Peter/Patricia final gets her face to face meeting with Raymond Hobbes. Themes and Elements apply to entire story, Rating applies to this submission. Thanks to Marina Kelly and Robyn Hoode for editing assistance.

SEVERANCE PAY

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

She said I didn’t need to come back once I returned the van to the rental company but I had to see how she was doing. I had my doubts about the whole thing but Patricia was right about everything … so far. Cruz did exactly as she told him, stay low and tight to the parked cars, ease in at about ten miles per hour, then just keep ahead of the men at the gate as they chase him. He was the first diversion and I was the second. I had rented the van and picked her up immediately after the second to last period at school. We made up a doctor’s appointment to get Patricia out early so that we could set up near the gate before they expected.

How did she know it was all going to work so well? I keep forgetting how much experience she has at this kind of thing. All I see when I look at her is a beautiful young girl … and I’m so afraid when she’s taking on Hobbes’ thugs all by herself.

I manage to find an open spot on the street less than a hundred feet from the entrance. Sitting low in my seat, I can see Patricia in her folding chair, calmly reading a book. A couple of the guards are pacing around behind the gate. They look anxious. One of them stops walking and claps his left hand to his ear, like he’s listening to something. He says something to the other guard and they both start scanning the sky.

I don’t hear or see anything at first, but then I recognize the faint sounds of an engine, which quickly grow louder. Soon, I can also hear the regular thwump of a helicopter’s rotor approaching the house. None of the guards are doing anything extra, so they must be expecting it. Maybe Hobbes is on board.

I’d give everything I have and ever will have for a Stinger missile right now. I’d blow Hobbes from the sky and we’d be done with all this. Patricia and I could go home. When the helicopter appears, flying in low from the sea, in my mind, I carefully aim the launching tube at the approaching machine, envisioning Hobbes in the pilot’s seat, blissfully unaware that death is only seconds away.

As the helicopter draws closer, it slows and drops down, until it is just a few hundred feet above the tree tops, barely moving in the sky. God! How hard would it actually be to buy a Stinger? Or maybe the Russian equivalent? He’s just sitting there, fat, dumb and happy. The helicopter moves forward, above the fence, following the border of the property, until it reaches the gate. It pauses there and actually drops down closer. Patricia doesn’t get up, but she puts down her book and stare’s right up at the machine, never blinking despite the dusty air swirling around her. It’s just there for a few moments before it moves on, continuing to circle the mansion, following along the fence like he’s searching for something. After about a minute, the helicopter pivots in a half circle, moves over the compound, drops below some trees and eventually falls silent.

The neighbors must love all that noise.

Patricia goes back to her book. The guards just stand there, looking at each other, quietly talking and shaking their heads. Suddenly, they both go stiff, one of them looking at the radio attached to the other one’s belt. Neither one moves for several seconds before the one with the radio slowly places his left hand to his left ear as before. He appears to say something, then moves off away from the gate, the other guard patting him on the shoulder as he walks away.

Patricia just sits there, still reading. I hope she knows what she’s doing.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It took Henry several minutes to reach my office after I had him called. He has always been a loyal, if unimaginative, employee. Too much intelligence in a guard can be a negative. You want them smart enough to do their job, to recognize trouble before it happens, but not so smart that they start getting ideas about advancement. Enrique is the exception; he has demonstrated his loyalty several times over. If he had been here, this problem with the girl would have been resolved days ago, I am sure of this. There’s a knock at my door.

“Yes?”

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Hobbes?”

“I did. Come in.”

He carefully opens the door, head and eyes angled down, then shuffles into the room, closing the door behind him, stopping a few feet in front of my desk. So far, he is showing the proper respect. He says nothing, waiting for me to speak.

“Why didn’t anybody tell me there was a young girl camped out in front of my home for the last four days?”

“We didn’t want to bother you, Sir. We assumed that we could get her to leave … but she wouldn’t go.”

“Did any of you think to call Enrique?”

“We thought about it but didn’t want to bother him, seeing as he was in LA trying to solve that gang dispute.”

“What do you know about the problem in Los Angeles?”

“NOTHING! He just told us he was going to be out of town for a few days and to only contact him if there was an emergency of some kind. We didn’t think one little girl was an emergency.”

Under normal circumstances, he would be right.

“And yet, she is still sitting outside of my gate. The same gate my guests will be using in less than two hours. How do I explain her presence?”

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“What exactly does she want?”

“She says she’s a friend of Gretchen’s, she wants to talk with you about her. We told her that you don’t see someone just because they want to talk with you. I gave her the old appointment routine but she didn’t take the hint. Somehow, she got a wireless webcam in the trees inside of old lady Whittman’s compound … you know, the lady who raised all that hell when you put in your helipad?”

“I remember.”

“Well, she’s got several guard dogs … really mean bastards, so there was no way to get to the camera. Tippett tried to shut it down but no luck. The webcam was watching her twenty four hours a day. We couldn’t do anything to her without possibly causing you a public relations problem.”

There was a good example of intelligence. Most guards would have just forced her off the sidewalk, throwing her into the street. Henry considered the possible consequences of such an action, and rightly rejected that option. Enrique would have done the same but he would have found a solution.

I look at my watch. Only an hour and half before my guests begin to arrive. There isn’t any other option available.

“Find Gretchen and bring her here.”

“Yes, Sir. Right away.”

Henry hurries from my office. Happy to get away without being fired, no doubt. This girl seems to have put some planning into her actions. I had watched a reply of the video from earlier. She had my men chasing their tails while she swooped in. Very impressive. Not the impulsive type. Another knock at my door.

“Yes?”

Gretchen pushes it open and tentatively walks in. I rotate the monitor on my desk so that she can see the display from the live camera at the gate.

“Do you know this girl?”

She leans in towards the screen to get a better look, then her eyes grow large.

“Ye … yes, I do.”

“Who is she?”

“My friend, Patricia Conner. How long has she been out there?”

“Apparently, the last four days.”

“WHAT!?”

“You knew nothing about this?”

“No! She said she would get you to talk with her … but she didn’t say how.”

“And why exactly would she need to talk with me?”

Gretchen says nothing, looking away. She doesn’t like confrontations. It’s something she will have to get past if she is ever going to take over the family business some day.

“Gretchen, I want an answer.”

She turns her head to look at me. “We want to see each other outside of school. We want to do stuff, to hang out. She asked me to come over to her house last weekend and you said no.”

“I said not at this time.”

“Which means no. She wants to talk to you about it. She says she can talk you into letting me see her.”

“And how does she propose to do that?”

“I don't know … she's …”

“She's what?”

Gretchen glares at me. “She's different. She's not like the other girls. She's kind and brave and smart and good. We're best friends. Please don't ruin this like you have everything else in my life, Father.”

What is she talking about? How have I ruined her life? I have given her everything! Before I can respond, she runs from the office. I know from experience, when she runs away, there is no use talking to her for at least an hour.

There isn't any choice now.

“Henry!” He's at my door immediately. “Bring the girl to me.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

It's not just a big lawn past the gate. There's a lot of trees and bushes along with flower beds. He's got to have several full time grounds guys. There's also surveillance cameras everywhere. A few are obvious but more are hidden. I'm going to have to get inside the security center somehow. Henry's leading me up the driveway to the main front door. I can hear a lot of activity inside as we walk up the steps.

He opens the doors and we step through, into a brilliant white three story atrium with golden staircases on both sides, an enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and an elevator in the back.

Typical nouveau rich opulence.

“Nice place.”

“Keep it up kid and you'll get your head handed to you. If I'm lucky, I'll get to be the one who hands it.”

“What? You don't think it's a nice place? You should see my house.”

“Stuff it. Give me that bag.”

“Why?”

“Because everything gets run through the metal and explosive detectors and everybody gets scanned. You don't have anything to hide, do you?”

“No, I'm just not a fan of radiation. How long you been operating those machines?”

“Years.”

“Had a check-up lately?”

“Very funny.”

He drops the side of what I thought was a big book cabinet, exposing a rubber conveyor belt. Next, he slides a door aside, revealing a monitor. He drops my bag onto the belt, pulls a hand scanning wand from the drawer below the monitor and passes it over my body as my bag works its way through the machine. I'm clean, except for my watch. I half expected the metal in my head to trigger the wand. It may have been my imagination, but I swear I heard a slight warble when he scanned the top of my head, though it may have been the barrette I'm wearing.

The bag emerges from the scanner and Henry turns to the monitor. Apparently, he saw something, because he opened the bag and pulled out a box.

“What’s in here?”

“They’re for Mr. Hobbes.”

He opened the box. “What are they?”

“Electronic bugs I found in my house, the ones he had planted there. I disabled all of them.”

He smiled. “You’re going to go in there and accuse Raymond Hobbes of having your house bugged?”

“There’s no accusation. He had it done, it’s a fact.”

He closes the box and puts it back in my bag. “Good luck with that one, kid. Come on.”

Henry walked across the atrium, past what appeared to be a formal dining room which was full of activity, people setting tables, flowers being arranged.

“What’s going on in there?”

“None of your business. Keep walking.”

I follow him through the house until we reach a large ornate door.

“Well kid, this is what you asked for. Hope you enjoy it.”

I don’t think he means it. He knocks on the door.

“Come in, Patricia” a voice calls out from the other side of the door.

Here we go.

I open the door and step through, closing it behind me. Hobbes is sitting at his large, highly polished, wooden desk, leaning back in his swivel chair, hands on the desk, fingers interlaced. Everything is neat and clean, no stacks of papers for me to rifle through. There’s a computer monitor to his left, along with a keyboard and a mouse. I don’t see any CPU, it may be stashed under the desktop. There is a large picture of his dead wife on the wall behind him and several wooden filing cabinets against the wall to his right, but the cabinets look larger than usual, more space between the drawers, more space around the drawers. They’re probably fireproof and waterproof, with extra security features built in. I think I see a fingerprint touch pad by each individual drawer.

Impressive.

I slowly look around the room. Nice, comfortable furniture. No plants. Artwork on the walls, likely originals. There are a number of photos, probably family. There are several of a young couple and then the same couple with a child. Hobbes and his parents, I’d wager. Then there are several of a young boy with a group of tough looking men, all dressed as gauchos and holding the reins of their horses. The background looks like a ranch of some kind. There’s what looks like a bola sitting on his desk, the leather straps wound tightly together, the three fist-size rocks locked together in a triangle. It’s more personal than the rest of the house, like a decorator did the places people would see but he did the places where he was going to live. Seeing his bedroom would be interesting.

“You have caused quite a lot of trouble for such a small girl.”

So that’s how he’s going to play it. Fine.

“All I wanted was a few minutes of your time to talk with you about Gretchen. That hardly seems like an imposition. Most caring fathers would want to know if their daughter was having difficulties. Apparently, the trouble was your people didn’t want to tell you I was outside asking to see you. Their incompetence isn’t my problem … it’s yours.”

He bristles at that. “They were following my orders.”

“Then I’m sorry. It wasn’t their incompetence; it was your … lack of foresight.”

He smiles tightly. “Were you going to say something other than ‘lack of foresight’?”

“Yes, but my mother taught me to be polite, whenever possible.”

“To bad she didn’t teach you to show the proper respect.”

“She taught me that respect is earned. Also, that respect is a two way street, you don’t get it if you don’t give it. On that point …” I reach into my bag, take out the box of electronic bugs, and toss it onto his desk. It slides to a stop next to his right hand “… I believe these are yours. I’m sure you paid for them, one way or another.”

He opens the box and dumps the contents onto his desk. “What are these?”

“Electronic bugs, listening devices. I found them in my home. They were put there by the people you hired to spy on me and my mother.”

“I know nothing about that.”

“Lying to someone is a sign of disrespect, Mr. Hobbes.”

That he didn’t like. He leans forward in his chair, hands planted on the desk top, fingers spread, elbows locked. “You do not speak to me in such a manner! Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, Mr. Raymond Hobbes, drug kingpin. The head of the largest criminal organization in the Southeastern United States, possibly the entire country, the details are a little fuzzy. Your primary source of income is drug sales but you dabble in other areas, prostitution, gambling, and so on. It’s good to have a diverse income stream.”

He REALLY didn’t like THAT. He’s up, out of his chair, leaning over the desk, as close to me as he can get without jumping over the desk. “NO ONE SAYS SUCH THINGS TO ME! HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF THESE CRIMINAL ACTS! I AM A LEGITIMATE BUSINESSMAN!”

“Then you should talk to Google, because when I searched your name, all kinds of interesting things showed up.”

“Google!?”

“You know, Google, the Search Engine. Haven’t you ever Googled yourself? Oh, you really should try it. Wikipedia has several articles where you are prominently mentioned too. All in all, they paint a very interesting portrait. But I don’t really care about all that; I’m just here because of Gretchen.”

“There are certainly unfounded rumors about me, created by competitors to sully my good name, but I have never been convicted of a single criminal act!”

“Look Mr. Hobbes, I truly don’t care about how you make your money. This isn’t a courtroom and neither of us is on trial. We both know who you are and how you make a living and that’s all cool and everything. I don’t know any details about your enterprises and I don’t want to know, it’s none of my business and I want to keep it that way. As far as I’m concerned, you sell widgets. But don’t think I’m stupid either. You asked me if I knew who you are and I told you the truth, we both know that. I told you about someone bugging my home and you lied about it … and we both know that too.”

He settles back into his chair. “There is no evidence tying me to anyone who MAY have checked into your background.”

“There you go with the evidence thing again. I don’t see a judge or jury or a bunch of lawyers here. I understand, you’re worried about who might be friends with Gretchen, any father would. But other parents call each other, talk, feel each other out. They don’t have people sneak in and plant bugs to spy on you in the privacy of your own home! My mother practically freaked out when I found those darn things. How would you like it if someone did something like that to you?”

He actually looks a little embarrassed. “Many have tried.”

“Well, that kinda goes along with the territory, don’t cha’ think? But, hey, I’m not asking for an apology, I don’t expect an apology. That’s probably why you thought it was okay and all. But Mom and I, we’re just regular people. I sorta expected something like this when I decided to be friends with your daughter, but Mom is pretty darn upset about the whole thing. I had to convince her that Gretchen was worth all the trouble, that it’s not her fault that she has you for a dad.”

He starts to rev up again. “And exactly where have I failed my daughter!?”

“How many other girls have you had to check out because they were friends with Gretchen?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He’s thinking about lying to me again when the phone rings. He picks it up.

“Yes … what time is it? … well, keep them entertained for a few minutes … I should not be much longer … five minutes at the most.” He hangs up and returns his attention to me.

“You were the first.”

HA! Breakthrough!

“That’s because I’m her first and only friend at St. Ann’s.”

“How can that be? She’s a wonderful girl!”

“I know that. She stood up with me when things were tough at school, when it would have been a lot easier to do nothing. I know she’s great. Others do to, but it’s not the other girls, it’s their parents. They also know who you are and they don’t want their daughters associating with a girl who has a father … well, a father in your line of work.”

“I have never been convicted of …”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it, no convictions. But that’s not the standard parents use. If Gretchen were friends with a girl whose father was a suspected child molester, would you say ‘well, the man was never convicted of molesting those ten other girls, so he must be a fine fellow’? Of course not! You’d tell her to keep far away from that girl and her family. Well, I’m afraid that you’re that child molester … not an actual child molester, obviously, but you get my point, right?”

“So … you are saying that my daughter has no friends because of me.”

“That and you keep her cooped up in this place. When was the last time she got to go anywhere without bodyguards?”

“It’s a dangerous world.”

“Particularly for ‘legitimate businessmen’?”

“Rich businessmen and their families … legitimate or otherwise. It is prudent to take precautions.”

“There is protection and over-protection. No one has ever attacked Gretchen in any way.”

“How do you know that?”

“That’s what she says.”

“Maybe she’s never been attacked because no one has ever gotten a chance due to my security.”

“Maybe it’s because no one cares.”

“I am not prepared to take that chance.”

“I can see why you’d think that way, given what happened to your parents. It’s only natural that …”

“What do you know about my parents?!”

“Google … remember?”

“Ah yes, Google. Perhaps I should have saved my money and just typed ‘Patricia Conner’ and pushed enter.”

“You’re famous, I’m not. You won’t find much about me on Google, just a couple of Science Fair Awards.” Thank you Witness Protection. “Besides, your people were looking for more personal details about us than found in the open information sources.”

His phone rang again. He picked it up.

“YES! … how long? … I will be there when I am done with this interview … however long it takes.” He hangs up.

“Am I keeping you from your dinner party? I can come back later.”

He waives his hand dismissively. “They will wait for me.”

I bet they will. “Anyway, back to Gretchen. She’s really upset about you not letting her come over to my house. You’ve checked us out, we’re totally normal people. You can even send the body guards; they can stay outside and watch all they want.”

“That is not as safe as this house, not nearly as safe.”

“True, but she won’t stay in this house forever. She’ll soon be eighteen and free to go wherever she wants. If you don’t start giving her the chance to live something resembling a normal life, she’ll be out like a shot. And that would be the wrong thing for her to do.”

“What?”

“She’s not ready to live in the real world. Her entire life has been spent in the lap of luxury. She’s got no idea what it’s like out here. Her total lack of experience with relationships will make her a target for the most unscrupulous people.”

Hobbes looks confused. “I thought you were here to support Gretchen?”

“I am. She needs to start to learn how regular people live their lives. She can do great things but not from inside these walls. Unfortunately, she’s not remotely ready. If you can’t start to loosen your grip, she’ll bolt as soon as she can and meet the real world cold turkey. Usually, the real world wins and it ain’t pretty.”

“Then you should try to persuade her that I am correct.”

“Because you’re not. How you gonna keep her here? Tie her up? Lock her door? Threaten her life? The only thing you’ve got is money. Are you going to bribe her? Tell the truth, can you respect anybody who takes a bribe?”

He doesn’t say anything right away. I know the answer but he’s not ready to deal with it in his own family, not yet.

“Do you want to put your own daughter in that position? The other option is to threaten to cut off your support if she moves out. Then you have to ask, can you respect someone who knuckles under to threats?”

Still no answer, but I’ve got him coming and going.

“The only way this works is if Gretchen wants to stay here, and that’s only going to happen if she gets some freedom to live they way she wants, and that means she sees her only friend outside of school. She’ll be safe, trust me. Send her guards, my mom will accept it, as long as they only watch from outside. She won’t be happy, but she’ll accept it.”

“Why won’t she be happy?”

“Well … I may not care about how you make your money but she’s not nearly as open minded. She refuses to let me stay here, she’s worried about … bad influences.”

“Why should your mother’s concerns about bad influences be more important than my concern’s about my daughter’s safety? Would your mother accept my assurances that you would be well treated?”

“Uuhhh, probably not.”

“Then why should I accept her assurances about Gretchen’s safety at your home? We seem to be at an impasse.”

“I see your point; you both have problems with each other. I gotta tell you, that stuff with the bugs really poisoned the water. My Mom is very upset with you.”

“I understand her distress, but my concerns are equally valid.”

I don’t want to screw this up now. He’s right where I want him. After fifteen seconds of assorted facial expressions demonstrating frustration and thoughtfulness, I go for it.

“The important thing here is Gretchen. If she doesn’t get some help, the stuff is going to hit the fan. If you promise to consider letting her come to my house, I’ll start off visiting at your house, but you’ve got to promise me to let her come to my home as soon as you’re comfortable with it. Do we have a deal?” I offer him my hand. He hesitates.

“Will you be able to persuade your mother to accept this?”

“She’ll be a tough sell, but she trusts my judgment. I can also take care of myself and she knows it. I think she’ll go along with it.”

He grabs my hand and shakes it. “If she does, then we have an agreement. Do you wish to tell Gretchen?”

“It would be better if it came from you, you’ll get more credit in her eyes.”

“Good idea.” He shakes his finger at me. “The report did not do you justice; you are a very smart girl.”

“Wikipedia probably needs to ease off you too.”

“Who writes for this Wikipedia?”

“Anybody can, they just have to submit it to the editors.”

“I may read it myself, there may need to be some corrections.” He stands up and buttons his jacket. “I am afraid that I have been a poor host tonight but it has been worth it. Henry will see you out. I look forward to speaking with you in the future; you are very mature for your age.”

“When you lose a parent when you’re young, you learn a lot about life very quickly. It changes you. I lost my father, Gretchen lost her mother, and you lost both your parents and a wife. No one can experience those kinds of losses and remain a child.”

“Quite true, quite true.” He bowed slightly toward me. “Good night, Patricia.”

“Good night, Mr. Hobbes.”

As he left the room, Henry came in. Hobbes spoke to him.

“Henry, please show Ms. Conner the way out and make sure to treat her well. We shall be seeing more of her in the future … I hope.”

“Uuhhh yes … sir. Absolutely, Mr. Hobbes.”

I fought the urge to smirk at Henry. I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. As we retraced our path through the house back to the front door, I kept my eyes locked straight forward, wearing my best poker face. Henry glanced back at me several times, but he was smart enough not to say anything until he could figure out what had just happened and where I would fit into his future.

My stuff was waiting for me as I walked out the gate. Almost immediately, Mom drove up in our car. I tossed my stuff into the back seat and climbed into the passenger side front.

“Well?” she asked.

“Just drive” I replied, slumping in my seat. She pulled away from the curb, saying nothing. After a few blocks, I reached out with my left hand, placing it on top of her right hand, squeezing it gently.

“We’re in.”

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

“He wants to see us, both of us.”

Patricia frowns and shakes her head.

“No way, Mom. We’re almost inside and it’s stupid to take that kind of risk. We should keep to the dead drops.”

“Daniel is insistent. We might as well pick the time and the place to prevent him from just showing up.”

“He wouldn’t do that, he’s not that dumb.”

“He considers this to be his operation, that we work for him.”

“Huh. Maybe he should be in here instead of me.”

Patricia has been very reluctant to talk about Daniel for some time. While they weren’t exactly friends at the start, there seemed to be professional respect. Ever since the transfer, she has become increasingly agitated when ever his name is mentioned

“Don’t be that way, Patricia. No one is questioning what you’ve accomplished. Daniel is technically in charge. This is a Department of Justice operation and he’s their representative.”

“Okay, fine. Then you’re my representative, you talk with him.”

“What is going on here, Patricia? Daniel’s not being unreasonable. He has people to answer to. He’s entitled to know what is going on. Yes, he can be kept informed by written notes but the occasional meeting is not out of line. Why are you objecting to this?”

She slumps back in her seat. “I don’t know. Every time I think about him, I just … get upset. I can’t tell you why because I don’t KNOW why.”

“Could you be …”

“Be what?”

“They say that there is a fine line between hate and love.”

“EEEEEEWWWWW GROOOOSSSSS! Don’t even think that Mother! How could you think that!? What have I EVER done to make you THINK that!?”

“Nothing, but I was just …”

“Don’t ever say that again! And if you EVER say something like that to Lipscomb … I’ll … I’ll …”

“Understood, Patricia. So when do you want to meet with Daniel?”

She gives me a sideways glance, head cocked to the side. “You’re pretty darn mean, you know that? You win. We’ll see him …” She reaches into her bag and takes out her PDA. It’s an old Palm Pilot that she got off Craig’s List. She says that it’s old technology but works just fine. “… Wednesday, at Dr. Matthews. I’ve got a check-up scheduled. He can sneak in the back.” She closes the cover on the PDA. “If he can’t make it, then I guess we won’t be meeting.”

“I’ll let him know.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Lipscomb called me, he wanted to schedule an appointment to meet for an “examination” on Wednesday. We used the code in case someone was bugging my phone. I think the security precautions are excessive. Even if someone is watching Patricia and Jessica, why would they watch everyone they have contact with?

Regardless, I schedule him for the half hour before Patricia. I am looking forward to seeing her. These monthly exams are really much too infrequent but Lipscomb felt that anything more often would raise suspicion. Security again! I wish they would leave Patricia and I alone so that I could complete my research as quickly as possible.

Lipscomb arrives right on time, but enters through the back entrance. If someone had heard our phone conversation, would they not have expected him to come through the front door? I will never understand these undercover techniques.

“Hello, Daniel. Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

“Thank you Thomas. Black. Have you heard from Peter or Jessica?”

“No, I assume they will be here on time, as scheduled. They have always arrived promptly in the past. Are you concerned about something?”

“I am concerned that this is taking so long. Harris should have been able to accomplish much more by now. I’m beginning to think that he’s having too much fun posing as a young girl.”

“Why would you think that? He seemed quite reluctant to sublimate his personality at the beginning. He has adapted very well to the situation but never expressed any happiness about it. Most men would not desire to spend time as a girl.”

“I think that because I was in that body, I experienced the physical possibilities, the potential. Also, he doesn’t have much to return to.”

“What do you mean?”

“His original body. It’s in very bad shape. Why would you want to return to that when you can have a young, vigorous, sexy body?”

“Of the wrong sex, Daniel.”

“A minor issue, Thomas.”

“A minor issue? I would think that would be the major issue. Besides, I have been able to do some repairs to Peter’s original body.”

“Repairs? What are you talking about?”

“Mostly to his arthritic joints and damaged lungs.”

He looks up at me through furrowed eyebrows.

“I don’t remember Peter authorizing these ‘repairs’. Did I miss something?”

“No, no, you didn’t. It’s just that I’ve had the time and the body is just laying there. You know what they say about idle hands.”

“I know what lawyers say about unauthorized medical treatments. It’s called malpractice plus assault and battery.”

“How could he object to improving the quality of his life once he returns to that body?”

“Thomas, it was cutting corners that brought you to my attention. In this case, Peter is still around to object. Very loudly and very violently. I’d suggest that you stop making any unauthorized repairs, don’t even mention what you’ve already done. Maybe it can all be explained away as part of the process, an unanticipated side effect. Thankfully, the release he signed covers something like that. It doesn’t cover intentional torts. I don’t want to give him any excuse to bring this operation to a premature end. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, I understand, but I can’t believe that he would have a problem with what I’ve done.”

“From here on out, Thomas, do nothing without my prior approval. I’m afraid that your judgment can not be trusted.”

MY judgment? He’s the one with the problem, not me! Those filthy subroutines. He talks of anger; perhaps I should share with Peter what’s buried deep within the silicon portion of his brain. I’m sure he would forget about any possible objections to a new and improved body.

Unfortunately, I remain under Lipscomb’s thumb. “Certainly Daniel … what ever you say. I have no desire to upset the apple cart at this late stage of the game.”

“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” He glances at his watch. “Where the hell are they?”

“Patience Daniel, they won’t be long.”

* * * *** * * * ***

Patricia is reluctant to even come into Thomas’ lab. She’s been here often and there’s been no real problem before, but today, she is intentionally lagging behind. I try to lighten her mood.

“Come on, slowpoke, let’s go. We finally have good news to deliver. We should be celebrating!”

“We celebrate when we’re done and not before. Every step brings us closer to both success and failure. No one has ever gotten this close to Hobbes before. Technically, I’m not even inside yet. He could always change his mind. Every time we make progress, we gotta be that much more cautious, more careful. A single mistake and we’re goners. That’s why this meeting is so stupid.”

“Stop moping about it. We go in, Thomas gives you the usual check-up, which you will pass with flying colors, Daniel will congratulate you for your brilliance and we go home.”

“Humph” she snorts.

Patricia can be moody, particularly at the lower Blue settings but she’s at Fifty Blue right now, Thomas likes her to spend at least the hour before tests at that level.

When we walk in, Thomas and Daniel are sitting in the waiting room. Daniel stands and smiles.

“Well here you are, finally. How are you beautiful ladies today?”

“Stuff it” Patricia mumbles.

“What was that, Peter?”

“Nothing Lipscomb … nothing at all.”

“I would like to do the tests first, if you don’t mind Daniel” said Thomas. “Patricia needs to be in a relaxed state and your presence sometimes … upsets her.”

“Whatever you say Thomas, you’re the Doctor.” He chortles like it was some kind of joke. I don’t get it; neither does Thomas from the look on his face.

“Yes, I am … come along Patricia. You two can wait out here, please.”

Patricia follows Thomas through the doors into the lab. Just as she’s about to close them, she steps back, turns her head and looks at me.

“You can tell him, if you want.” Then she shuts the door.

Daniel looks at me with interest. “Tell me what?”

I sit down and settle back in the chair. “Patricia is in.”

“Finally! It’s about time!”

“‘Finally’”!? Not ‘thank you’ or ‘good job’ or how about ‘tremendous news’?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Jessica. I’m certainly appreciative of all your efforts. It just seems that you have taken your own sweet time getting to this point. How hard could it have been?”

God, what a buffoon! No wonder Patricia dislikes him. I should kick him in the shins … or perhaps higher. “Daniel, you have no idea what Patricia has gone through to reach this point. What she, what I have had to endure. I truly believe that no one else on the face of the earth could do what she has done. No one.”

“I know Peter is qualified. That’s why I hired him. I’m just saying he could have been faster. Sometimes, I think he enjoys being a girl just a little too much … if you know what I mean.”

“Stuff it, Daniel!”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The test results were all fine, no obvious changes from the prior exam, allowing for Patricia’s slightly agitated state. Lipscomb does that to people. I wanted to speak with her privately after the tests were done.

“How are you feeling, overall?”

“Fine. No physical problems.”

“How do you feel mentally? Any breaks in consciousness, black-outs, lost minutes or hours?”

“No. Nothing like that. Should there be?”

“No. It would just be evidence of a separation of the two parts of the brain. Where one side might take over and the other side be unaware.”

“Do you expect that to happen? Should I be worried?”

“Not at all. I am just covering all possibilities.”

“Thank heaven.” She picks up her bag and starts to rummage through it. “You shouldn’t worry me like that, Dr. Matthews.” She removes a small flat plastic case from her purse, flips it open, and brings it close to her face. There appears to be a mirror in the upper half of the case because Patricia is looking closely at it while tilting her head left and right. She reaches back into the purse and removes a metallic tube, about the size of my small finger. She pulls off the top and twists it, exposing a red, colored center, which she carefully applies to her lips while viewing herself in the small mirror. I believe it is lipstick. I glance at the controller on my desk. It is set on Blue Fifty.

“What are you doing, Patricia?”

“Oh … sorry, nervous habit.” She closes the case and caps the tube, dropping them both in her bag. “They don’t let us wear much in the way of makeup at school so I wait until I’m out to fix my face up right. I don’t use a lot, but a little can go a long way, don’t you agree?”

She coquettishly cocks her head slightly to the side and down, smiling impishly, and looking up at me through her long, dark lashes.

“Yes … I see. Ahh, you are a very attractive … girl, Patricia.”

She wrinkles her nose at me. “Thanks. I try.”

“It shows. How are your nightmares? Still there?”

She closes her eyes and sighs. “Oh yes, practically every night. What’s weird is that I’m always Peter, never Patricia. That is if I’m anyone in particular.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, dreams can get really strange sometimes. Stuff can be happening to you and you not know who you are at the time. It’s all abstract and weird.”

“I see. Well, unfortunately, I’m not a psychiatrist so the dream interpretation will have to be done by someone else.”

“Have you thought of a way to stop them?”

“I think it’s impossible, or at least unhealthy, to chemically stop you from dreaming. Dreams fill an important role in the sleep cycle. I can understand that a continuing stream of bad dreams would be upsetting, but they are likely playing a vital role in stress relief, which you have been under for some time.”

“I know. I’ve been reading up on the subject. Actually, I’ve been reading a lot of subjects. It’s amazing! I can read practically anything and, if I understand it, the information is instantly accessible. If I’m not quite sure what it means, the information is, like, filed away but it comes back later when I’ve had time to think about it or get additional information that makes the original understandable. It doesn’t matter what subject, it’s all there. Computers, Philosophy, Politics, Economics, all kinds of stuff. Any way I could keep all this info when I go back to the old body?”

“Probably not, though some of it may be retained.”

“I really wish I had this brain when I was in school.”

“The brain comes with the body.”

“Well, that would certainly have made high school more interesting.”

“In what way?”

She smiles at me. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I was under the impression that you were socially active when you were Peter Harris. I assume that was also true when you were younger. I can tell that you were quite handsome as a youth.”

“Aren’t you nice.”

“It has nothing with being nice, simply stating facts. As Patricia, you would likely have also been socially active. You are physically quite attractive.”

She blushes and looks away. “I’m sure you had a lot to do with that.”

“No, I made no cosmetic alterations.”

“Not even my … breasts?”

“No changes at all. I was not interested in physical appearance, I was only interested in your brain. In all other respects, you are, as they say, all natural.”

“That’s nice to know. Still, the female experience is completely different from the male experience.”

“I look forward to the details when this job is done.”

“I’ve managed to get invited to the Hobbes home, so it may not be too long before the job is done, though I don’t want to get anybody’s hopes up.”

“I understand. Jessica seems to have a great deal of confidence in your abilities so I will trust her judgment.”

“Thank you, Dr. Matthews.”

“Could you send Jessica in here, I’ll just need a few minutes alone with her.”

“Certainly, be happy to.” She stands up, smoothing her dress as she stands, walks to the door, pauses a moment, gives me a little finger wave and leaves. Jessica enters less than a minute later.

“Patricia said you wanted to see me?”

“Have a seat.”

She sits down across the desk from me. “Is there a problem?”

“Have you been increasing the time that Patricia spends at the Blue Fifty setting, as we discussed?”

She frowns. “Not as much as you suggested. She’s been pushing so hard. Our home was bugged for several weeks and we thought the safest thing was to stay in character all the time. I have tried to increase the time recently.”

“It may already be too late.”

She looks concerned. “What do you mean?”

“I just had a conversation with Patricia with the setting on Blue Fifty. I honestly can say that I never heard Peter’s voice once in the conversation.”

“I’m sure she was just keeping in character.”

“Perhaps, but you see her every day and the changes are slow and subtle. I see her much less frequently and the changes are more obvious to me. There is no reason to assume the changes are permanent, but right now, I suspect, that Peter is highly integrated with the Construct. It may take substantial time for him to return to normal once he is removed.”

“But you can remove him, right?”

“Yes. The integration is all in the functioning of the Cerebral Balancer. The basic brain patterns remain separated and can be removed, but that doesn’t mean the two sections remain unchanged. Clearly, Peter has been affected by the time he has spent in the Construct.”

“Didn’t you anticipate that?”

“To a degree. Patricia is a prototype. She was never designed to be … on line, if you will, for this continuous length of time. My original plan was for there to be a series of shorter but gradually lengthening trials, to carefully monitor the entire process to observe any changes. I have not been permitted to observe Patricia as I would prefer, Daniel claims it would interfere with his objectives. I assumed that there would be some changes in both portions of the brain as the Balancer exerted its influence but there could be more than I had anticipated. It is impossible to tell without bringing Patricia in for at least three weeks of extensive testing, which Daniel forbids.”

Jessica looked more concerned than before. “Is Patricia in any danger?”

“You mean in more danger than she currently is?”

“Good point. But, yes, is she in medical danger?”

How do I answer that? Daniel will be very upset if I say anything that would cause Peter to back out now. Anything I tell Jessica will eventually get to Peter, they are too close for her to keep secrets from him without good cause. Perhaps I can give her good cause.

“No, I don’t believe so, but keeping her stress levels down would be good. The less she has to worry about, the better. Also, the more time at Blue Fifty, the better.”

She starts to laugh. I don’t think I said anything funny. She continues to laugh for several seconds.

“I’m sorry, but do you know how impossible that is? I’m stressed like I’ve never been in my entire life and I’ve done practically nothing compared to what Patricia has been through. And the really hard part is just starting.”

“You may be surprised. Peter Harris spent a large portion of his life undercover. It was his natural environment. He has more resources available now than he ever had before. If we just let him do his job, without adding any health concerns, everything should be fine. Besides, you want to get Mr. Hobbes, don’t you?”

She hesitates for a moment. “Of course I do, more than anything. I’ve given up everything in my life to make sure he pays.”

“Then it would seem the only way that is going to happen is for Patricia to continue working, correct?”

She stares at me a moment. “It would seem so … Thomas. Are we done?”

“I think so. I’ll see both of you at the next appointment.”

She nodded at me and left.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Would I sacrifice Patricia to get Hobbes? That was the choice Thomas just gave me. There’s no proof of any actual harm to her, he says that she’s probably safe and he’ll be able to remove Peter when the job is done. But there’s also the possibility of problems. Should I tell her about it? If I do, it could make things worse but it might also save her life. There’s no concrete proof of anything, just a whole bunch of maybes. How am I helping Patricia by dumping all of that in her lap?

When I enter the waiting room, she and Daniel are glaring at each other. They both turn to me as I enter.

“This … JERK seems to think I’ve been goofing off, wasting his time and money while living the life of luxury as a teen age girl.”

“What did you say to her, Daniel?”

“It’s not my money, it’s the government’s money. I didn’t say you were ‘goofing off’, I just questioned how aggressively you were pursuing our objectives.”

Patricia turns back towards Daniel. “And how aggressive do you think I need to be? I’m practically standing on his doorstep.”

“Don’t throw a hissy fit, Peter. I’m just pointing out that we do not have an unlimited amount of time.”

Hissy fit? What is wrong with this fucking idiot?

“So far, my superiors have been patient, but that may change. If we can’t produce results, they may pull our funding.”

“Destroying your big plans for a promising political future, right Lipscomb?”

“Yes Peter, but it would also make all your efforts to date a waste. Plus, it would ruin Jessica’s plans for vengeance, right Jessica?”

Why does he need to bring me into this fight? I look back and forth between them, considering my answer.

“Shut up Daniel. Patricia made it clear from the start that we were going to do this on her schedule, not yours. Her job is to get in to Hobbes house and find what she can. Everything we’ve done from the beginning was done to get where we are today … on the verge of success. I couldn’t have done it and neither could you. Your job is to keep your bosses off our backs. If you’re unhappy, maybe you can find someone else in your office who’d like to replace you.”

I walk over to Patricia and hug her shoulder.

“Thanks, Mom” she whispers.

“You’re welcome, honey” I whisper back. Daniel is carefully watching us.

“I am not here to cause problems” he says. Patricia snorts at that. “I just wanted to make sure we are all on the same page of the playbook, given that we are so close to success. I didn’t want the ball to be fumbled at this late date.” Men and their sports metaphors. “I certainly did not mean to criticize … Patricia’s choices or methods. In fact, I’d like to congratulate her on her success to date.” The man is a born politician. “However, speed is also important. The longer you are undercover, the greater the chance of discovery. I am only interested in your health and safety.”

God! Can that man throw the bull? Patricia pulls away from my hold on her shoulders.

“Just because I get inside the house doesn’t mean I’m going to get much information, at least at the beginning. I haven’t seen much of the house yet, but what I have seen says this isn’t going to be easy. Security is everywhere. They got enough cameras to equip a Best Buy or three. The place is lousy with guards, most of who don’t exactly like me. I can’t start snooping around right away, I gotta build up some goodwill first. That way, if I get caught doing something I shouldn’t be, I’ve got some brownie points to protect me. Undercover operations move at their own pace and in their own time. You take advantage of opportunities as they come, sometimes, if you’re lucky, you can create opportunities without raising suspicion, but you’ve got to be either really lucky or really good.” She smiles up at him. “You’re really lucky that I’m really good.”

Daniel sighs. “Alright, I’ll try to be more patient, but I want to be kept appraised. When you get something, no matter how insignificant, I want to be informed. Do you understand?"

Patricia nods her head in agreement. “Whenever I get something that is pertinent, we’ll let you know … in the normal course of business. We can’t have regular face to face meetings, too many chances of discovery. Mom will handle all communication, just as we discussed in the beginning. Do you understand?”

Daniel smiles tightly … actually; it’s more of a sneer. “Yes, I understand. Let’s hope everything goes smoothly and you can quickly return to your old body.”

He stands and walks back through the doors back towards the lab. He’s either heading for the back door or he’s going to see Thomas again. Either way, I think we’re done for today. Patricia grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here before he comes back. What did Dr. Matthews want to see you about?”

“Ahhh, nothing. He just wanted to make sure you were telling him everything that was going on, didn’t accidentally leave anything out.”

“So, no problems?”

I smile at her. “No, nothing at all. You’re right, let’s go home.”

I’m sure she’ll be safe; Thomas can’t prove anything is actually wrong with her. Until there’s more evidence, there’s no reason to tell her about potentially non-existent problems. Who would that help?

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

As I zip down the street on my bike, it’s shifting around underneath me. The bike isn’t balanced because I didn’t tightly tie down my overnight bag. Every time I take a turn, the bag flops around. I’d like to stop and tighten the straps but I don’t want to be late the first weekend at Gretchen’s.

Her father told her of our deal on Monday evening. She practically mugged me the next morning at school, darn near broke my ribs hugging me so hard. She was laughing and talking so fast, I was sure she’d hyperventilate. It took me several minutes to calm her down enough so that she started making sense.

She had hardly slept that night, making plans for all the things we’d do when I came to see her this weekend. She was really keyed up. Every time we had time together that day, she had added more things for us to do. I finally had to tell her to get a grip, we’ll have plenty of time, this is just the first of several weekends to come, no need to try to do everything possible the first weekend. I’ll come over, we’ll hang out, it’ll be cool.

She was all apologetic about being so hyper. I’ve never seen a person so desperate for human contact in my life. For the rest of the week, I tried to keep her from going overboard, without a lot of success.

Eventually, we agreed that I’d get there by 5:00 pm on Friday, in plenty of time for supper at 6:00. She made a point that her father didn’t like people being late.

And now I’m just barely on schedule. Mom just wouldn’t let me go. I tried to tell her that I had to get on the road but she kept thinking of things I needed to take with me. I know she’s worried, so am I, but I’m not going to do anything but try to be a good guest this time, and probably every time for the next few weeks, if I’m given the chance. Luckily, two of the last three lights were green and the third was yellow. As I pull onto Gretchen’s street, I glance at my watch. It’s 4:58. I gun the engine and zoom up to her driveway, skidding to a stop at her front gate. I kill the engine and push the intercom button. The two cameras mounted on the top of the brick pillars that support the gate swivel around to point at me.

I want to smile and wave but that may be pushing it. The intercom crackles to life.

“Yes?”

I push the reply button. “Patricia Conner to see Gretchen Hobbes.”

One of the cameras swings up and scans the area while the other one stays focused on me. I hear a loud clunk as the gate unlocks and a whirring sound as it starts to swing open.

“Come in” hisses the intercom.

“Thank you,” I reply. Starting my engine, I slip into gear and roll past the gate. No need to make a big entrance this time. As I pull up to the parking spots near the front steps, Gretchen comes running out and down the steps, grabbing my arm even before I come to a stop. I reach up and pull off my helmet.

“Hey, Gretch.”

“God Patty! I can’t believe you’re finally here!”

“It has been a bit of a fight.”

“I don’t know how you talked my father into changing his mind. He NEVER changes his mind.”

“I just presented him with facts he may not have been aware of. It takes a big person to reconsider his position.”

“Whatever. Just as long as it worked. Come on in, you can change in my room.”

I was wearing jeans and polo shirt along with my black leather jacket. The jacket is hot as heck, except when I’m moving on the bike. I wear it to protect against a fall, same with the jeans. I guess I could wear leather pants but that’s a bit much.

Gretchen told me that they dress for meals, not formal or anything but nice. Naturally, she wears her school uniform for breakfast during weekdays and sometimes for supper too, but it’s the weekend, so apparently jeans and a polo aren’t good enough.

She lets go of my arm as I dismount and then unstrap my bag, slinging it over my shoulder, but she immediately grabs it again, looping her left around my right as soon as its free, practically pulling me up the steps and through the front doors. Where we come to a halt.

“Gonna have to check that bag … and you.”

It’s Henry. He probably asked for this duty. I slide my bag off my left shoulder, dropping it to the floor beside me.

“No problem.”

“Yes problem!” cried Gretchen. “She’s my guest, my friend! There’s no reason for her to be searched.”

“It’s okay, Gretchen” I say.

“It’s NOT okay!”

I gently pull my arm from hers. “No, I want it this way. If anything happens, if anything goes wrong, I want it clear that it’s not my fault. I also want to be searched when I leave.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Fair or not, it’s smart. I want the protection. Look Gretch, it’s a small price to pay to get to see you. I’m okay with it, really.” I hand the bag to Henry. He runs it through the detector. Several things pop up on the screen but I’d put them all in a smaller bag inside the big bag, making the search easier. Henry unzipped my bag, pulled out the smaller bag and opened it. The big thing in there was my lap top.

“You’re gonna have to get this approved before you use it.”

“I expected that, no problem.”

“See Tippett, he’s the tech guru.”

“I will, after Mr. Hobbes says it’s okay.”

“Yeah … good idea, kid.”

He takes the detection wand and passes it over me again, a little quicker than before, probably because Gretchen is watching him like a hawk. There’s that barely perceptible warble again as he passes the crown of my head. I wonder what an x-ray of my head would look like. He sticks the wand back into the drawer.

“You’re clean, kid. Go on in.”

“Thanks.”

I grab my bag, Gretchen takes my right arm again and we’re off, taking the set of stairs on the left. As we climb, I look around. This is a big place. I studied the building plans that were filed with the county when it was built but you don’t really get a feel for how big it actually is until you see it for yourself.

When we get to the landing, Gretchen pulls me to the right, down a large hallway, past several closed doors before we reach the door at the end of the hall, which she throws open with a grand gesture.

“TA-DA!”

I step in, looking around.

It’s pink, reeeaaalllyy pink. The walls, the ceiling, the furniture, the linen … everything is one shade or another of pink. My eyes actually hurt just looking at it. I’ve got some pink in my bedroom at home, just so it looks right, you understand. But this … this is like fairytale stuff.

“Nice, very nice” I say. “I think I’m catching a theme here, right?”

“I know, it’s awful, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Pleeeaaasssee, there’s no kinda about it. Father thinks that this is what a girl’s bedroom should look like so this is what I got.”

“Like when you were five, right?”

“Eight. That’s when he bought the house and had it redecorated. It was somebody famous at the time, I don’t remember who. They asked me what my favorite color was.”

“I’ll take a wild shot in the dark … Pink?”

“Nope, green.”

“And this is what you got?”

“Yep. Anytime something is added or replaced, it’s the same damn color.” She walks into the middle of the large room and slowly spins, her arms outstretched. “This entire room is a monument to how much control I have over my whole life.” She drops her arms. “I am so out of here when I graduate next year.”

“Where you going?”

“Don’t know, don’t care, away is all that matters.”

“How’s your dad gonna feel about that?”

She smiles. “Don’t know, don’t care.”

Man, it’s worse than I thought.

“Well, that’s more than a year from now, who knows, things might get better.”

“After nine years of the same crap, you don’t hold out much hope for the tenth year. My father never changes his mind.”

“And yet, here I am, standing in front of you. He changed his mind about me.”

She strolls over and sits on her enormous pink canopied bed, with the pink pillows and pink coverlet with the pink ruffles. “One miracle just shows how hopeless everything else is. I’m glad he did change his mind though, so glad. I had them put you in my room. There’s lots of others, bedrooms I mean, but I wanted to share with you … if that’s, you know, okay? If not, you can …”

“It’s fine, Gretch. You could put a whole Girl Scout troop in here.”

“Were you a Girl Scout?”

“For awhile. I never could get into the whole thing.”

“I wanted to, but Father said no, toooo risky. Everything is toooo risky, shopping at the Mall, going out to movies, eating at a restaurant, dating … everything.”

He really has her locked up here. Apparently, the guards are around as much to keep her in as to keep people like me out. I drop my bag on the floor and unzip it.

“How formal is dinner? I didn’t bring a whole lot of stuff and if there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that you and I aren’t the same size.”

“A nice skirt and top will be okay. Besides, you’ve got more fashion sense than I do. You should see the clothes I’ve got to chose from.”

She hops off the bed and walks over to a large double door, opening it. It’s not a walk in closet, more like a drive in closet. Row upon row of hanging clothes, an entire wall of shelves. Built in shoe rack that looks like it could hold at least a hundred pairs. The whole thing is bigger than my bedroom at home.

“Where’d all this stuff come from?”

“Bought by different nannies over the years. Gifts from Father. I can’t even fit into three quarters of the stuff, it’s that old. The rest is … ugly. Sometimes, I’d rather wear those stupid school uniforms … not the one you fixed, that one’s great … I mean, I like wearing it, it’s not stupid …”

“It’s okay, I understand what you mean. After we eat, you can show me around the place, then we can come back here and we can go through your closet.”

She clasps her hands together, drawing her elbows tight against her body. “Really?! I was so hoping we could do that! You can show me what I’ve got that’ll work, maybe find some stuff that can be fixed to be more fashionable, not that it matters, I’m never going to get to go anywhere anyway.”

“One step at a time Gretch.”

I take a pinstriped blouse and navy skirt out of my bag. I don’t need to change underwear, it’s white cotton and clean this morning. Reaching down to unfasten my jeans, I feel a little self conscious about undressing in front of Gretchen. It’s not like I haven’t done it before. There’s been lots of times at Phys Ed. This time, however, it’s just us, alone together, in a sickenly pink room with a bed the size of trampoline. In all the time since the transfer, I haven’t been undressed in front of just one person, except for Mom and Dr. Matthews. I think Gretchen notices my discomfort.

“Do you want to, like, change in the bathroom, cause it’s right over there and …”

“No, I’m fine, not a prob.” I quickly strip out of my jeans, kicking off my shoes as I do, then pull the polo over my head. Without pausing, I whip the blouse on, step into and pull the skirt up over my hips, button the blouse, tuck it into the waistband of the skirt and button it shut. I glance over at Gretchen as I hold onto one of the bed posts and step back into my shoes. She is watching me with wide open eyes and slowed breathing, mouth slightly open.

“How do I look?”

“Great! Wonderful! Perfect! Good enough to eat … with. You know, my Father. Eat with my Father … us, all of us. Eat together. Right?” She shrugs and grins. “I’m a little nervous. I’ve never had anybody over before and I’m not sure what I should say or do.”

I finish with my shoes. “You’ll be fine; it’s new for all of us. Let’s go downstairs.” I reach out and take her arm this time. She giggles brightly as we walk out the door and back down the hallway.

I count the rooms this time, comparing the number to the ones in the recorded plans. The numbers match up. I want to learn the layout of this place as soon as possible, I want it burned into my memory. I want to know it, the house and the grounds, so well that you could drop me blindfolded anywhere inside the walls and I could find my way out in ten minutes or less. We’ll start that process after dinner.

When we enter the dining room, no one else is there. The large oak table is set for three. I assume the big chair at the head of the table is for Mr. Hobbes. Ours are smaller chairs … still good sized, solid, but smaller. It’s still fifteen minutes to dinner time.

“Let’s go see the kitchen” I say. Opening a door on the back wall to the right of the big chair, “is it this way?”

“Yes, but we probably shouldn’t bother the cook right now, he’s likely very busy.”

“I’ll just stick my head in and introduce myself, real quick.” I scoot through the door and hustle down the short hallway, carefully pushing the next door open.

It’s a very big kitchen, looks like at least three standard ovens, probably electric, one convection oven, a warming oven, and a professional six burner gas stove top. The kitchen island appears to have a large dark marble top, perfect for pastries. There’s also an industrial standing mixer, double size refrigerator and possibly a walk in freezer. I could have a lot of fun with this place.

There’s just one guy working, dressed in the classic whites of a professional cook, and he’s moving fast, jumping from one pot to the next, stirring and blending, first with a wooden spoon, then a wire whisk. I don’t want to startle him, so I close the door a little too loudly, causing him to look up at me, a frown clearly on his face. I walk towards him.

“Sorry to bother you, I can see you’re busy, I just wanted to say hello.” I reach out with my right hand as soon as I’m close enough. “I’m Patricia Conner, a friend of Gretchen’s. I’m gonna be here a couple of days, just visiting, and I was wondering if I could talk with you after the meal? Just for a few minutes.” I leave my hand out there, waiting for him to take it. He doesn’t react at first, maybe he doesn’t speak English. I’m just about to start all over again in Spanish when he slowly wipes his large hand on a towel hanging from his waistband and engulfs mine with his, shaking it gently.

“I am Raul, the chef. Happy to meet you. What you doing back here in kitchen?”

“I just wanted to meet you and see this beautiful kitchen. It’s so well equipped. I’ve only got three working burners at home and the oven is tiny, it barely holds a twenty pound turkey.”

He keeps a grip on my hand. “So, you cook?”

“Yes, quite a lot, though not as much as you do … I think that pan is about to boil over.”

He releases my hand and hurries back to the stove, quickly stirring the boil down. He keeps stirring but looks back at me over his shoulder

“What you want of Raul?”

“I just wanted to talk with you after supper was done, I have a favor to ask. Is it okay if I come back later?”

He smiles at me. “Sure, you come back, we talk.” He returns to his work and I walk back to the dining room. Gretchen is waiting by the door.

“What was that about?”

“Just meeting people. If I’m going to be here, I might as well meet everybody so they know who I am and I know who they are. You never know when you might need to call for help. Raul seems nice.”

“Raul?”

“The chef. You don’t know him?”

“Why should I? He just works here.”

We’ve got a lot of work to do, Gretchen … a lot of work.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

When I enter the dining room, both girls are waiting for me. Usually I need to have Gretchen called several times before she shows up. Apparently, Conner is already having a good influence on her behavior. I walk around to my chair at the head of the table. I bow my head slightly towards them.

“Good evening, ladies. I’m pleased to see you both here …” I glance at Gretchen “… and on time.” I settle down into my chair. “So, what do you two plan to do your first night?”

“We’re going to go through Gretchen’s closet and get rid of everything that’s too small or out of style,” said Conner.

“That sounds like it may eventually be expensive for me.”

“Not necessarily. Stuff that’s still good can be altered. I may be able fix a lot of her clothes so that they either fit better or are back in style. Either way, she’ll pick up a lot of space in her closets. And Goodwill can take the stuff we get rid of and make some money. Everybody comes out ahead.”

“How long will this take?”

“Depends on how much is salvageable.”

“You make it sound as if Gretchen is the victim of a natural disaster, a flood or hurricane.”

They both look at each other for a moment before Conner speaks. “Whoever was buying her clothes didn’t have a lot of … experience shopping for a teenager. Besides, styles change so fast, it’s hard to keep current.”

“How do you do it, Patricia?”

“I don’t, I can’t afford to. I pretty much ignore little changes and only worry about big changes, short skirts to long skirts, that kind of thing. Other than that, I just wear what I think looks good on me.”

“Why can’t Gretchen do the same?”

“She can, when I’m done with her. Right now, it’s a bit of a mess, fashion wise that is. Everything is clean and neat, that’s not her problem.”

“I should hope so, I pay enough for maids to keep this place clean.”

Just then, Janice entered with our meal. Raul had prepared a standing rib roast, with potatoes, gravy and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. She serves it and we all begin to eat. As usual, Gretchen seems to just be eating out of politeness but her friend is eating with vigor, tastefully but she eats as if she enjoys it.

“How do you like the meal, Patricia?”

“It’s all delicious! I’d gain fifty pounds if I ate like this every day. You seem to be in good shape Mr. Hobbes. Either you eat differently when you don’t have company or you exercise.”

“It is nice of you to notice Patricia. Some of the guards and I play basketball most afternoons after lunch. Perhaps you would like to watch?”

“I might, if we have the time.”

“Gretchen never comes out to watch, I believe that I embarrass her.”

“You don’t embarrass me, Father. I’m just not that into sports … that’s all. You know that.”

“You see, Patricia. Gretchen has never shared my passion for sports. They are a true test of a man’s spirit, his mastery of physical skills.”

“Sports … or competition?” she asks.

“They are one and the same” I answer.

“You can have competition in activities not recognized as physical sports. Take golf for example. It’s played by people you could hardly call physically fit. They ride around in carts and barely walk a half mile over an entire eighteen holes.

“The physical aspect of golf is your control over your own body and your concentration, you against the course.”

“Do you play golf?”

“I have tried an indoor version, using computers and a video screen but never played the real thing.”

“Why not, you sound like you would enjoy it.”

“There are … security concerns.”

“Even a private club?”

“It is out in the open and drone technology being so freely available …”

“But that could happen anywhere, even here.”

“We have taken the necessary precautions here.”

“I see.” She returns to her meal but only for a moment.
“There’s a couple of things I have to ask. I brought my computer and need internet access to work on my homework. I assume you don’t use Wi-Fi because of the … security issues. The guard said I needed to see a Mr. Tippett but I wanted your okay before I did anything.”

I approve of her attitude. “I appreciate your consideration in asking permission. You may have access to the same network Gretchen uses. It is separate from my business network but it does share the same … I believe they are called servers. Tippett will take care of the technical details. What else do you need?”

“Gretchen was going to show me around the house and grounds after supper. I wanted to know what areas are off limits.”

Again, very astute. Clearly a girl with a good head on her shoulders, one who anticipates potential problems. “There are only three areas that are off limits, as you say, they are my office, which is always locked if I am not in there, so that should not be a problem, the computer room in the basement, where Tippett works, and Enrique’s office, which is in the security building, near the heliport.”

“Have I met Mr. Enrique?”

“Not yet. He is out of town, but should be back soon. He is second in command and a valuable business associate.”

Gretchen frowns at this. She has never liked Enrique, not from the first. Neither has he ever expressed any particular fondness for her, though I don’t think Enrique likes children at all. He doesn’t say anything bad about Gretchen and he includes her safety in all security decisions, but I can tell that he would prefer not to deal with her. It will be interesting to see how he deals with Patricia Conner.

“How am I to contact Mr. Tippett if I can’t go to his office?”

A reasonable question. “I was only referring to you being alone and unsupervised in those areas. Obviously, you have already been in my office and can be there again, if I am present. The same for Tippett and the computer room.”

“And Mr. Enrique’s office?”

“Actually, his name is Enrique Cardoza. The security building is manned twenty four hours a day, so you would not be there unsupervised. I doubt Mr. Cardoza would have any reason to see you, anyway.”

“I noticed pictures in your office, Mr. Hobbes. A group of gauchos and a young kid. Was that you?”

“Oh yes! I spent many summers at my uncle’s ranch on the Argentine pampas. He and his men taught me many skills. An idyllic life for a young boy. They all said I was a natural horseman and I was quite skilled with a bola. Not as good as the old hands but I could hold my own. That’s my bola on the desk. I am surprised you recognized them as gauchos.”

“It’s the outfits, a dead giveaway. Do you still ride?”

“No … no I don’t. No time and there are those security concerns. I hadn’t thought about it for some time but, now that you bring it up … I do miss it.”

“It’s a shame. You could teach Gretchen how to ride.”

I could have. She would have looked marvelous on the back of a horse.

“True, Patricia, but some things are best left to the past.”

“I disagree. People ride at any age. If you’re good at it and enjoy it, there’s no reason to stop. You can certainly afford it. If you can’t do a thing you love, there’s got to be something wrong.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Father seemed pleased with Patty. She was being extra nice and polite. I thought that she might get into an argument with him on the sports thing; he’s a real sports nut. Basketball, American football, soccer … don’t get me started on soccer. He had me in the back yard, kicking soccer balls around when I was five, six and seven.

I was hopeless. All gangly and uncoordinated. That’s why I hate sports. I couldn’t do what he wanted. Not that he’d let me play sports now if I wanted to. Toooo dangerous. Apparently, my mother was athletic, a skier, among other things. It was one of the things that attracted him. I’ve seen some pictures of them together in the snow, some kind of mountain retreat, before I was born.

There’s not a lot of snow skiing in Florida, which is good, cause I’d probably break both legs and an arm.

The maid is cleaning after dessert as Father stands up.

“Sorry to leave you ladies alone, but business calls.”

He’s being extra polite too, putting on a show for Patty. I can’t tell what she thinks about him.

“Come on Gretch, we’ve got work to do,” Patty hops out of her seat and heads for the kitchen, following the maid down the hallway behind that door.

“Hey … wait up!” I hurry to catch up but she’s already through the second door by the time I get close. When I open it, I see her wrapping an apron around her waist.

“What are you doing, Patty?”

She turns toward me as she finishes tying the apron. “Helping out, like any good guest would. I can certainly help with the dishes.”

“Don’t be crazy! That’s why we hire these people, it’s their job.”

“I know, but I can still help. I can do the dishes, right Raul?”

I look at the big guy Patty addressed her question to. He appears to be confused. At least I’m not alone.

“You want to help with cleaning?” he asks.

“Sure, why not?” she answers.

“Why not? You guest, that why not. Raul think he get in trouble with Mr. Hobbes if he let you do, that why not.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“Raul understand, you nice girl, but Raul not want to take chance. Okay?”

“Okay, but the other reason I wanted to came back to see you was that I want to make something for breakfast, for everyone. Do the guards and workers eat here?”

“Most do, the ones who live here.”

“How many live here?”

“Ten, eleven counting me.”

“That’s easy then. I want to make cinnamon rolls for the whole group. It’s a refrigerator dough, so I can make it tonight, get up in the morning, roll ‘em out, let them rise and bake.”

“Raul has proofing oven, bake like snap.”

“Great! I’ve always wanted to try one of those. Do you have high gluten flour?”

“Oh yes, we have everything.”

“Anybody allergic to gluten?”

“Not that Raul knows.”

“Can I do it then?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, obviously thinking if it will get him in trouble with Father.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay … Raul. My father won’t mind” I say.

He smiles and shakes his head. “Okay, you make. Raul is here at 5:00 in morning.”

“We’ll be here” Patty says.

WE???!!

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

“What do you mean ‘we’?”

Gretchen’s a little upset. I did the dough for the rolls using the kitchens industrial mixer, which saved a whole lot of time, though I did the final kneading by hand. I had to talk Gretchen into helping but I think she was enjoying it at the end. She wasn’t enjoying the idea of getting up at 5:00 a.m. on a weekend.

“I thought you might like to help, learn something new.”

“I can learn in the afternoon. Saturday is for sleeping in.”

“That’s okay, I can do it myself. It’s only four dozen.”

“Four dozen? Why so many, why do it at all?”

“I’ll have to use three different flavors of icing, so I need enough to cover the demand … actually, I may need five dozen, some of those guys are likely big eaters. As for why, it’s a peace offering. I had to get pretty pushy before I was allowed in to see your father, and I was also a little pushy with him. This is my way of saying I’m sorry without having to actually apologize. If you help, you can get some of the credit.”

“I don’t need any credit.”

“Suit yourself. Let’s start looking at your clothes.”

“Finally! There’s a lot of stuff we can toss right away. It’s more than three years old and I’ve grown at least three inches since then.”

“You’re probably right, though some things might be saved, it’s likely not worth the time, unless you really love something.”

“The only things I like are the ones you did.”

“All right, lead the way.”

We go in to the enormous closet and start on the left and work our way around to the right, pulling clothes off the racks and shelves as we go. We start three piles in her bedroom, yes, no and maybe. Gretchen was right, a lot of this stuff isn’t close to fitting her anymore, though it’s in great shape, practically new.

“What did you wear back then?” I ask. “There’s no sign of wear or tear on any of this stuff. I beat my clothes to death before getting new stuff, unless there’s a good sale, naturally.”

“Mostly uniforms. There’s St. Ann’s now and St. Mary’s before that. Their uniforms were nicer though. Weekends are jeans and stuff. I’ve got swim suits for the pool. We need to use the pool sometime this weekend!”

“Focus, Gretchen. Who bought all this stuff?”

“Mostly nannies. Father would tell them to buy me clothes and they’d do it. I’d average a new nanny about every ten months or so. They’d eventually do something and get fired but I think Enrique set them up.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because Enrique runs this house. Father may make the decisions, but Enrique controls what he has to choose from. Somehow, he always gets his way. It may take awhile, but he always gets his way.”

If he runs the house, he may also run the business, or at least have a lot of pull in deciding what happens day in, day out. Why wasn’t his name mentioned in any of the briefing papers?

“How long has Enrique been around?”

“As long as I have. I can’t remember a time when he wasn’t here. Father may say no to something he wants, but Enrique eventually wheedles and worms his way around and he gets it. I think he wants to take over Father’s business someday.”

“Really?”

“That’s what I think.”

“Don’t you want to take it over?”

“GOD NO! I want nothing to do with it! Never!”

“Have you told him this?”

“No, he’s never asked, though, all the time he’s saying things like, ‘you’ll need to know this someday when I retire’ or ‘if you don’t get your grades up, you won’t ever be able to take over’.”

“You’re right, sounds like he’s got a plan for you.”

“We’ll, I’ve got my own plan.”

“You mentioned it. How do you plan to make a living?”

“I’ll get a job.”

“What kind of job?”

“I don’t know … just a job. How hard can it be? Everybody gets a job.”

“Yeah, eventually, but what kind of job? Fast food, grocery store, waitress, maid.”

“NO! I want a professional job, something in an office, with good money.”

“Good luck with that with only a high school diploma. You couldn’t even get a secretary job without additional training and forget about good money. If there were any factories around here, you might be able to make decent money with only a high school education.”

“It can’t be that bad out there.”

“It’s worse. You don’t know what a sweet deal you’ve got here.”

“It’s not a sweet deal, it’s a prison! You wouldn’t put up with it!”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t. I’d change it. But I sure wouldn’t jump out of the plane without a parachute, which is what you’ve got in mind.”

“Well, I can’t change it, I’m stuck!”

“Don’t be so sure, change is slow. We can work on it. We’ve got time.” I hold up a cherry red wrap dress. “What do you think? Maybe?”

“I don’t know, what do you think?”

“I like it. Try it on, we might as well start seeing how stuff actually looks on you.”

She takes the dress from my hands. “Alright. Be right back.” She walks to her bathroom and closes the door.

I look around the room. We’ve made quit a mess. The no pile is a lot larger than the other two. I saw some stuff I’d love to have but there’s no way it would fit and it’d be too much work to make it fit, it’d be easier to start from scratch. At least Goodwill will be happy. They should get a pretty penny for most of it. I wonder if they’ve got some boxes around here. It’ll be a good excuse to check the place out.

“How’s this?”

Gretchen opens the door and walks out of the bathroom. The dress is too small, too short and skin tight. My God! She looks good enough to eat! Her breasts are not too big or too small, just right. Long, full legs, not stick thin but not overly muscled. She turns around, revealing her perfect bottom.

“I think it’s a bit snug. What do you think, Patty?”

“Uhhh … yeah, it looks tight. Let me see if I can do anything about it.”

I walk over and squat down behind her, then turn up the hem, looking for a seam. It takes a second or two for me to stop staring at her legs. The seam doesn’t have any extra fabric. I turn the hem back down.

“Sorry, there’s nothing I can do. It’s a shame to get rid of it though. Maybe you could just wear it around the house.”

When I’m here.

“No, it’s just not comfortable. What’s next?”

We start going through the maybe pile. Gretchen begins with going to the bathroom to change between outfits, but then she starts stripping out in her bedroom to speed things up. I try my best not to watch but it’s really difficult. It’s so different from the locker room at school. I don’t know if it’s the color, the pleasant smell versus mold or the privacy but it’s starting to get to me.

“Could we take a break Gretch?”

“Sure. You want something to eat? I can call the kitchen.”

“No thanks. No reason to bother Raul.”

“It’s no bother, that’s his job.”

“Uhhh, no, I’m fine. I’ll just get a drink of water from the bathroom.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be right back.”

When I walk through the bathroom door, I’m impressed. It’s just as pink as the bedroom but other than that, it’s really nice. Jet tub, separate shower, double sink vanity, lots of shelves stacked with pink towels of assorted sizes, makeup mirror. I run the water until it’s as cold as it’s going to get, then I splash my face several times. Bracing. I dry my face and walk back to the bedroom.

Gretchen’s standing there in her bra and panties. Guess I can’t get another splash of water.

“Let’s get back to work. What’s next?” asks Gretchen.

“There’s some jeans here”. I pick them up and toss them to her. She steps into them and pulls them up, squirming and twisting as they get closer to her waist. She finally manages to get them past her hips and zipped up.

“Okay?”

“Forget it. They make your ass look big.”

I’ve always wanted to tell a woman that and get away with it.

“I’ve got a big ass?”

“God no. You’ve got a perfect ass. I wish my ass was half as nice.”

“I’ve wanted breasts like yours ever since I saw them in the locker room. Boys really like girls with big breasts.”

“Boys like girls with breasts, period. Big, small or in-between. Yours fit your body just right. If you need to hide them, you can, if you want to show ‘em off, you can. I can’t hide these with a paint tarp.”

“Why would you hide them, they’re spectacular! I just want to reach out and grab a handful.”

We just stand there, looking at each other, the silence getting embarrassingly longer with each passing second. Finally, I break the tension.

“I think we’ve been at this long enough. You get dressed and show me around and we can look for boxes for the clothes at the same time.”

“Yeah, sounds good. When we get back, we can get some popcorn and watch a movie … or something.”

“Sounds like fun. I love popcorn.”

“Me too! It’s just the best!”

“I know! Particularly the kind you get at the movie theaters, with the so called butter. It’s sooo good.”

“I wouldn’t know about that.”

“Oooohh that’s right … sorry. We’ll just have to work on that too.” I reach out and grab her waist, pulling her closer so that our hips bump … well, not exactly, our hips don’t really line up. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here yet, just you wait and see.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

My knees almost buckled when Patty hugged my waist. I had started feeling strange when I was changing clothes in front of her, strange but good too, like it was kinda fun and thrilling. I began to look for the sexiest things I could find to try on. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a whole lot of stuff I’d call sexy. It was mostly bought by a long line of interchangeable nannies who where interested in keeping their jobs so they tried to make Father happy, not me, hence the lack of sexy.

I grabbed a shirt and cargo shorts that I KNOW doesn’t make my butt look big and hurry to the bathroom to change. I need a few seconds to … settle down. Running cold water in the sink, I moisten a wash cloth and pat my face and chest as I take deep breaths. It doesn’t take too long before I’m feeling better, calmer. There’s been other times when my heart was pounding while I was around Patricia, but it’s never been as bad as this … or as good.

Our first stop is down in the basement at the computer center. It’s locked, as usual, but there’s an intercom mounted on the wall next to the door. I push the call button.

“Yes?” it squawks.

“It’s Gretchen Hobbes.”

“You got an internet problem again?”

“No. My father sent us down here. We need you to look at a laptop.”

“Just a sec.”

We’re standing there for almost a minute before there’s a buzz and a loud clunk as the bolts in the door shift. I open the door and shiver as the cold air comes spilling out. This is always the coldest room in the house, something about needing to keep the electronics cool. We step in. The room is brightly lit, with a number of girly posters on the walls, the tech guy, I think his name is Tippett, is kind of a letch. I forgot to warn Patricia. She doesn’t seem shocked. His back is to us, working on something on his table. He starts to swivel around in his chair to face us.

“What can I do for … you … ladies?”

He’s staring blatantly at Patty’s boobs. I’ve seen her naked at school and she’s at least as good looking as any of the girls in his posters. He’s over weight, short, hair a mess with candy wrappers on the floor around his chair. She holds her laptop out in front of her.

“Mr. Hobbes wants you to set this up so I can access the same network Gretchen uses.”

He manages to move his eyes up to her face. “And you are?”

“Patricia Conner, a friend of Gretchen’s.”

He gets a big, smarmy grin on his face. “Well, Patricia, you’re the first friend of Gretchen’s I’ve ever met.”

I hope it’s the last.

“Look, we just need you to do your technical voodoo and then we’ll leave” I say.

He reaches out with his right hand. “Gimmee.”

Patty hands it to him. He spins back around, sets it on the plastic table and opens it.

“Nice boat anchor, kid. How long you had this?”

“A couple of years, I got it for free off Craig’s List” she said.

“I can see why. Windows 98?”

“It was ME but the hard drive was fried, so I put in a new drive, added some memory, tweaked the video card and loaded Linux. It took awhile to get all the drivers but it eventually worked.”

He spins back around, showing a bit more respect on his face. “What version?”

“Originally Red Hat 6.2, but I’ve upgraded since. I’ve topped out though, what with the hardware limitations, so some of the recent changes are my own.”

“You program Linux?”

“Just a little, enough to fool around but nothing serious.”

“You should just buy a new iPad and forget about this junk.”

“It does what I need it to do and it’s all I can afford. I’d make the changes myself, but you’d have to give me information that Mr. Hobbes wouldn’t want me to have.”

“Not for Gretchen’s network, nothing special there, other than the filters. It’s completely separate from the business network, runs on a completely separate server.” He points to a rack of equipment to his right. “See?”

I look, but have no idea what I’m seeing … but Patty seems interested. She walks over and looks around.

“Looks like an old Sun Microsystems, though there’s been a lot of changes. I see some IBM and Dell architecture. Pretty impressive, Mr. Tippett.”

Now he’s got a gleam in his piggy little eyes. “It’s a hobby, makes them harder to crack when they’re not NIB.”

“NIB?” I ask.

“New in box” whispered Patty. “Original equipment, unchanged, standard issue.”

“That’s right! Most hackers take the easy route; hit the known vulnerabilities of the commonly used programs and equipment. The more popular, the more it’s attacked. Customized stuff means extra work, so they just move on to an easier target. Even if the changes leave you more vulnerable, which mine DON’T, they won’t spend the time looking for another way in, just on to the next IP address and greener pastures. The REAL changes are in the business server over there.” He points to another rack of equipment. “NO ONE can beat that security system! Total automatic 256 bit encryption. Completely self contained. Auto destruct. Real time monitoring, the works!”

Patty walks over to the other rack and inspects it too.

“Does he really need his own servers?”

“Naw, it’s just a security thing.”

“I mean, documents, spread sheets, emails, they don’t take up much space on a hard drive.”

“Yep, but if you’ve got it all in one location, backed up out the wazzoo and secured twenty ways to Sunday, you’re safer than if it was scattered all over the place.”

“If every thing is here, seems like it would be a more inviting target.”

“By who, the cops? They’d never get one finger on it, trust me. Who’s next, the other drug guys? No ones getting in here without Hobbes permission, not unless they’ve got some plastic explosives. The electronic security is unbeatable.”

Patty walks over to his chair and leans back against the table next to him, her breasts right at his eye level.

“That’s a bold statement. Someone might take that as a challenge, Mr. Tippett.”

“Zeke … actually it’s Ezekiel, but my friends call me Zeke.”

“That seems to lack respect. You are an adult, after all.”

“People who know me wouldn’t agree with that. I’m just a big kid at heart.”

“But an adult everywhere else … Zeke.”

Is she coming on to him?! He’s the biggest slob here! He sits up straighter in his chair, leaning closer to her.

“You know, the best thing I could do for you is to ‘accidentally’ drop this antique so Hobbes would have to buy you a new one.”

“No thanks. I like it just the way it is.”

“I’m gonna have to keep it overnight. It’ll take me longer to do what you want, since you apparently have your own private version of Linux.”

“That’s okay, I wasn’t planning on working tonight anyway. We’ve got other plans, right Gretchen?”

Now he’s staring at me with that look in his eye. “Yeah, sure Patty. Can we hurry up here?”

“What’s the rush? I don’t get many visitors down here” he says.

I wonder why. Patty moves away from the table, his eyes following her the whole way.

“She’s right, we’ve got a lot to get done. Do you have any large empty boxes around?”

“How big?”

“Copy paper or bigger.”

“Sorry, no can do. I may have to back this up before making any changes, just to be safe. You don’t have any pictures or stuff you wouldn’t want me to see, do you? Something you may have sent to your boyfriend?”

He’s practically drooling. Uuuggghhh!

“She’s not that kind of girl! Besides, she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

“No boyfriend, what a shame, what a shame.”

That may have been a mistake. Patty steps up next to me, taking my hand.

“When you’ve got a friend like Gretchen, who needs a boyfriend? Thanks for your help.”

Patty pushed the exit button and we walked out the door. Tippett looked like he had swallowed his tongue, his eyes bugged out and gasping for air. The door swung shut behind us and the locks loudly engage. Patty jerked her head to the left and we hurried away, pulling up about fifty feet away. Patty immediately began to uncontrollably giggle and laugh.

“I think I had him going there.”

“You had ME going there. What was all that about? When did you become a computer geek?”

“I’m not a real geek; I’ve just been reading up. It’s interesting.”

“To you, maybe. What was all that about?”

“What?”

“That standing next to him, and talking like that.”

“Talking like how?”

“All … suggestive and stuff.”

“I NEVER! He’s got to be at least ten years older than me!”

“And fat!”

“Well, he’s not that fat. I was just being nice, that’s all.”

“He’s not nice! Did you see those disgusting posters?”

“I thought they were good looking women, a little under dressed, but good looking. Nothing compared to you, of course.”

I think I’m blushing, my face certainly feels warm. “That’s not the point. He’s just … gross, that’s all.”

“Fine, he’s gross, but harmless. Besides, I don’t want him to wreck my computer.”

“Uhhh Patty … you don’t have any, you know … stuff on your computer like he asked about, do you?”

“GRETCHEN! I’m surprised at you! Of course I do.”

“WHAT?!”

She holds up her right hand but grabs my arm with the other. “Kidding … kidding. There’s nothing on there I wouldn’t show my mother. Let’s go over to the security building and see if they have any boxes.”

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

They weren’t very happy to see me at the Security Building, but we did find three boxes that will work. I wasn’t able to get much of a tour of the place, thought I did get a good look at the main tech room, where all the monitors are. There are five on at one time, with switching cameras on each, it looks like at least four cameras per monitor, which is more than one person can manage. There were two guys working that room when Gretchen and I showed up. They appeared to be handling both the cameras and the communication. There was a table of radios, each sitting in its own charger. I managed to get a good look at one. It looked like it was fairly short range but strong enough for the size of the compound. It also appeared to be encrypted, though I’m not sure. When I get home, I’ll check the manufacturer’s website. There was another room off the main one, which appeared to be the armory.

The Security Building also housed the guard’s quarters on the second floor. Some of the guys actually lived at the compound. Each one had a separate efficiency apartment. There was a bunk room for the guys who lived elsewhere but would stay overnight some times. The entire top floor of the three story building belonged to the mysterious Enrique Cardoza, who seems to be out of town, and had been for more than two weeks, which was apparently a lucky break for me.

The way the security guys talked about him, he might be the enforcer in the business, which may mean that Hobbes isn’t the psycho everyone thinks he is, he might be content to simply unleash a psycho when it’s what he needs. Or Enrique could simply be a bigger psycho. Either way, I’m not gonna find out today, everyone’s too suspicious of me. I’m going to work on that, starting tomorrow morning.

We continue on, walking the perimeter wall that encircles the compound, Gretchen pointing out where her old playhouse was, the remains of a tree house she once had, other detritus of her childhood while I look for more surveillance cameras and blind spots.

Detritus … what data base did that come from?

There’s a lot of cameras plus motion detectors and no obvious blind spots. Whoever installed this system wasn’t fooling around; the place is an electronic fortress. No one’s moving around out here without being discovered. We’re likely being watched right now. Better not linger, they may get suspicious.

“Gretch, unless there’s some place out here I’m supposed to avoid, I’m ready to go back inside.”

“No, we’ve seen most of it. We can go in the back way.”

She leads the way back to the house through a large decorative garden that was kinda like a maze of hedges and bushes. The garden is behind the house, which has an expansive second floor veranda. There’s a half court basketball court with a plastic playing surface off to the left. There’s even a small set of bleachers. Hobbes really likes his sports.

We climb the stairs to the veranda. Gretchen goes in but I pause a minute, looking around. It’s an impressive house, bigger than it looks on paper. The view from this level is lovely, the garden inside the wall, the ocean over the wall … a million dollar vista.

All the security features are well integrated. This is a house owned by a man who’s afraid of something, very afraid. It goes beyond security for the business. He’s already infiltrated the police, prosecutor’s office and the judges. No one is hitting this place without him knowing about it well in advance. Whatever he’s afraid of, it’s not the cops. I hurry in and catch up with Gretchen, slipping my left arm around her right.

“What movie we watching?”

“I don’t know … what do you want to see?”

“What you got?”

“Everything.”

She was wrong about that. They had an enormous collection of Blu-ray DVD’s, but nothing rated worse than PG. Nothing R and certainly no X. That still left a lot to choose from, including a lot of classics. Gretchen let me decide, so I picked “Casablanca”, which she had never seen before, she didn’t even know who Humphrey Bogart was!

Raul made a big batch of popcorn for us and we settled into the large comfy leather couch in the home theater located in the basement, the big bowl of popcorn between us, large glasses of Coke within reach. We barely get past the opening credits before she starts asking questions.

“Who’s the guy with the funny eyes?”

“Joel Cairo.”

“Is that his real name?”

“That’s the character’s name, the actor is Peter Lorre.”

“Is he famous?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Which one is Humphrey Bogart?”

“He hasn’t shown up yet, He plays Rick, the nightclub owner. I’ll point him out when he does.”

“Who’s that?”

“The pickpocket? I don’t know.”

“What does he want?”

I look over at her. “Is this how you normally watch a movie?”

“What do you mean?”

“Asking all these questions.”

“I thought you’d seen this before.”

“I have, a lot, but you just need to watch, let the story unfold.”

“But I don’t know what’s going on.”

“You’re not supposed to, not yet. Don’t worry, you’ll get it when the director wants you to.”

We watch in silence for a few more minutes but she can’t help it.”

“Why’d they kill that guy?”

“Gretchen!”

“I don’t see why they had to shoot him and why didn’t Rick help.”

“Because Rick sticks his neck out for no one.”

“Oh … he just said that.”

“That’s right. Any more questions?”

“No. … But why …”

I pick up the remote and hit pause. “Are we going to be doing this all night?”

She pulls her long legs up, wraps her arms around her knees and hugs them. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m not used to watching with someone else.”

“You don’t watch movies with your dad?”

“Every now and then, but only ones he wants to see and we don’t talk at all.”

Sounds good to me. “Look, I could probably tell you what happens and why, scene by scene, but it would spoil the movie for you. I don’t mind talking or answering the occasional question, I’m just thinking of you. I don’t want your first viewing of “Casablanca” ruined.”

“That’s okay, I’m just glad I’ve got someone to watch with.”

Great. Now I feel all guilty and stuff. “Sorry, I forget about your situation sometimes.” I hit play and the movie starts again. “Go ahead, ask away.”

“Thanks, I’ll try to keep it under control … wait, is this the movie where someone says ‘play it again, Sam’?”

It’s gonna be a long night.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I’m annoying, I know it.

Patty started off being a little pissed at me early in the movie but things got better later on. She really knew a lot about it, even stuff that wasn’t in the movie, history and things about the actors. It turned out to be really good, even though it was in black and white. Patty says that there are others, “The African Queen” and “The Maltese Falcon” that I might like.

The movie was good, but sharing it with Patty was the fun part. No one watches with me. The nannies used to, some times, when I was younger. Father occasionally has something he wants me to see, usually a documentary or some program on PBS that he thinks is interesting. He’s not known for watching fun programs. His relaxation comes from watching sports. We’re lucky there wasn’t something on tonight so we got the big screen. Otherwise, we’d have had to use the set in my room, which is only 48” and has no surround sound.

It’s only a little after 11:00 p.m. when the movie ends. Patty wants to go to bed but I’d like to stay up longer.

“I’m getting up at 5:00 a.m., that’s just six hours from now. I need my beauty sleep” she said.

“But I had so many things planned. We could give each other makeovers!”

“We can save that for tomorrow night. It’s been a long day and I’m beat right into the ground.”

“I still don’t see why you need to make breakfast.”

“I don’t NEED to, I WANT to. It’s the polite thing to do, particularly when a lot of people here don’t like me.”

“Well, I like you and that’s all that matters.”

“I like you too, but that’s not all that matters. I’m not one of those people who think everybody has to like me. I’ve got enemies, I know it, I don’t lose any sleep over it. But here, now, I’ve got a chance to turn things around. If it costs me a little bit of sleep, I’m okay with that.”

“Don’t expect me to get up at that ungodly hour!”

“I don’t. I’ll be back here in less than two hours, two and a half at most, then we can sleep till noon, if you want.”

“We can’t, Father will expect us for breakfast at 9:00.”

“That’s cool. Not a problem.” She walks over to her bag and picks it up. “Were can I change into my night clothes?”

“Okay, we’ll go to bed now, but we stay up tomorrow night, right?”

“Sure thing.”

“You can use the bathroom.”

“Thanks, I’ll be right out.” She takes her bag, walks in and closes the door.

It’s not exactly what I was hoping for but there’s always tomorrow, and to be truthful, I’m a little tired myself. I quickly fold down the spread and sheets of the bed, then pull my nightshirt from under my pillow and go into my closet. I strip out of my clothes and take off my bra but leave my panties on. After giving my breasts a quick rub, I pull the nightshirt over my head and down past my hips. When I come back out to my bedroom, Patty’s standing by the bed.

Oh. My. God.

Wow … I … Wow.

She’s wearing this black, silky, baby doll nightie, barely low enough to reach her bottom. Her breasts are barely contained by the top, the nipples clearly visible. Her blonde hair is loose and fluffy, brushing her shoulders and down her back about five inches. She’s not skinny, like me, but there’s no fat either. She’s just totally fit. But, my GOD! Those breasts! I feel like a flat chested kid.

“You like the left or right side?” she asks.

“I … uuuhhh … don’t know. I’ve never slept with anyone before. I guess I kinda take the middle.”

“Me too. We’ll probably end up all piled on top of each other.”

“Is that … uhhh … so bad?”

“As long as I end up on top, you might crush little old me.”

“Are you saying I’m fat?”

“Will you stop that! You’re perfect just as you are. I think you keep saying that just to hear me say you’re perfect. GAWD! Needy much?”

“I’m sorry, Patty.”

“Joking, kid. I’m joking.”

“Why do you call me kid? I’m older than you are.”

“I don’t know, guess we’re both still kids. You take the left, I’ll take the right, last one to the middle loses.”

“Okay, as long as you don’t wake me up when you go to the kitchen.”

“I’ll try, Gretch.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

After three marriages, and a few affairs before, during and after, I’ve seen just about everything a woman wears to bed. My favorite, by far, are feminine versions of men’s clothes.

Like Gretchen is wearing right now.

It’s an extra large, button front, men’s shirt, white with pink stripes, naturally. Big collar, slightly rolled up sleeves, hem just a few inches above her knees but a side slit showing some thigh, the top two buttons open, creating a gap just wide enough to see the tops of her magnificent breasts. She’s just so sexy and innocent … and that’s the problem.

She really is an innocent, inexperienced girl. I’m already taking advantage of her by using her to get into this house, to go after her father. I shouldn’t hurt her any worse than I already have. I also don’t want Hobbes coming after me for having a lesbian relationship with his only child. As luscious as Gretchen is, I can’t do anything about it.

We joke around a bit before getting into bed. I don’t see how I’m getting any sleep tonight, not with her being within arm’s reach. Each of us crawls into the bed on our respective sides and pull up the covers. The room has the AC set a little low, making the room just a touch chilly, exactly how I like it. It’s darn expensive to do that year round in Florida but Hobbes can afford it. The mattress is a little soft for my taste but I’m used to a single mattress on a  ¾” sheet of plywood. The sheets are very soft, probably high count cotton. The cover is light but warm, goose down I’d bet, just about perfect for snuggling. I roll over onto my left side, pulling the sheet and blanket with me. There’s Gretchen, on her right side, looking right at me. We’re practically nose to nose.

“Are you ready?” she asks.

“Uhhh … sure.”

She reaches up and touches a small panel on the wall above the headboard. The lights go out except a small one in the bathroom, which casts a light blue haze over a third of the room.

“G’night Patty.”

“Night Gretch.”

“Remember … don’t wake me when you get up at five.”

“It’s cool”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

When I wake, it takes me a few seconds to remember where I am. I’m not used to having someone else’s hand on my right breast. Sometime during the night, Gretchen worked her hand inside the top of my nightie and copped a feel. Of course, my right hand is resting on her crotch. We’re both just a tumble of arms and legs in the middle of the bed. I must have won the race because she’s lying more on me than I’m lying on her. I look around until I find a clock. It’s 4:45. I’m right on time.

I don’t bother with an alarm clock at home, don’t need one. Whatever time system Matthews built into the Balancer acts like my own internal atomic clock. I just mentally set it and it wakes me up. It’s really great but Mom knows about it, so no “over sleeping” excuses.

Gretchen is lightly snoring. I’m as careful as can be as I slowly untangle myself. She snorts a couple of times as I pull my legs free but she curls back up in a fetal position, still sound asleep, when I finally work myself clear. Other than my breasts, I appear to be unmolested.

Creeping to the bathroom, I scoop up my bag, close the door and turn on a light. I quickly strip out of the nightie, slip on some clean panties and matching blue bra, throw a T-shirt on, pull on a pair of cargo pants and penny loafers, which I bought at Goodwill on half-price day … they were practically new!

Flipping off the light, I open the bathroom door and slowly reenter the bedroom, walk back to the bed and drop my nightie next to my pillow. If this works out, I should be back in a couple hours and get a bit more sleep before breakfast. Gretchen is still all curled up, clutching the blanket, snoring. It’s a quiet, girlish, high pitched snore, not like I used to do, according to all my wives and a few other bed partners.

That’s another thing, I don’t snore now, though I’d trade that for an end to these nightmares. Last night wasn’t that bad. In fact, it was the mildest one in some time. I can’t remember all the details but it was about some stakeout that went bad and an informant got wounded. All in all, it could have been worse. Hope I didn’t say anything in my sleep.

I scurry to the bedroom door, slowly open it and stick my head out, looking left and right. Nothing happening. I ease out and quietly close it behind me. Still nothing. I quickly walk to the stairs. I don’t want to do anything that makes me look suspicious. When I reach the stairs, I pause and look down below. It’s mostly dark, though moonlight does come in through the large front windows, providing enough light so that I can see where I’m going and that there doesn’t appear to be anyone else up.

I descend the stairs, staying close to the wall, looking around as I go. Still no activity. When I reach the bottom, I pause again to get my bearings, making sure that I can see the way to the dining room. I don’t get three steps away from the landing when it happens.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

What … Where … uuughhh … what time is it? Where’s Patty? Ohh yeah, that kitchen thing. I really should go and help … it’s tooooo damn early! She’ll be fine.

I reach out towards her side of the bed and find her black baby doll nightie. It’s still warm. I bring it close to my face and take a breath, filing my head with her aroma. I hope she gets back soon.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

He’s pushing me ahead of him, down the hall towards the kitchen, keeping a grip on my left shoulder with his right hand. I hadn’t seen this guy before, he must work the night shift. When we get to the kitchen door, he roughly pushes me up against it, turns the handle, then pushes me through the doorway.

“Hey Raul! This little bitch says she was coming to the kitchen to see you. That true?”

Raul’s standing next to a large, wooden top island he had moved near the ovens. My bread dough from yesterday is already out of the pans and in the middle of the island, which is lightly dusted with flour. He turns to look at the guard who’s still gripping my shoulder.

“You watch who you call that bad name. She a friend of Miss Gretchen.”

“I know who she is, they briefed us when the shift started. What I want to know is why the fuck she was sneaking around the main floor at five fucking o’clock in the morning.”

“She no sneaking around, she coming to kitchen to make special treat for breakfast, YOUR breakfast. You see this dough? She make that yesterday. Now she coming to bake it. If I was her, I say you no get any because you got dirty mouth.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell security about this?”

“Because this my kitchen and Raul decide what and who goes on in kitchen, nobody else.”

The guard lets go of my shoulder, pushing me lightly towards Raul. “Next time, just give us a heads up. Jackson just about shit his pants when the sensors picked up movement upstairs. He damn near freaked out when they read that someone was downstairs near Hobbes office. Lucky I didn’t pull a gun and shoot.”

“Yes, very lucky … for you. Miss Gretchen would be very upset. So would Raul. You not like it when Raul get angry.”

“Yeah, whatever. Just keep the bitch on a short leash if she’s gonna do anymore early morning roaming around, got it?” He points at me.

“Yes … sir, I got it. Sorry to cause so much trouble” I say with as little defiance as possible in my voice. I’d love to kick his ass, but that doesn’t help the operation … at least not for right now. We’ll see about later.

He glares back at us, me first, then Raul. “Good. See that you do.” He than backed out of the kitchen and through the door we entered by.

“I’m sorry Mr. Raul. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble or anything.”

He smacks the dough with an open palm. “Raul not in any trouble. Been with Mr. Hobbes more than fifteen years. You not in any trouble either. Escaban is a jerk.”

“Is that his name?”

He nods his head. “Yes, Tony Escaban. He is Cardoza’s man.”

“Is that Enrique Cardoza? I haven’t met him yet.”

“You stay away from Cardoza, he’s a very bad man. Very bad.”

“I’d heard that Mr. Hobbes was a very bad man.”

He waves his hand for me to come closer, which I do. “You know what Mr. Hobbes does for business?” he asks in a quiet voice.

“Yes, I know.”

He looks me up and down for a few seconds, then continues. “Mr. Hobbes does some things that aren’t very good, his business not good either, but he’s not all bad. Done some nice things for some people. Mr. Cardoza … he all bad, all the time.”

“How do you know all this?” I whisper.

“This kitchen, people eat here, people talk here, Raul listens.”

“I guess it’s a good thing you do. You can tell me who to trust and who not to trust.”

He smiles at me. “You good girl. Come show me how you make these cinnamon rolls.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I feel the bed and covers move. Rolling onto my back, I see Patricia getting back into bed.

“Mmmmm you’re quiet”, I say.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to wake you.”

“That’s okay, I wasn’t asleep.”

“The snoring says you were.”

“I don’t snore!”

“You do but it’s a cute snore.”

“How is a snore cute?”

“When it’s all high pitched and sssnnnkk aaahhhhh, sssnnnnkk aaahhhhh.”

“That’s terrible!”

“Trust me, I’ve heard much worse.”

“Really … when?”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later. It’s only 7:35. I’d like to get some sleep before breakfast.”

“Can you fall asleep that quickly?”

“I can if you don’t before me and start snoring again.”

I punch her in the arm. Patty just giggles.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Gretchen and her friend were seated and waiting for me when I came down for breakfast. That’s two meals in a row. A record for her. The new girl may be a good influence.

“I’m impressed Gretchen. Usually it takes quite a lot to pry you out of bed on Saturday mornings.”

“Very funny Father. I’m not that bad.”

“Yes, you are. Perhaps you are trying to make a good impression on your new friend.”

“She’s not a new friend … she’s just never been here before.”

“Regardless, I approve.”

Just then, the maid enters with breakfast. I had ordered eggs and French toast last night and that is what was served but there was also a large covered plate of something else.

“What is this?” I ask.

“Raul said that it’s a treat, Mr. Hobbes” answered the maid. I think her name is Rebecca.

“A treat?” I reach out and grasp the handle of the lid. “Let’s see what this treat is.” I lift the cover, revealing a stack of large, iced rolls, warm and smelling of cinnamon. The icing is an assortment of chocolate, vanilla and possible caramel. There must be about two dozen of them. I take a chocolate one from the plate and bring it close to my nose, inhaling the aroma.

“It certainly smells wonderful.”

I take a bite. It is sweet and strongly flavored of cinnamon but not excessively so. The chocolate icing is dark and strong, but not at all bitter, creamy, melting in my mouth. The roll itself is light but not too soft, it’s texture providing just the right amount of resistance. The entire experience is quite sublime, a sweet roll for adult tastes, surprisingly sophisticated.

“EXTRAORDINARY! Gretchen, you must try one of these!”

“Are they good?”

“Oh my yes! They aren’t too sweet, so you may not appreciate its subtleties.”

She grimaces at me but still picks up a roll and takes a bit.

“UUUUMMMMMmmmmm, Patty! These are great! You really …”

Patricia took a caramel roll from the plate. “Thanks, I will.” She also took a bite, chewed thoughtfully, nodding her head. “Not bad. The texture’s a little coarse but not bad.”

“NOT BAD?! These are possibly the best that I have ever had! My mother used to make something similar but these are better. Rebecca, please have Raul come in.”

“Yes, Sir.”

She hurried back to the kitchen while I finished the roll in my hand and started second. Raul arrived in a few minutes.

“What can Raul do for Mr. Hobbes?”

“You can tell me why we have never had these amazing rolls in the past.”

“Raul didn’t make those.”

“What? I thought my instructions were that everything I ate was to be made in your kitchen. Have you been buying pre-made products?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “No Mr. Hobbes. The rolls made in my kitchen … Raul just didn’t make them.”

“Well, who did?”

“Miss Conner did. She’s a very good cook, showed Raul a trick or two.”

I look over at Patricia, who has a sly smile on her face. “Really? You made these?”

“Yes Mr. Hobbes, I did.”

“Why did you make these for us?”

“She made them for everybody”, said Raul.

“The whole staff? That would have been …”

“A lot. And there aren’t any left,” he said.

“I can see why that would happen. Why did you do all this, Patricia?” I asked.

“I kinda pushed pretty hard to get in here and I know I upset some people. I thought that this could be a way to apologize.”

“Are you saying you were wrong to do what you did?”

“No, I did the right thing.”

“Then why apologize?”

“It’d help smooth over any hard feelings. Plus, you know the old saying.”

“What’s that?”

“The best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.” She shrugged. “It should also work in this case.”

“Very smart, you’re probably right. I’m already feeling better about the whole episode myself.”

Ms. Conner is an interesting girl.

“So … what do you girls have planned for today?”

“The first thing is to pick up my lap top from your tech guy. Gretchen and I have some French homework that needs to be done and we might as well get to it now.”

“AAAWWW Patty! We don’t have to do that now do we? That’s not going to take more than an hour or two. It can wait until Sunday night.”

“Sure, but why wait? Do it now and it won’t be hanging over our heads.”

“Fine. But let’s do it out by the pool.”

“Doesn’t matter to me where we do it, just as long as it gets done in time so we can watch the lunch time basketball.”

Gretchen rolls her eyes at that. She rarely bothers to come back to the court to watch our games.

“Do you enjoy basketball, Patricia?” I ask.

“Oh yeah, it’s great … though I prefer the college games. The pros seem to take it easy for three quarters then get serious in the end. I can’t stand it when some team gets up by twenty points and then lets the other guys come back. You should never give up a twenty point lead! Am I right?”

“It might depend on how good the teams are.”

“If you’re a professional, you should be good enough to hang on to a big lead. You just have to work hard. There’s just too much goofing off in the pros for my taste.”

An opinionated girl. “Perhaps you are right, Patricia. Do you play yourself?”

“Not now, though I did in grade school … before my dad died. I don’t really have the spare time anymore. There’s always so much to get done. To be honest, this weekend is a bit of a vacation for me. I feel a little guilty about leaving everything for my mom to do until Sunday night.”

“I’m sure she can handle things at home without you, at least for a few days.”

“Oh, she can. She just shouldn’t have to. It’s OUR home, I can do my share of the work.”

A responsible girl too. “I’m certain she appreciates all you do. I have always thought that a young girl’s primary responsibility was to get good grades. I understand that you do quite well at school. Am I correct about that?”

She lowers her head slightly and looks up at me through furrowed eyebrows, apparently considering her answer. “Yeah, I get good grades, but you knew that already.”

Obviously, I’ve raised a sore point. “I prefer to get to know someone directly. Written reports only go so far.”

“What written report?” asked Gretchen.

Patricia and I looked at each other for a moment, then she spoke up.

“Your Dad had me checked out.”

Gretchen was shocked. “FATHER! You didn’t! How could you …”

I raised my hand. “Gretchen, I only did what was necessary to make sure that …”

“I can’t believe that you’d do that to my best friend! How can I ever trust you in the …”

Patricia reached out and touched Gretchen on the arm, who stopped berating me. “It’s okay Gretch, I knew about it. Considering all the circumstances, I didn’t mind it. In fact, I’m glad your Dad did it,” She fixed her bright blue eyes on mine. “It made things easier for me … though we probably don’t want to mention it in the future.” She continued to intently stare at me. I dipped my head slightly. We have an understanding.

“Agreed, a wise suggestion. So what are your favorite subjects?”

“I don’t really have any favorites. They can all be interesting at times and a little boring at other times. I try to do some independent study to help when things get boring.”

“Really! What kind of independent study?”

“Right now … philosophy.”

I’m impressed! An enormously engrossing subject. It was my minor when I was in college. My Father insisted that I major in a more profitable subject, something I could make a living at once I graduated. My life might have been considerably different if he hadn’t done that. Who can say which would have been better.

“Philosophy is an avocation of mine. Who do you find most compelling?”

“Well … I realize that some people might say that he’s not a true philosopher, more of a political theorist but … Machiavelli.”

That is truly surprising. I was expecting someone more idealistic. They seem to be the favorites of young girls or young women, at least they were when I as in school. But Machiavelli! Such hard edged realism! Perhaps she is being influenced by her difficult life after the death of her father.

“I would not have expected Machiavelli. He is not traditionally a favorite of young gir … women.”

“I like to believe that I can think for myself. I don’t ignore what other people have to say, I’m only sixteen after all, but I can make my own decisions and logically defend them.”

“I can certainly see that. Unfortunately, I have several things that must be done today before lunch, no rest for the wicked after all, but I would very much like to discuss this later, Patricia.”

“Looking forward to it, Mr. Hobbes.”

An extremely interesting young woman.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Gretchen and I are headed Tippett’s room in the basement to pick up my computer. As I reach up to press the buzzer by the door, she grabs my wrist.

“What was all that stuff about basketball. We aren’t actually going out there and watch, are we?”

“Why not?”

“Cause it’s sooooo boring! It’s two on two, if you score you keep the ball. Father always partners with Riley, who’s the tallest guy out there. They ALWAYS win.”

“Nobody else is any good?”

“Sidney’s decent but he’s a gunner, so none of the other guys want to play with him. Besides, I think they’re all afraid to win.”

“Don’t want to beat the boss?”

“Yeah. They play harder against each other.”

“And your Dad doesn’t notice?”

“Can’t say. It’s not like we talk about it or anything. He thinks he’s the best thing since Michael Jordan.”

I push the buzzer. “Really?”

“No. He’s not that crazy … but he does think he’s pretty good. They win more because of Riley than him.”

“Well, the reason we’re going is to earn some brownie points … for both of us.”

The electronic locks thump open and I pull the door. Nice design. By being a pull instead of a push, it’d be a lot harder for anybody to force the door open; you’d practically have to blow the hinges, assuming the electronically controlled bolts on all four sides weren’t engaged. No one is getting past this door without a heck of a lot of work. It’s like a bank vault. As I step in, Trippet spins around at his table.

“Ladies! What’s shakin’, bacon?”

Oh Gosh! What a creep! Gretchen actually cringes. I paste a smile on my face.

“Nothing much. I’m just here to get my laptop, if it’s ready.”

He spins back to his left and rolls his chair to another table, grunting slightly with the effort. “Got it right here, Babe.” Uuuhhhn. “You made a lot of interesting changes to that last kernel. You ever publish them?”

“No. Didn’t think anybody would have been interested, it’s old technology after all.”

“Speaking of which, didn’t you get a Sony laptop when you enrolled at St. Ann’s? I know Gretchen did because I worked on it.”

“Yeah, I did, but it’s got a filtering program installed and we can’t remove or disable it. I prefer my internet regular, not decaffeinated.”

“Well, Hobbes ordered me to do the same here, though the program’s on the server.”

I glance over at Gretchen. She looks surprised at this, though I don’t know why. I expected it. I hold out my hand. Tippett picks up my computer and hands it to me.

“Thanks. I expected something like that but it’s only while I’m here. Everywhere else, it’s the full meal deal. Unless you put something funny on my machine.”

“No way! It’s only been changed so you can access the home network, and only the home network. Don’t even try to access the business network … totally separate system.”

I sidle over to the business servers. “And it can’t be hacked?”

“Not a chance in hell, Babe.”

I ignore the “Babe” and squat down to look closer at the equipment. “Why are you so sure? You have some kind of advanced computer degree?”

He laughs “Hell no! I never got my undergraduate degree. Kicked out of M.I.T. Nope, my expertise is hard earned and practical. I’m one of the best hackers in the world!”

“So, to protect his chickens, Mr. Hobbes hired the wolf.”

He laughs again. “Something like that. There’s not a hack that I’m not wise to.”

“What about a Denial of Service attack?”

“Nobody can do anything about that but they’re not taking anything, it’s just a pain in the ass. Besides, there’s no website to attack.”

“What do you mean? There’s an IP address, isn’t there?”

“Sort of. There are actually several, different shell corporations around the world. Hobbes just uses the system to collect information and communicate. Encrypted data packets sent to different businesses under different names that get forwarded to here, the businesses and accounts keep constantly changing. It’s 256 bit encryption, the best that money can buy, better than the CIA or NSA has. The system could be blocked, if you had enough zombies, but the target keeps moving. It’s not like he’s Amazon or Facebook.”

“I see. What are all these tubes running through the servers? Are they water cooled?”

“They don’t get that stressed. The basic data’s pretty simple, text files mostly, a little video occasionally. The whole thing is over built, just to be on the safe side.”

“So, what are the tubes for?”

He rolls closer to me. “Acid.”

“Why would you use acid?! If it leaks …”

“Exactly! Someone tries to physically remove the data from the system, it’s an acid shower. Even if they could somehow beat the encryption, they’d never get the chance, the acid will eat through the hard drives at the flip of a switch.”

“What if there’s a malfunction? You’d lose everything.”

“There’s encrypted backups, every hour on the hour, but they’re on a separate self-destruct system, so it would take at least three separate malfunctions to get everything, it’s pretty remote.”

“Sounds like you’ve got all the bases covered.”

“Ain’t nobody better, Babe.”

I drop my laptop into its bag. “Gretchen and I have to get to work … out by the pool.” His eyes get real big and his mouth goes slack. A blind man could see what he’s thinking. “So, we’ll see you around.” I reach for the door.

“Wait a sec. Are you the one who built that surveillance camera?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Could I get a look at it?”

“Sure. Why do you want to?”

“Just curious. It caused a lot of grief around here.”

“Sorry about that. I can drop it by next week, assuming they let me come back.”

“Great. You’ve got my vote, Babe.”

Wonderful. I push the door open and we hurry out, closing it behind us. There’s the now familiar *clunk* as the security bolts reset.

“I may not know much about boys” says Gretchen, “but I know that he’s a world class jerk.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

The girls are sitting in loungers by the pool. Henry’s got the inside post today by the doors and I got the outside post near the hedge. It’s not that hot out, so I got the better spot. It’s supposed to just be the two of us on duty right now but there seems to be a lot more casual traffic than usual. A lot more radio chatter too. Both the traffic and chatter peaked when the girls took turns applying sun screen to each others backs. I have to admit that I paid more attention than usual; they both took their time and seemed to enjoy it. There was a lot of giggling. I’m married with two kids and I enjoyed it too. So did the seven other guards who just “happened” to be in the area.

When it was just Gretchen, no one else bothered to come by if she was at the pool. I mean, she’s a nice looking girl and all, particularly in that new school uniform. That was … damn! I guess when you see a kid every day, see em’ grow up, the changes sneak up on you and it takes a big change to get your attention. Now, it’s hard to think of her as a little girl anymore.

The new girl though, she was just dropped into our laps. She’s wearing a bright blue bikini, not one of those thong types though, thank God! With those tits and that ass, if she was wearing a thong, Henry and I’d have to have shotguns to keep some of these guys off her. We’re the old hands around here but some of the others are still young bucks. That’s why Hobbes gave us the job of watching over Gretchen, he figured we’re too old to take a shot at her and that she was too young. She’s not getting any younger but neither are we, so it’s still a safe bet. Plus, we both know what he’d do to us and our families if either of us was stupid enough to try something.

That’s not the case with the young guys. Sometimes, a young guy’s dick overrules his brain. Actually, it’s closer to fifty percent. Up to now, Gretchen wasn’t that tempting, but that’s changed. And now that friend of hers. We may have more trouble inside the walls than outside.

“What’s happening, Lou?”

It’s Tippett, the tech guy. Now I wonder what brought him out of his cave. “Hello, Tippett. What brings you out into the sun?”

“Oh, just needed to stretch my legs.”

“Hehe, yeah, right. Maybe you’re planning to stretch something else a little bit later.”

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

He steps forward a couple feet, stretching up to get a better view over the hedge. Patricia’s giving Gretchen a word in English and she’s replying in French. Her grades in French have really improved this year. I don’t think Tippett is interested in French.

“What ya’ looking at Tippett?”

“Same thing as you, Lou. Same thing as all these other guys. How’d you like that little bitch on a bed under you, her legs up on your shoulders, her big knockers bouncing around while you pound her …”

I reach out, grab him by the collar and pull him back to me, spinning him around so that we’re nose to nose. “Just so you know it, Tippett, I got a daughter, and I don’t like to hear the “B” word. As for Patricia Conner, she’s Gretchen’s friend and therefore as off limits as Gretchen is.”

“Who says, Hobbes?”

“I say. She may be a little obnoxious sometimes, but she’s an okay kid. Anybody who messes with her while she’s here answers to me … got it?”

“Trying to claim her for yourself?”

I grab his shirt near the neck and jerk him up off the ground. “Don’t piss me off you piece of shit! I’m old enough to be her damn father. You don’t want to fuck with me.” I let him go and he falls on his ass. I look up. Everyone’s staring at me, even the girls.

Great.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Lunch is light, soup and sandwiches along with salad and some fruit. Apparently Hobbes doesn’t want to be too full when he starts playing ball.

By the time Gretchen and I change into more casual clothes and get to the court, they’ve already started. It’s Jackson and Stark verses Gomez and Sidney. They’re going at it pretty hard. It’s a rough game. Any time you call your own fouls, things usually get physical. The only one of the four who’s a real player is Sidney, but Gretchen’s right, the man’s a chucker. Never seen a shot he didn’t take. He’s got decent form but shoots first chance he gets, missing more than half. Since it’s score and keep the ball, each basket’s worth one point, baskets from outside the three point line are worth two, play to twenty one and win by two, someone hitting less than fifty percent is a liability, particularly if he doesn’t give his teammate a chance to get in position for a rebound. The other three guys are just grunts … like how I played. Eventually, Jackson and Stark’s steady play wins out, twenty one to sixteen. Hobbes and Riley have winners.

While they shoot around to warm up, I look around the court. There are about two thirds of the guards here. There’s got to be a skeleton staff at the gate and the security center. If someone was going to try and break in, this might not be a bad time.

The game starts and it’s clear Gretchen is right again. Riley and Jackson are leaning on each other under the basket but Stark isn’t pressing Hobbes at all. He’s on him fairly tight but not like the first game. No one wants to foul the boss.

It’s shirts and skins, Hobbes and Riley are skins. Hobbes is in very good shape for a guy his age. Not a sculpted six-pack or anything like that, he hasn’t got time to work out hard enough to get and keep something like that. He’s just in condition, basically flat stomach, the very slightest roll around the belt line. The muscles in his back, arms and legs are well defined. His naturally dark skin is augmented by a healthy tan. All in all, not bad.

Riley, on the other hand, is a lean, lanky, blonde, blue eyed, semi-greek god type. 6’ 6”, maybe 235 to 240 lbs. Abs you could crack walnuts on. Surfer hair and movie star smile. When ever there’s a break in the action, he looks right over to the section of bleachers where Gretchen and I are sitting. Wish he wasn’t wearing such baggy shorts, then I could get a better look at his backside … and his front side.

As play continues, Gretchen nudges me, then whispers “I may not know much about boys, but I know that he’s a world class babe.”

“Who, your dad or Riley?”

“EEEEEWWWWWW! Riley, of course! Gawd! Don’t even think that!”

“He’s not bad for an old guy.”

“I don’t care! Never say anything like that ever again … PLEASE!”

“Sure. So … you got the hots for Riley?”

“Not the hots … not exactly. He’s just … a really nice looking …”

“Piece of sausage?”

“Yes … NO! What are you saying? I don’t know anything about his … sausage.”

“Want to find out?”

“NO!”

“A girl could spend her time on worse things.”

“Patty! What are you talking about?”

I nudge with my shoulder. “Just kidding Gretch. He does keep looking over here at you.”

“It’s not me … it’s you.”

Me? Really? “Let’s just say it’s us.” I cross my legs and clench, remembering what my largest vibrator felt like last week.

I need to get home and visit my mechanical boyfriends … soon.

Hobbes plays a decent game, moving well and sharing the ball. He and Riley would probably win a lot of games even if he wasn’t the boss. They beat Jackson and Stark, twenty one to fifteen and it wasn’t that close. They play two more games then drop out. Hobbes grabs a towel then comes over and sits next to Gretchen.

“So, you decided to come watch your old father play, eh?”

“Patty wanted to come, so I came with her, that’s all.”

“Then I have her to thank for dragging you here.” He nods his head towards me. “Thank you, Ms. Conner.”

I nod back. “You’re welcome, Mr. Hobbes. You and Riley aren’t bad. Do you ever mix up players, break up old teams?”

“Sometimes. Particular people work well together, some are still searching for the right partner. Mr. Riley and I work well together.”

Yeah, he’s almost four inches taller than the next guy. Who wouldn’t work well with him, maybe even Sidney. “You’ve got quite a setup, Mr. Hobbes. How long have you been playing ball here?”

“Since we bought the house. I don’t get many recreational opportunities off the grounds so this helps me keep in shape.”

“Oh, it shows.” He smiles and sits up a bit taller. “It’s a shame you don’t take your game to some other places. The downtown YWCA has a league for two on two. You’d fit right in.”

He shakes his head. “I’m afraid that security wouldn’t permit that.”

“That’s a shame. You always hear about how money gives people the freedom to do what they want. Seems it’s done the exact opposite for you.”

“I am not trapped here. I can go where I please. It just takes … preparation, that’s all.”

“Glad to hear it! Maybe at dinner, you can tell me of all the interesting places you’ve visited. I’ve never been outside of the U.S. It will be nice to hear from someone who’s a world traveler.”

“I don’t want to get your hopes up Patricia. I did most of my traveling as a young man, before I became the … business man I am today.”

“Then you can reminisce about happier times, right?”

“Certainly.”

The last game ends and everybody starts to pick up their equipment “Is that it?” I ask.

“Yes, we must all get back to work. I will see you ladies at dinner. Enjoy your afternoon.”

Everyone quickly leaves, heading in different directions. Gretchen and I remain sitting. I stare at the court, then stand, walk over to a small bin of balls, remove one and start dribbling around, testing the surface.

“What are you doing?” asks Gretchen.

“Just seeing what the court is like.”

I continue methodically dribbling around, back and forth, until I’ve covered most of the surface. There doesn’t appear to be any defects. I work out beyond the three point line, directly in front of the basket, stop and shoot. Nothing but net. I retrieve the ball and repeat the shot from the left baseline, then the right. Same results.

“You know, Gretchen. I think we could beat those guys, if we got a little practice.”

“Are you crazy!? I can’t play basketball.”

I toss the ball into the bin from thirty feet away. “Not yet you don’t, not yet.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Patty’s slowly brushing my hair, starting at the top and going all the way to the end, stroke after stroke. It’s really relaxing. She’s been at it for at least five minutes and I feel like melting butter.

Father had ordered steak for supper and not just for us, steak for everybody. He must be in a good mood, because that’s pretty rare. He’s done it in the past on holidays and special days. I think Raul had to hustle a bit to get the grills set up but I saw a couple of the guards helping him, everybody pitches in when it’s steak.

Father and Patty spent the whole meal talking about philosophy. I really couldn’t follow much of what they were talking about but Patty seemed to be defending that Machiavelli guy, saying that morality could be a factor to consider when deciding what to do, because, in the long term, the morality of the king’s actions will affect how he is judged by his subjects and history. Father didn’t think morality should mean anything, according to Mr. Machiavelli, or at least how he read what he wrote. I’ve never read anything by him, so I don’t know who’s right, but they both sounded like they knew what they were talking about. Each of them kept bringing up historic stuff as examples of what they meant and then more historic stuff to show why the other one was wrong. I think Patty had more stuff on her side than Father … though I’m not the best judge about that.

What surprised me was that, even though they were arguing, neither one seemed to be mad at the other. Neither one ate much of their meals either, at least not until the end. After we finished, Patty and I went out to the stairs and she sat down at Mother’s piano. She and I used to sit together on the bench when I was little and I’d watch her play. Sometimes she’d let me help by pushing a key when she told me to. Those were some of my favorite times with her. I can’t remember anybody playing it since she died.

Patty flipped the cover up off the keys and began playing it, quietly and slowly at first but she started getting into it. I don’t know what she was playing, but it sounded like the kinda songs Mother used to play, classical music. She scooted over, making room on the bench for me to sit down next to her. When I did, it was both familiar and strange. I’m so much bigger now, the piano seems a lot smaller than it did back then. Patty’s not nearly as tall as Mother was so that’s different too, but the sound is the same as her fingers dance over the keys. The look on her face when she plays is the same as Mother’s, a combination of concentration and pleasure.

She had played a couple of songs and had her hands poised over the keys to start again when I looked up and saw some of the maids and guards standing in doorways, watching and listening. Raul was there too. They were all smiling. Patty started again and had been playing for a few seconds when Father came into the room. Everybody quietly scattered except Raul, who just stood there, nodding his head in time with the music. Father slowly approached the piano; I don’t think Patty saw him because her eyes were focused on the keys. He came around behind us and lightly rested his hand on my shoulder, squeezing it gently. I glanced up and thought I saw a tear in his eye. He blinked it away, a sad smile on his face, sighed and walked back out. I’m not sure if Patty was even aware that he had been there. She kept playing until the song ended. I told her that she was great but she just downplayed it all, like anybody could do it if they tried.

We were going to go upstairs when she saw Raul, she ran over to him and they huddled together for a couple of minutes, planning something. When they separated, Raul patted her back several times then smiled and slowly shook his head as she ran back to where I was waiting for her. She wouldn’t tell me what was up, said it was another surprise.

Once we got back to my bedroom, we started the makeovers I wanted to do last night. I started with her first. I sucked. Really sucked. Mega-sucked. Sucked to infinity. I couldn’t do anything with her hair, her make-up, nothing. I’ve only done my own and never did much with it. When I was done with her, Patty looked more like a rabid raccoon.

She was a good sport about it though, insisting I take a picture, saying that if she ever did have a real Facebook page, this was going to be first picture. She really is nuts.

After getting cleaned up, she started on me. The first thing was a shampoo, and now she was brushing my hair.

“Patty?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s this basketball stuff about?”

“Don’t you want to beat your dad?”

“Sure, but we can’t do that.”

“Oh, we can do it, no doubt. I’ve seen you in gym class. You’re a natural athlete, very graceful, very coordinated.”

‘No, I’m not! I couldn’t do anything when Father was trying to teach me soccer. I was horrible! I could barely stay on my feet.”

“That was years ago. Sometimes it takes awhile for a kid to get used to her body. You were likely in the middle of a growth spurt. Now that you’re done growing, you’ve had time to adapt. Remember a couple of weeks ago, when we were doing volleyball?”

“I remember. The ball hit me in the head.”

“Twice, but that was early. By the end of class, you were spiking the ball like you’d been doing it all your life. The girls on the other side were getting out of the way of the ball.”

“That’s just jumping and swinging your arm. There’s a lot more to basketball.”

“True, but two on two is pretty simple, or at least it is the way everyone here plays it. I bet you that we could be ready to take on your dad and Riley by next week if we practice during the lunch hour.”

“What if we do? Why does it matter?”

All this time, she had still been sitting behind me on the bed, brushing my hair, but now she stopped and sighed.

“Listen Gretchen, I’m gonna tell you something. I don’t want you to get mad about it or anything, just hear me out … okay?”

“Sure, what is it?”

She goes back to brushing my hair. “Your dad loves you, loves you a lot … but he doesn’t respect you.”

“What do you mean he doesn’t respect me?! Did he tell you that?!”

“Calm down. He didn’t tell me, not directly, but it shows in the way he treats you, in the way he thinks about you.”

“Huh?”

“He still thinks of you as a little girl, he doesn’t see you as a young adult.”

“How can he think of me as little, I’m almost as tall as he is!”

“I know, but that’s the way he sees you. You do fine at school but he expects that, and you did that when you actually were a little kid. You haven’t done anything since then to change his view of you.”

“How could I? He never gives me the chance to do anything other than go to school. I’m stuck here. That’s why I’m so outa here when I turn eighteen.”

“That may not be the right answer, but you’re correct, he hasn’t really given you a chance. Basketball is your chance.”

“But sports are stupid!”

“Some might be stupid, frankly, I never understood figure skating, but …”

“Figure skating is WONDERFUL! The outfits, the music, the dancing, and talk about graceful! They’re just beautiful, gliding along … “

“Yeah, yeah, beautiful, I get it. As far as I’m concerned, it isn’t a sport if you can’t win ugly.”

“What is ‘winning ugly’?”

“Okay, here’s an example. Years ago, the Minnesota Vikings had a quarterback named Joe Kapp. He threw some of the worse passes you ever saw. He was bow legged and ran like a crab, a slow crab.”

“So why did they let him play?”

“Because those ugly passes always seemed to go to open receivers. And if they weren’t open, the passes were in the perfect locations. Somehow, he succeeded despite looking terrible doing it.”

“Maybe he had really good teammates who covered for him.”

“Nope, he had some great players on his team, but so did other teams. Kapp was the leader and a winner. The Vikings won ugly, gave the Packers all kinds of trouble.”

“Fine, you can’t ‘win ugly’ in figure skating … but what about all the jumps and …”

“I don’t want to get into this debate right now, my point is that to earn your dad’s respect, you need to impress him doing something he thinks is important, or at least interesting. We can do that in basketball.”

“Okay, say that we do, how does that help me?”

“It helps because, if he respects you, he’s more likely to listen to you, to think what you say is important and to treat you like an adult, which means …”

“He might let me do more stuff on my own!”

“BINGO!”

“Huh, that’s not bad. What if we don’t win?”

“We will, but just being competitive should be enough.”

What have I got to lose? Things can’t get much worse around here.

“Alright, lets do it!”

“Good! We start Monday after lunch. Right now, I’ll show you how to fix your eyes so that nobody will think you’re a little girl.”

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

I’m busy helping with the weekly electronic bug scan Sunday morning when Gomez calls me over the radio.

“Lou, Hobbes wants to see you.”

I’m wearing the wireless VOX ear piece for my radio, so I just answer him. “What’s this about?”

“Didn’t say, he just asked for you to come to his office.”

“Henry and I are almost done with the main floor. Can’t this wait?”

“Stop stalling, Lou. He meant now.”

“Rodger.”

I look over at Henry, he heard the whole thing and looks sympathetic. “Can you finish this on your own?” I ask.

“I’ll wait. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“It’s never nothing when he asks to see one of us alone, you know that.”

“Hey, look on the bright side, Enrique’s not here. He always gets the dirty work, so it can’t be that bad.”

I hand him my scanner. “Always the optimist, aren’t you Henry.”

“I’ll be right here when you get back, Lou.”

I nod my head and start walking slowly towards Hobbes office, trying to think why he wants to see me. He doesn’t take a personal interest in the guards unless there’s a problem of some kind, and usually a big problem. Either that or it involves the basketball games, but I haven’t played in a few years, tore my Achilles chasing a rebound.

I still haven’t figured it out by the time I reach the office door. I check my watch before I knock, it’s 11:21. Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves, I rap on the door with my knuckles.

“Come in, Lou.”

It’s unnerving when he calls you by name through a closed door. We all know about the video camera hidden in the door frame but it still freaks you out for a couple of seconds. I reach out with my right hand, grab the door knob, twist it to the right and push the door open. Stepping into the office, I close the door behind me and walk towards his desk, stopping ten feet in front of Hobbes, who’s working on his computer. I wait for a few seconds but he keeps typing. I keep waiting, if he didn’t jump on me right away, maybe it’s not that bad. I’m not going to interrupt whatever he’s doing. He stops typing, studying the screen a moment, then he looks up at me.

“Our United States inventory seems a little large right now.”

I don’t know what to say about that. He doesn’t usually discuss stuff like that with us, we’re just guards. He looks at me, so I better say something.

“Yes, Sir.” That should be safe.

“Do you know why that is, Lou?”

“Uhh … no, Sir.”

“It is because our production and transportation systems are currently more efficient than our sales.”

What the hell has this got to do with me? “Yes, Sir.”

“Enrique is dealing with the primary problem hurting our sales, which is why I’m talking with you right now. Normally, he would deal with problems like this.”

Fuck, there is a problem! “Yes, Sir.”

“I understand that you and Mr. Tippett had a confrontation yesterday. He is a very valuable employee, skilled in many areas that contribute to the efficiency of my business. I strive for efficiency, Lou. Do you understand?”

Shit! Why did I have to go and mess with that piece of crap? Bet he went straight to Hobbes, crying like a little girl. “Yes, Sir. I understand.”

“Do you? It is much easier to replace a guard than my chief computer specialist. And you know how we replace people around here.”

I close my eyes and breathe slowly. Some of the past guards who quit went on to other jobs, some of them just disappeared. If Tippett gets me killed, I hope to God Henry does something about it. “Yes, Sir. I know what’s happened to some of the other guys.”

“You may think you know but people tend to believe speculation or rumors. I think that a warning should be adequate in your case. You’ve been a loyal employee over the years and done a very good job with my daughter. I have no desire to replace you … unless absolutely necessary. While there are things about Mr. Tippett that I find … disquieting, his benefits to me outweigh the negatives. Keep that in mind during your future dealings with him, understand?”

I try not to smile. Seems like I dodged a bullet this time. “Yes, Sir, I understand completely.”

“Good. I would like to know why you attacked him.”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Mr. Tippett said it was unprovoked.”

The fucking little rat! “He was saying how much he’d like to ummmm … how can I say this … have relations with Gretchen’s little friend. He called her a bitch and I told him that I didn’t like that word and that the girl was off limits to him, just like Gretchen. I didn’t attack him, I just pulled him away from the hedges when he was laying on them trying to get a better look at the girls by the pool and picked him up by his collar when he used the ‘B’ word. That’s all.”

Hobbes leans back in his chair. “Are you certain that was all that happened?”

“Hand to God, Mr. Hobbes.”

He sat there for about half a minute, tapping his right index finger on his desk. “I will tell Mr. Tippett that he is to watch his language in the future and that Patricia Conner is to be treated as my daughter is treated. It will likely cause fewer problems in the long run if she is ‘off limits’ to all the guards and staff.”

“That’s exactly what I thought, Sir.”

“I’m sure you did, Lou, but I can not have my people brawling with each other. I have enough problems elsewhere to deal with. In the future, let Enrique deal with these issues.”

“Yes, Sir. When is he coming back?”

“He should be back by Wednesday.”

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. Hobbes looks to his left at a small monitor built into his desk.

“What can I do for you, Gretchen?” he calls out.

“Patty and I have something special for you”, she answers from the other side of the door.

“Really? Come in.”

The door opens and the girls come in, Gretchen carrying a tray with a cloth over it. The cloth may cover the view but not the delicious smell. She whips the cover off with her left hand. “Fresh from the oven!”

It’s a big pile of cookies, which she sets on the desk in front of Hobbes. He slides forward and takes an exaggerated sniff.

“What a wonderful smell! What kind are they?”

“Patty calls them Turtle Cookies. They’ve got chocolate chips, caramel, and pecans.”

“Actually, toasted pecans, it makes a difference” added Conner. “The other ones are Snickerdoodles, just in case someone has a nut allergy.”

“You do think of everything, Patricia” said Hobbes. He reached out, carefully picked up one of the chocolate ones, inspected it by turning it in his hand and then finally took a bite. He chewed slowly, savoring the taste. You’d think it was a wine tasting. “Marvelous! Truly marvelous! Where do you come up with these delicacies?”

“Gretchen helped this time, Mr. Hobbes. It’s not a difficult recipe but I think toasting the pecans before adding them brings out their unique flavor.”

He pushes the plate towards me. “Have one, Lou.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hobbes.” I search for a big one and take a bite. Man! That’s good! Both crunchy and chewy. Conner is standing at the front of the desk, staring at the large picture of Hobbes’ dead wife.

“Did you leave the recipe with Raul?” asks Hobbes.

“Uh huh,” she distractedly answers.

* * * *** * * * *** * * *

Whatever is on Hobbes’ monitor is reflected in the glass of the picture behind his desk. I can’t read it because it’s backwards but it looks like a spread sheet of some kind. If I can just study it for a few seconds, I should be able to remember the image and, if lucky, copy it. I got to be cool about it though, keep him talking so he’s not aware.

“Raul shouldn’t have any problem following it.”

“You should watch being so open with your recipes, Patricia. If you give away all your secrets, you will have nothing to bargain with.”

I should look at him but I can’t risk losing the chance to memorize this image. “If I run out, I can always create more.”

“Ahhhh, the optimistic view of youth! You think of creativity as an endless fountain instead of the limited resource that it is. When I was young, new inspirations were constantly popping into my mind. Now I feel as hidebound as a fossil. Is there something wrong with my photo?”

Shoot! He’s caught me! I just need a few more seconds. Remembering something you recognize is one thing, memorizing gibberish is much harder. “No, nothing wrong. It’s very impressive. Did you take it?”

“Yes, I did.” He turns around to face it. “Back in my younger, artistic days. Do you recognize the style?”

Nuts! Now I have to actually think instead of tossing platitudes. “Uuuuhhh, let me think.” I lean over the desk to get a closer look at the reflected image. It’s definitely a spread sheet. Just a bit longer.

“Perhaps this will help.” Hobbes reaches for the switch at the base of the monitor, preparing to turn it off.

NOT YET! “Avedon!” I shout a little too loudly. His hand hovers over the switch a second, as I hold my breath, concentrating as hard as I can on the image.

“Exactly! Very good Patricia!” He pushes the button and the image disappears. I close my eyes, quickly reviewing what I had seen.

I got it!

I slowly open my eyes, barely restraining the overwhelming urge to smile. “Why Richard Avedon, Mr. Hobbes?”

He turns to face me. “If you’re going to steal, steal from the best.”

“Don’t artists refer to that as inspiration?”

“Inspiration, theft, sampling, homage … it’s all the same thing. Taking the work of those that came before you.”

“And improving on it.”

“Possibly. It depends on your point of view.”

I pick up one of the cookies from the platter. “I didn’t create this from scratch. It’s a combination of five recipes from other people, who likely made changes to recipes from a bunch of other people to come up with theirs, who all did the same thing going back to the original Toll House Cookie recipe, which some people dispute anyway.” I take a bite, chew slowly, then swallow. “However it came to be, you can’t argue with the results.”

Hobbes takes another cookie from the platter and winks at me. “On that, we can agree, Patricia.”