh,
and their tastes in music and films revealed the difference in their
ages, Sven could carry on a conversation about almost anything. He
laughed a lot, and the things he laughed at weren't cruel or hurtful.
Many times during their relationship Ed had thought that if she were 20
years younger Sven would have been toast. As it was the lack of any
possibility of diamond jewelry, ceremonies or babies in their future
didn't bother Ed, and she was pretty sure the same lack of pressure had
made Sven totally comfortable with her. They'd been friends before they
were lovers, and were still friends even after Sven learned that a
single kiss from a man she'd just met had resulted in the end of their
sharing a bed.

Something rumbled again. Ed closed her eyes and let the steam from her
coffee cup moisturize her face, remembering how she'd felt leaning
against Melvin's chest. It had been an unusual action for her. It had
been an unusual kiss ...

The phone rang, and Ed nearly dropped her cup. She took a deep breath
and grabbed the phone.

"Ed Norton here."

"Ed!" A baby was squalling in the background.

"Hello, Mary." Ed poured herself more coffee and took the phone back to
the window. "How's the baby?"

"He's got colic." Snuffling and garbled thumps followed the news. "Tell
me again why I went 32 years without a baby, then lost my mind?"

"Clocks. Posterity. A change in birth control methods," Ed said,
laughing. She could hear the giddy tiredness in Mary's voice. "Are you
getting any sleep? Is Andrew helping?"

Andrew the slob, Ed thought, knowing the answer to her question before
Mary hedged around it.

"As much as he can, but I'm breast feeding, you know. I'm watching a lot
of Gomer Pyle reruns, Ed. You'd be shocked at the quality of late-late
night TV."

"We finished cleaning out the shop." A particularly loud wail made Ed
move the receiver away from her ear. "Mary?"

"I know. It's sad. You'll have to come over and see the baby, and we can
reminisce. That's not why I called, Ed. You didn't call me yesterday.
How'd Sven take it?"

She'd made the mistake of calling Mary the morning after her dinner with
Melvin Frohike. Never call your friends when you've been drinking, or
when you've just discovered you're ... Ed backed away from the thought
quickly.

"He's such a sweetie," Ed said. "He wanted to make sure it wasn't
something he'd done. When I told him about Melvin he said he hoped I'd
finally found a man that would mean as much to me as my car does. He was
laughing ..."

"How do you get so lucky? You're not kicking him out totally?"

"Sven is comfortable here. I've got two bedrooms. There's no reason for
him to change his plans; he'll stay until he leaves for L.A." Ed could
hear little wet hiccoughs coming from Mary's end. "I didn't call you
yesterday," she said slowly, "because I was afraid to be on the phone --
in case he was trying to call."

"Ed!" Mary's amazement was palpable. "I don't believe you just admitted
that. He hasn't called, and you haven't called him? What's the hold up?"

"For one thing, I can't believe I'm being so preteen over a phone call,"
Ed said, stealing a quick drink of coffee. "For another, it's business,
Mary. I'm trying to force the man to give me a job. It isn't personal; I
can't let it be personal."

"It got personal when you kicked Sven out of bed," Mary said shrewdly.
"How many years have I known you, Ed? This is weird behavior, for you.
How old is this guy? What's he look like? If you've found an improved
version of Sven, women everywhere will worship at your feet."

Mary's words brought a painfully large grin to Ed's face. "He's older
then I am, Mary. He's short and cute."

"That's it? Short and cute?" Mary snorted. "Honey, you are gone, so
gone. I can't wait to meet him."

A loud scream made Ed's hand jerk the receiver away from her ear again.
"You better walk him for a while, Mary. I'll call you later."

"If this Melvin calls, you call me right away," Mary said from a
distance. "Bye!"

If he calls. When he calls. If I call. When I call.

Ed ran upstairs to shower and dress for the day, afraid to examine in
detail just what she was hoping for when the phone finally rang.

 

*LGHQ, FRIDAY 3:30 p.m.*

"I don't want to seem ungrateful, but we have to do something."

Byers had the same tie on that he'd worn yesterday, Frohike noticed.
That always meant he'd been abnormally preoccupied while dressing, not a
good sign. The two-days-in-row-tie sign usually preceded a week of quiet
depression, or a black-ops trip into some tight, hard to reach space in
a hostile environment. Frohike had been abnormally preoccupied, himself;
it was possible, now that he thought about it, that he'd worn the same
pair of boxers for the last three days.

Time to get a grip, he thought, tuning back into Byers' complaints.

"What'd Jimmy do now?" Langly asked.

"I just got off the phone with a Scoutmaster who wanted to bring his
troop in to tour our offices," Byers said. "Jimmy told him we might make
a good field trip."

"Oh, brother." Frohike was glad that Byers had ended up taking that
call. "Are we going to keep bitching about Jimmy, or are we going to do
something about our basic problem?"

They'd talked about Edwina Norton's offer to sell advertising for them.
Byers and Langly had both been cautiously interested, but had voted to
think it over for a few days. Frohike, who had reached for the phone,
holding her business card, six or seven times during the last two days,
had also reached the end of his patience.

"I'm calling her. We don't have anything to lose. She'll work on
commission. Byers, you can have the veto on any questionable accounts.
Langly, you don't give a shit as long as everyone stays away from your
computer."

"All right," Byers said slowly, looking at Langly, who nodded his head.
"Ask her to come in. I'd like to hear her ideas, and get a feel for what
kind of advertiser she has in mind."

Frohike went for the phone like a piranha going for a bleeding cow leg.
He dialed Ed's house number from memory. Memory was also supplying, as
it had done for the last two days, a replay of The Kiss. When the
ringing stopped, and he heard her voice, he had to clear his throat
before he could speak.

"Ed? It's Melvin Frohike. Byers and Langly are interested in your offer;
could you stop in and talk to them? Explain your proposition to them?"
Here we go again, Frohike thought, gritting his teeth. Bad word choice
disease.

But Ed was laughing, almost hysterically he thought. "Is this afternoon
okay? I'll be right over."

"Good. Great. We'll be here." Frohike flipped the receiver shut and
whacked it against his head. "Maybe this isn't a good idea."

"I'd say the fact you're starting to pick up Jimmy's mannerisms is a
significant argument for *some* kind of drastic action," Byers said,
pointing at the phone. "It's not like she'd be working here in the
office, right next to you, day and night."

Frohike caught the quicksilver gleam in Byers' eyes. A good sign; if
Byers was teasing him, he couldn't be on the verge of a major
depression. "Yeah." He turned to leave the work area.

"Hey! Where you goin'?" Langly yelled. "Your little pink-haired squeeze
is on her way."

"Do I interrogate you every time you go to the can?" Frohike kept
walking, his back towards his friends, afraid they'd see something in
his face. Hopefully he'd have time to clean up a little and change his
shorts and socks. If only for his own peace of mind, Frohike thought.
You never knew when you might get invited to go for a car ride ... and
everyone knew fresh undies were required apparel on such occasions.

~~~~~

Coming back from his whirlwind of personal grooming, Frohike heard her
before he saw her, and groaned. That soft, indefinably accented voice
belonged to one of two people he wasn't keen on having around when Ed
showed up.

"Yves. Out for a night of dumpster diving?" She was hanging over Langly,
Frohike saw as he came up between the work stations, pointing at
Langly's monitor with one hand and resting the other casually on
Langly's shoulder. Langly seemed uneasy with the location of both her hands.

"Frohike. You're looking very dapper today," Yves said. She let go of
Langly's shoulder. "I just needed Langly to confirm a couple of minor
bits of information for me. I think you'll agree that you owe me that
much of a favor."

"Glad to be of service, Mata Hari." Frohike shrugged. Give her what she
wants and get her out of here, he thought wildly as he heard the
strident alarm of the door buzzer.

Yves abandoned Langly and walked toward him. Before Frohike quite knew
what she intended, Yves reached to smooth one of his sideburns,
straighten his collar, and pat his cheek. "Expecting company? There's an
air of anticipation about you ..."

It was inevitable, Frohike thought with a sensation of dread, that Byers
theatrical throat-clearing should signal Ed's arrival upon the tableau.

"Will you excuse us, Yves?" Byers asked politely. "We have an interview
scheduled."

Yves looked toward Langly. "I'll come back for the data." She bent to
gave Frohike a quick, unexpected, peck on the cheek. "Later, boys."

Frohike watched her sway past Ed, watched Ed watch her sway past, and
knew that something significant had just happened. Something he probably
wouldn't enjoy making unhappen.

"She's quite lovely," Ed said as she followed Byers into their work
area. "Amazing hip action. As tight as she is, you wouldn't think she'd
have to concentrate on holding her stomach in while she walked."

Langly's saliva-heavy explosion of laughter dominated the conversation
for the next few seconds. "Major burn. You're hired, Eddie," he finally
managed. "I don't care what she wants to do, Byers. Her sheet came up
clean, although if Frohike's looking to make time with her he's got some
big shoes to fill."

Apparently his misery would be compounded, Frohike thought, watching
Ed's face as she pushed past him to get to Langly.

"Langly!" Byers objected. "That wasn't ..."

"He figures if I can dish it out, I ought to be able to take it," Ed
said, leaning in so she was nearly nose to nose with him. "Mr. Langly.
You've located information about me and created a file with that
information?"

"Well -- yeah. SOP," Langly said, grinning at her. "You'd be surprised ..."

"No. I wouldn't. I lived it, thus I have an excellent idea of what
retrievable information might exist about me," Ed snapped each word out,
tapping a finger against Langly's nose. "I get that this is SOP for you;
but buddy, if you let Melvin read that file you'll have to wear a Kevlar
cup for the rest of your life."

Langly looked at her in surprise, judging the depth of her sincerity. He
grinned. "I can't even tell him your natural hair color?"

"Eventually, he'll find out for himself," Ed said. "Are we going to talk
business, or do I suck in my stomach muscles and sway my ass out your
absurdly overprotected front door?"

"I think, business," Byers said, stroking his mustache in a piss-poor
effort to hide a grin.

There was just so much a man could take. Frohike found a chair and sat down.

 

*FRIDAY, 6:30 P.M., ENROUTE TO EDWINA NORTON'S HOME*

Predictably, traffic was thick and snarled. The storm that had been
simmering all day had finally reached its boiling point, and was
spitting water in gusts, making the pavement slick. Ed popped in a CD,
turned the volume up and grimly concentrated on getting her much loved
VW home without a scratch. "You've got the way to move me, Cherry ..."
Ed sang along with Neil Diamond at the top of her lungs, resolutely
refusing to examine her behavior at the office until she was in a place
where she could shut her eyes and pull a pillow over her head.

She parked Cherry in the garage, and turned the exterior lights on for
Sven. She was glad he wasn't home tonight; he would have seen she was
upset and pried the whole story out of her.

Food sounded terrible. Ed heated a cup of water in the microwave and
selected one of Sven's more innocuous flavors of herbal tea.

"What was I thinking?" Ed climbed the stairs, noticing that Sven had
placed a vase of roses and carnations on the table at the head of the
landing. She stopped and pushed her nose into one of the roses. "What
must he think of me?" she whispered into the rose.

Ed could hear the rain hitting hard against the dormer window roof when
she stepped into her bedroom. She put the tea on her bed stand then
stripped off her clothes, finding an ancient pair of sweats and her
comfort t-shirt. She caught a glimpse of herself in the floor length
mirror as she dropped her laundry into the hamper, and paused to
confront her image full on.

An old lady with pink hair, wearing a faded green t-shirt printed with
the Caterpillar from Alice. Ed stroked a hand over her breasts, feeling
the grainy remnants of what had once been glitter. The t-shirt was at
least 30 years old.

"Your life, lady. Remnants of the past. In pretty good shape, all things
considered; but still ..." Ed turned away from the mirror.

What got her, what *really* got her, was that she'd never in her life
been rude or catty to another woman without just cause. The fact that
the leggy, exotic beauty had left the room before Ed's remarks didn't
excuse her; in a way, it made Ed more ashamed of herself.

She'd always liked other women; girlfriends got you through the everyday
slog. It was impossible to imagine what life would have been like
without Junie, Mary, Celeste, Andrea, Laralee ... and so many more over
the years. Ed had never gotten up on a soapbox, never marched or whined
about women's issues. She'd always known that to make change happen you
had to respect other women, listen to them, then dig in and get your
hands dirty doing what needed to be done.

You definitely didn't diss an unknown woman in front of a bunch of men.

Ed wanted to crawl under her bed; instead she curled up between the
mound of feather pillows, shut her eyes and drank her tea. She could see
Melvin in her mind's eye, looking up at the dark-haired beauty's face.
The woman was proprietarily stroking his hair and cheek, speaking to him
intimately. When her lips brushed Melvin's cheek, Ed had experienced a
strongly primitive sensation.

*Get your hands off him, sister. He's mine.* Ed shivered with
embarrassment. He wasn't hers. They'd just met. They might get to know
each other better. Nothing was certain, yet.

It wasn't going away. Ed could feel the primal need to claim territorial
rights clawing its way out of a part of her psyche she hadn't even known
existed. *Mine. Want. Mine.*

"I'm being an idiot." Ed whispered. She'd never obsessed over a man.
Maybe her decision to close her business had affected her mental health
in some way she hadn't admitted. Maybe hormone replacement therapy was
responsible. Maybe Melvin Frohike was her once-in-a-lifetime gift, even
if the gift had been a long time in the delivery.

The tea was gone. Ed set the cup aside and pulled her comforter over
her. It was too early to go to bed, but a half hour nap might clear her
mind.

Byers and Langly seemed like nice men. Both claimed to appreciate the
outline of her sales campaign; Byers in particular had asked intelligent
questions. Melvin had been too quiet, Ed thought. Even when they got the
point of making a schedule for her to check in at the offices, it had
been Byers who did all the talking.

*Do what you do best: be a professional. Don't let it get personal,* Ed
admonished herself. *And play nice with others. You don't walk up to the
slide and whack the kid with the popsicle just because it looks so
damned good.*

Wrong mental construct, Ed realized with chagrin as her thoughts went
spinning off in several directions, none of them rated PG.

Ed wished she'd taken Sven up on his offer to pay her way to that
self-hypnosis seminar he'd attended last month. *Must take nap. Must
take nap.* She tried to control her breathing and clear her mind. *Must
take nap ...*

 

*EDWINA NORTON'S HOME, 11:30 P.M.*

Frohike sat in the van, looking at the house behind the number that
matched the address on the wrinkled business card he held. He'd just
needed to get out of the office for a little while, he'd told Langly.
Just go for a drive. Just find where Ed lived, then sit and stare at the
lights in her windows.

He knew hardly anything about her, Frohike told himself. They'd spent a
few hours together, that didn't make him an expert on Edwina Norton. But
something had been off this afternoon. He suspected it had to do with
Yves; but Ed's off behavior had continued during her interview with
Byers. She'd been bright, charming and professional; the guys had loved
her. Frohike couldn't shake the idea she was putting on a big act.

*How stupid is that?* Frohike ridiculed himself, trying to see through
the gaps in the house curtains. *That's 95 percent of what sales is. A
good act. She was only proving she could be good at the job.*

He wasn't going to the door. He *so* wasn't going to the door.

"I'm screwed." Frohike wrenched open the van door and, before the
message his heart was sending his feet could be countermanded by his
wussy brain, he walked up the rain soaked sidewalk to Ed's front door
and rang the bell.

It seemed like an eternity before the door opened. When it did, Frohike
found all the saliva had dried in his mouth, leaving him thick-tongued
and speechless. It didn't help that Ed looked like she'd just crawled
out of bed. Her pink toes were bare; she was wearing baggy sweats and a
tight tee that clearly showed she didn't wear a bra to bed. She wasn't
wearing her glasses, and her hair was mussed around her eyes and face
like a soft, pink cloud.

"Melvin." She seemed as stunned as he felt. "Come in."

Frohike remembered to pick his feet up enough to clear the threshold,
and avoid tripping over any of the throw rugs scattered about the
hardwood floor. He followed her into a living room lined with bookshelves.

"Your visit is a surprise," Ed was saying. She sat down on one end of a
deep, moss green suede couch. "Sit down."

"It's a surprise to both of us," Frohike said. He sat stiffly, turning
slightly so he could face her. "If I'm intruding ...?"

"I'm alone right now," Ed said. "Would you like a drink? Lemonade, tea,
beer?"

"No thanks." When he got home, he'd drink then, Frohike promised
himself. "I couldn't help thinking something was wrong." It came out in
a rush, before he could organize his thoughts. "If I did something, Ed,
I'll try to fix it. You have to believe we're all pretty pumped about
having you on board."

"Oh. Melvin." Ed's voice sounded stressed. "You didn't do anything --
except convince your friends to give me a chance at doing a job. I felt
like a fool because I made that comment about your visitor. If *I'd*
been interviewing for a position and someone had made a remark like
that, I would have said, 'Thank you. Next, please.'"

"That's it?" Frohike couldn't believe that it could be this simple. "I
had a feeling it was something to do with Yves. You don't need to worry
about it; we've said a lot worse about her."

"But you know her." Ed sighed. "Was there anything else?"

"No," Frohike said, slowly. "I'll be going."

Her mouth was slightly parted, and her eyes had picked up the green from
the couch, making them look like luminous jade. Something hot and heavy
crawled over his chest and shoulders, up his neck, squeezed his lungs
and contracted the muscles in his abdomen. His entire body was burning.

How he managed to get to his feet, Frohike wasn't quite sure. He turned
away from her, and it was like trying to swim against a strong current.
"It's late. I'm sorry," he said over his shoulder.
"See you at the office."

He made it to the door before she caught up with him.

"Melvin?"

"Ed?" He had one hand on the doorknob, but couldn't prevent himself from
turning around.

It was a mistake. She moved from a scant two feet away directly into his
arms in the blink of an eye.

If the first kiss had been a wild ride, the second kiss was ground zero
at an asteroid collision. Ed was molded against his chest, making little
noises and working her hands under his vest while her mouth ... her
mouth ... There were so many points of interest to choose from that
Frohike wondered if it might be possible to go into sensory freeze-up.

"Ed." He pulled his mouth away from hers. "I gotta go. Now." Frohike
heard the urgency in his own voice, felt the urgency that had turned his
blood into lava. Somehow his hands had tangled in her tee, and touching
her skin with only his hands wasn't enough. Wasn't nearly enough.

"All right." Her voice caught on the words, and then she kissed him again.

*It's your lucky night, Melvin,* something said from a vast distance. An
unmistakable mile-marker had just been passed, the one that indicated
the number of steps to the bedroom had been reduced to a single digit.

"Ed?" he asked against her mouth.

"Yes," she said.

The door opened behind them.

"Sorry! I'll just slip through." The tall, broad-shouldered blond boy
looked amazed, but smiled as he politely edged around them. "I'm Sven.
You must be Melvin."

The kid had biceps and calves like eggplants. Not the kind of eggplants
you find suck-wrapped with plastic in grocery store bins, but the kind
of veg that's been sitting in the sun in a well-tended home garden,
growing plump and firm. Frohike stared at the kid's butt as he ran up
the stairs.

"Wow," he said after Sven disappeared around the landing. "That's your
boyfriend?"

Ed pulled her t-shirt back into place. "Was. Was my boyfriend."

"I really gotta go, Ed. I'll see you next week. At work." Frohike
reached for the knob and this time made it out the door.

 

*MAD JACK'S COMPUTER REPAIR, 11:30 P.M.*

It had been 24-hours.

Mad Jack started to shut down his workroom, feeling unaccustomed
exhaustion make his eyes blur and his legs tingle. He hadn't been able
to sleep the night before, and had astounded his wife by getting up
before 6 a.m. to head back to the store. She'd called around noon to see
if he was okay.

Mad Jack had lied to her. He was fine, just working on last minute tax
stuff.

In truth, he'd spent the morning trying to get information about the
former owner of the repossessed cubicle. He'd gone through channels he
seldom used, contacts who lived on the dark side of the wholesale
district, contacts who might have been related to him if it had been
possible to trace their genealogy. Mad Jack's gut told him that he
didn't want to leave any garish neon signs pointing back to his business.

The black box sat in plain sight in the middle of an empty space on his
workbench. The irritatingly imprecise premonition that had been sticking
needle claws into the back of his neck for the last 24-hours had at
least counselled him that if someone came looking for the thing, it
would be better for Mad Jack if they could find it easily, without
needing to ask for directions.

He almost hoped that would happen, soon. He'd hold the door for them on
their way out, and wish them god -- or whatever -- speed.

For some reason the premonition had nixed his various ideas for
destroying the whole packing case, black box included. Instead of
sinking into an area landfill, or melting in an incinerator, the box was
still squatting like a melanoma in the middle of his bench, and the
premonition was now advising Mad Jack to go home, make love to his wife,
tell her where all his important documents were located, then spend some
time in prayer.

Mad Jack turned out the lights, turned on his alarm system. He hadn't
abandoned all hope. His hyperactive "sense" was also telling him that
good luck was headed his way, so maybe he wouldn't tell his wife where
*all* the documents were located.

 

*MAD JACK'S COMPUTER REPAIR, SATURDAY - 10 A.M.*

The showroom was empty and quiet. Ed heard the tinkle of a bell in the
distance, and looked around at the shelves full of neatly tagged
electronic equipment. Her agency had designed Mad Jack's last sales
campaign, and because of mounting employee problems Ed had coordinated
the job herself. Mad Jack was a strange, but likeable, character.

Shrewd, Ed thought. That summed him up, and that was the reason he'd go
for her pitch. Where else could he get the kind of exposure the Gunman
offered for the money it would cost him?

"Hey." Mad Jack poked his head cautiously around the door jamb, then
smiled and came all the way into the showroom. "Edwina! You looking for
a PC or TV, maybe?"

She smiled and offered her hand. She'd learned right away that Mad Jack
was fixated on hand shaking, and wasn't completely at ease until he'd
gone through the greeting ritual. "I'm not buying, Jack -- I'm selling."

"Oh." Mad Jack held onto her hand instead of letting go, staring at her
with the expression of a man who'd just seen the light of the grail
above the castle. "Ed. Baby. Anything you're selling, I'll buy."

It was disconcerting. Ed had expected more in the way of explanation and
banter. A little bartering over the rate. Some demands about page
position. "You don't even know what I'm ..."

"Come on back." Mad Jack darted behind her and, disturbingly, locked the
door and flipped over his sign to read 'closed.' "I gotta little tea
going. You can talk to me."

His office was like one of the "Find It" puzzle books Ed liked to buy as
presents for her friends' children. Floor to ceiling shelves were packed
with every conceivable form of electronic equipment, reference books,
stacks of jewel cases and one whole wall of monitors that gave the
impression it had been arranged as a kind of op art display. While Jack
poured tea into delicate porcelain cups, Ed opened her briefcase and
brought out the last three issues of the Lone Gunman.

"Thank you." She took the tea cup and gave Mad Jack the papers. "Have
you seen this before?"

"Yes." There was the look again, the glowing, almost reverent amazement.
"I see copies around."

"I'm selling advertising for them." Ed found the rate card she'd put
together after her talk with Byers and handed it across the desk. "The
price is right, Jack. This publication goes to a lot of people who might
need capable, discreet hard drive rescues ... and other electronic
services."

Mad Jack shook his head, holding his tea cup with an oddly dainty
gesture, little finger crooked in the air. "Why you workin' on Saturday,
Ed? I heard your place is for rent. That Bobby guy you had designing for
you -- heard he went to jail. Drugs."

"I was in business 16 years, Jack. How long have you been here? Haven't
you had the urge to retire?"

"Twenty five, you baby." Mad Jack grinned at her. "There's no distance
to you, Ed. You still hanging out with the blond stud or have you traded
him in?"

Ed blushed; she could feel the heat and color flame into her cheeks.
"Inquisitive bastard. Can we talk business?"

"Sure. I got some money left in the advertising budget." He rocked back
and forth in his fatly upholstered chair with his fingers steepled,
looking her over. "I'll spend it with you. But your employers gotta do
me a favor."

Whatever she'd expected, it hadn't been a godfather directive. "I guess
I've got two questions, Jack: how much money are we talking, and what's
the favor?"

"Spoken like a true ad rep." Mad Jack laughed at her. "I got six grand I
was thinking about spending on flyers. It's yours. Design some ads for me."

"The favor?" Ed asked cautiously, her heart racing with the thrill of
making her first sale, and the apprehension that Mad Jack had something
totally unsuitable in mind.

"They deal with weird stuff. I've got a crate I want them to take off my
hands." He stopped rocking, and leaned over the desk staring straight
into her eyes. "I don't care what they do with it. I don't want to know.
But if they can get it out of my warehouse before Monday morning, you've
got my business."

"They're journalists, not waste management technicians," Ed protested.
"What's in the crate?"

Mad Jack shook his head. "That's the deal, baby. I'll be here until 6.
Give me a call."

 

*LGHQ, SATURDAY - NOON*

Byers spent the morning bringing their accounts up to date. It was
always easier to concentrate on the financial part of the business when
the others were absent. Langly tended to talk to himself, or his
computer, while he worked; Frohike rarely sat still for very long.

Even when their pockets were nearly empty, Byers liked to pay the bills,
balance the books and check their status against previous years records.
There was nothing emotional about bookkeeping, nothing subject to
wrenching choice or regret. Money came in, money went out. It was
simple, cut and dried mathematics.

His stomach gave a small, polite rumble, and he glanced at his watch.
He'd found a horrific mess in the kitchen that morning, and spent an
hour and a half cleaning before he could get to work in the office.
Byers had gone to bed last night before Frohike returned; on a drive to
see his squeeze, Langly had said.

Byers hoped it had gone well, but from the mountain of pans he thought
not. Frohike only cooked Mexican after midnight when life was out of
kilter. Too bad. Byers closed his bookkeeping program and tidied the
desk. What he'd seen of Edwina Norton he liked.

His stomach rumbled again. Glancing down the row of monitors one last
time before heading to the kitchen to make himself a sandwich, Byers
caught a flicker of wrongness from Langly's corner.

"What the heck is that?" Byers reversed course and went to stand in
front of Langly's monitor. If Langly was running a screensaver, it was a
strange one. Dark red words flowed across a solid black background, like
a ticker feed.

restofmegetmeoutrestofmehelpgetmeoutrestofmegetme

He'd have to wake Langly. It was after noon; even if he'd stayed up with
Frohike, he would have gotten a few hours sleep. Langly rarely made it
past 4 a.m.

The buzzer went off before he could act on his decision. Ed Norton was
standing under the hallway camera, dressed in a three-piece suit and
carrying a briefcase.

"Hello." Byers let her in. He wondered where she'd gotten the suit. The
tailoring was superb; it minimized her breasts, but let her look
feminine and corporate at the same time. Not even the pink hair made too
much impact on her overall businesslike image. "Nice suit, Edwina."

"Thanks." She looked around. For Frohike, Byers thought, smiling at her.

"I'm the only one awake right now," he said. "I was about to make a
sandwich. Would you like to join me?"

"I'm not hungry. But I'd take a cold drink," Ed said.

Byers led the way to the kitchen. "Did you need something? I didn't
expect to see you until Monday morning."

"I got an early start." She sounded almost embarrassed. "I had a first
target in mind. You've heard of Mad Jack's Computer Repair?"

"Of course." Byers opened the refrigerator and checked the contents. The
money from the full-page ad had been quickly exhausted, and groceries
were running low again. "We have ... orange juice."

"Water would be fine." Ed made a face. "The first time I was here I
think Langly was drinking out of that carton."

"Oh." Byers pulled back from the fridge, appalled. "I've asked him not
to ..."

"Make your sandwich. I'll get my own water."

She was laughing at him, Byers realized, but kindly.

"I've worked with Mad Jack before," Ed said. "He's willing to advertise."

Bread, mayo, mustard ... "That's great." Turkey, pickles, cheese ...

"But you have to do something for him, first."

Byers' hand stopped mid-stroke across the slice of whole wheat. "I don't
understand."

"I'm not sure I do either. Not totally." Ed pushed him away from the
sandwich makings and pointed at a chair. She sprayed a glob of mustard
onto the bread, rapidly layered it with meat and cheese, garnished it
with two pickles, cut it diagonally and handed it to him on a paper
napkin. "Eat and listen."

She was talking fast, and Byers found himself chewing quicker than he
normally did as Ed's explanation of her first sales call came to an end.

"You don't know what's in the crate?" he asked when he'd swallowed the
last piece of crust.

"No. Mad Jack does, though, and it scares him," Ed said.

Byers felt his eyebrows shoot up. "Scares him?"

"He's got gypsy blood," Ed explained. "He gets feelings about things."

"Ed," Byers said slowly, "my concept of selling advertising is: we
provide space for a message, someone pays for that space. Doing odd jobs
is not included in this equation."

"Aren't you curious?" Ed asked slyly. "Wouldn't you even come with me
and talk to him? It would only take a few minutes. What else are you
doing today?"

He was beginning to see why Frohike was attracted to her, they had
similar personality traits and wheedling skills. "Langly will be awake
soon, and I'd be very surprised if Jimmy doesn't drop by this afternoon.
Frohike usually gets up around 3 or 4. This is something we should all
talk about."

"Mad Jack wants to hear from us by 6," Ed said. She looked at him over
the top of her wire-rims with an intent, pleading expression.

"He will," Byers promised. "Whatever we decide."

"Thank you. Will you call me?" She was full of sunny humor again,
flashing her dimple at him.

"No," Byers said deliberately, finding his own deep humor in the
conviction that beneath the surface of this eccentric woman the heart of
a corporate raider was vacationing. "I think you should be in on the
discussion. Can you come back at 4:30?"

"Of course."


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
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*LGHQ, SATURDAY - 5:00 P.M.*

"We can move a crate," Jimmy said. "We rent one of those little trucks,
and put the thing in my garage." He beamed, proud of himself for
reducing a complex issue to the essentials.

"What do you think, Frohike?" Byers asked.

Frohike started. He'd been trying not to stare at Ed's faded, tight blue
jeans, and especially not at her fitted tee that bore a trio of cat
musicians with the legend "Sex, mice and rock 'n roll" on it. Langly had
given her a whistle and big thumbs-up when she arrived.

"I think for six grand we can at least talk to him," he said, avoiding
Ed's eyes.

"I'm in," Langly said. "As long as no bodies are involved."

Byers shook his head. "You told me I could veto anything questionable,
Frohike. I'm close on this; but I tend to agree with you. We can talk to
him." He extracted his cell phone from his jacket pocket and handed it
to Ed. "Call him."

Ed dialed, waited. "Mad Jack? Yes. They want to talk to you first ...
we're on our way." She closed the phone and handed it back to Byers. "He
wants you to come over now."

"Field trip!" Jimmy was on his feet. "Can I ride with Ed?"

"My turn, man." Langly said.

Frohike didn't like the smirk that accompanied the words. "I'll drive,"
he said, glaring at Langly. After all, the kid was tall and blond; Ed
seemed to like tall, blond, young boys. "We'll be right behind you, Ed."

They trooped up the stairs and loaded into the vehicles. Frohike watched
Cherry turn out of the alley, signalled and followed as closely as he
dared, pulling on his lights. He could see Langly's head bobbing around
animatedly. They were singing, Frohike realized.

"Keep your eyes on the road, Frohike." Byers sat next to him; Jimmy was
far in the back, playing with the night vision goggles.

"Don't touch those!" Frohike ignored Byers in favor of shouting at Jimmy.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Byers asked softly, so Jimmy wouldn't
hear him Frohike assumed thankfully.

"Talk about what?" Frohike slammed on the brakes as Cherry stopped for a
red light.

"Gee. I don't know. The weather? The reason you're dancing around Ed
like a millipede with blisters?"

"Nice." Frohike shot a look at Byers, and shook his head, knowing that
-- as sensitive as Byers was -- talk about their lack of love lives was
not easy for him. "It's a rocky road."

"It is," Byers said wistfully. "It is that."

"Where can I get a pair of these?" Jimmy moved back up front.

Frohike let Byers deal with the kid's flood of questions over their
toys, and concentrated on following the VW ahead of him. He knew the way
to Mad Jack's, had been there a couple of times a few years back looking
for parts. Paid top dollar for what he needed, Frohike remembered with a
twinge, although the merchandise had been well worth the cost.

He needed to make a decision about Ed. No use denying the blond kid had
been a jolt, and no use denying that it was a big part of what made Ed
so appealing. A woman close to his own age with similar life experience,
smart, sexy, funny, unpredictable ... and unless his ego had jumped the
dangerous rift between reality and fantasy, she had been as aroused as
he had been by their little make-out session. He'd been the one to drop
the ball, so to speak. The kid had come through the door and, Frohike
admitted, one of his surge protectors had kicked in. Sven might have
been Ed's son. Frohike usually made no judgments about what consenting
adults did, but even his ego had been shaken by a graphic fantasy of
Sven and Ed doing the same things he hoped to do with her.

Yet Ed had said *was my boyfriend.* Past tense.

And I'm way past tense, Frohike thought. They'd arrived at the freshly
painted building with Mad Jack's billboard looming overhead. He parked
the bus, resolving that he'd talk to Ed soon. He was no kid; he didn't
find the prospect of mooning over another unobtainable goddess, full of
angsty despair, the least bit palatable. He'd had a taste of Ed, and by
god, he was going to go all the way to the bottom of the marmalade jar.