by Mich Moore
suggested that they order drinks and wait. The men casually strolled over to the oversized mahogany bar and ordered Budweisers. Seated three bar stools down was a young man dressed in full pirate regalia: three-cornered captain's hat, tall boots, a leather duster, an eye-patch and what appeared to be a sheathed sword. A spry squirrel monkey balanced on his shoulders and worried his long hair. A young woman in business attire sat next to the pirate. She had ghostly white skin, with shocking mint-green eyes and a forest of auburn ringlets piled high about her slender shoulders, and was eyeing them with more than casual curiosity. Walters nodded in her direction. She slowly returned the gesture, then stood up, walked over, and extended her hand in greeting. "Hello. Mr. Walters, is it?" The woman was wearing a fitted shirt that hugged her very large breasts. A short skirt was cinched about her slim waist by a broad leather belt. Her legs were muscular yet shapely, and if she were to spin by one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, Walters, Broussard, Powell, and Bautista were all secretly certain that a pert, round bottom would be revealed to them.
He politely shook her hand. "Yes!" He indicated the others. "And these are my associates."
The woman shook hands with each man. "Thank you for coming. Are you enjoying your time in our fair city?"
"Quite," Walters answered. "Why don't you grab your drink and we can tell you all about it?"
"Of course. One moment, please."
The woman turned around and walked back to her stool. The Lincoln Hills Boys watched her intently, each privately noting that her bottom was somewhat flat and on the wide side. The woman grabbed her drink and then bent down to whisper something into the ear of the man dressed in pirate gear. The two exchanged a few words. The pirate then got on his feet with the aid of a gold-tipped cane, tipped the monkey into a large slash pocket in his jacket, and escorted the woman back to where the engineers were waiting. "Hello!" he said effusively. "My partner tells me that you might be looking to purchase some Tupperware."
Walters immediately became suspicious. "Who are you?"
The pirate swept his cornered hat from his brow and placed it over his chest. "My name is Kato, and this is my business partner, the winsome lady Juliana."
Juliana smiled at them.
The engineers stood mutely, hands at their sides.
He took a step closer towards Walters and whispered, "You are Mr. Walters, are you not?"
"I am."
"And you are hoping to buy Tupperware for your trip to Canada, are you not?"
"We are."
"Then I believe that my partner and I can accommodate you. We have some of the finest Tupperware products in the world ... all manufactured right here in America!"
Broussard was staring hard at the pirate. "Have we met before?"
The man seemed a bit startled by the question. "No."
"You look familiar."
"Is that so?"
Walters stepped in. "Let's get a booth so that we can have some privacy." He began to herd everyone towards a large empty booth towards the back of the pub. From the stilted movements and occasional winces of pain, it was obvious that Kato the Pirate had suffered his fair share of hard times. No doubt the pirate costume allowed him to believe himself a sort of modern-day, swashbuckling privateer knifing through the high seas of high-octane capitalism instead of the broken, post-apocalyptic petty criminal that he obviously was.
As soon as everyone was seated, Kato freed the monkey from his pocket and placed the small beast on the table. Juliana pulled a small bag of peanuts from her purse and began to feed him.
"Kato, what's the monkey's name?" Powell asked.
"The Green Hornet, of course!" The pirate opened his mouth wide and guffawed, exposing two rows of chipped and stained teeth. "Honestly, I have no idea. I only stole him yesterday." He scratched the tiny head, and the monkey chirped with pleasure. "But we'll come up with something soon."
The congenial mood soured. Broussard, Powell, and Bautista glared at Walters in unison. The scientist pretended not to notice.
A rather portly waitress waddled over carrying snack menus. "The ice cream is hand churned, and the apple pie is baked fresh on the premises."
The engineers ordered slices of cake and pie, while Kato and Juliana settled on Arabian coffees. After the waitress had finished taking their orders, she acquired a stern look and addressed the monkey. "We don't serve pirates in here. After he's finished his drink, you'll have to take him outside."
Kato expressed mock offense. "Madame, I am this proud ape's faithful manservant. Where he goes, I am duty bound to follow."
The waitress could not help but smile. "All right then," she said, and then waggled a fat finger in the monkey's face. "But if he pees on anything, you're going to have to clean it up!"
That broke the ice, and soon everyone was offering their own funny take on the monkey-manservant storyline. After the waitress returned with their food and drinks, they group got down to business.
Juliana pulled out a stenographer's notepad and a pen. "Gentlemen, our deluxe Tupperware kit runs one thousand dollars. Half of that is due tonight; the other half upon receipt of the merchandise tomorrow morning."
Powell was dubious. "You'll have the kits ready by tomorrow morning? That isn't a lot of time to come up with something that's grade."
Kato responded, "We work very hard and very fast."
"And very cheap," Powell added. "One thousand dollars?"
The pirate tilted his head back and cackled, exposing those dreadful teeth again. "Money is still money. A single dollar bill is quite potent even in a world gone mad," he said. "Light is discrete—it comes in little bitty packets of energy, yes?"
"You're talking about photons," Powell replied. "Light also has wave characteristics—"
"—Yet the components and strengths of that light remain constant. Light is the absence of darkness. That makes it the most powerful weapon in the universe."
"So—"
"Think of a dollar bill as a discrete entity, like a photon of light. Then magnify that by one thousand. Now you're possessing great power." He grinned. "Earth-changing power."
Powell smiled indulgently and turned his attention back to his apple pie. The men were growing agitated and restless.
Bautista put his fork down. "Okay, we get it. Crazy is the new black now."
Kato shrugged his shoulders. "I would say that 'coping' is the new black now. The world is moving into unchartered territory."
Bautista sniffed the air. "Smells like the same old bullshit to me."
The pirate shrugged again and tickled the monkey's belly.
Bautista watched the pirate and the monkey play for a few seconds before blurting out, "Seriously, man. How long you been off the rails?"
Kato stopped tickling the monkey. "Longer than I've been on them."
"For sure."
The pirate nodded agreeably. "For sure."
Juliana stirred. "That was a rather rude question," she said.
Powell's eyes glinted at her. "It was. I'm sure my associate here is sorry about that. But, honestly, if we're going to pay good money for your services, he's entitled to ask it."
"We're professionals," she said, her tone now a few degrees cooler than it had been when they'd first met. "We can deliver."
"Let's hope so," he replied. They exchanged frosty glares.
Juliana turned to Walters. "I'll have my assistant deliver them to your room no later than 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. And don't worry. She'll be undercover. Will that work?"
"I think so," he answered. "We aren't leaving town until tomorrow afternoon."
"Good," she said, smiling now. She pushed her writing tablet and pen to Walters. "I'd like each of you to write down the exact information that you want your kits to have: full name, age, date of birth, social security numbers, height, weight, and so on. You can fudge on everything except your ages and your physical features. Understood?"
The men nodded as Walters took the pen and began writing.
"We'll need a reference,
" Broussard said.
"You can't be serious," Juliana replied.
"Samples of the product then?" he said.
The woman looked at Kato. "What do you think?"
She and Kato began to converse in urgent whispers.
Bautista nudged Broussard. "At least she didn't ask the monkey."
"Okay. We'll have samples for you tonight. "
When everyone was finished writing, she briefly read over the data and then put the pad back into her purse. "It looks fairly straightforward. Let's meet tonight at the party. You can give us the down payment and we'll provide the samples."
"Party? Which party?" Walters asked.
"The Hodges's party."
Walters looked confused. "I'm confused. How did you know about that?"
Juliana deferred to Kato.
"The Underground News also has a society page," Kato replied airily. He swept the tiny monkey into his arms and kissed it on the forehead. "And we love a good party." He cooed into the furry little ears. "Don't we, baby?"
"One more thing," Juliana said. "If the police get wind of this, we'll all be arrested. So, please tell no one about our transaction today. Ever."
All four men nodded.
"Then we're done. It was a pleasure doing business with you, gentlemen."
The men finished their food, said their good-byes, and headed for the lobby. As they were waiting by the elevator bank for a lift to take them back up to their rooms, Bautista beckoned the others in close.
"I know where we seen that guy before. That's one of those MPs. Stavros. He was with Hillerman and Brady when they sprung us out of Lincoln Hills."
Broussard thought about it for a moment before saying, "I think you're right."
The mild jolts of pleasurable adrenaline that had been pulsing through their bodies in anticipation of soon being truly free men abruptly stopped.
"Jesus H. Christ," Powell said, not bothering to hide his despair.
Only Walters seemed undefeated. "We go forward with the plan."
Their elevator arrived and left without them.
"No," Powell said with clenched teeth. "We're done here."
Walters placed a steadying hand on Powell's arm. "No," he said emphatically. "If it's a trap, so what?" His voice was low but forceful. "We're criminals. We're supposed to try an escape. Besides, what can they do? Arrest us again?"
"They can kick us off the DAT project," Broussard said.
"Once they get the bugs worked out—and they will—they're going to kick us off DAT anyway. And if you think that Fields is going to put any of us in the Archangel unit, then I've got some property in California that I want to sell you."
Bautista appeared to be genuinely perplexed. "What the hell is going on?"
"I don't know," Walters answered. "And at this point, I don't want to know. Maybe it's the same guy, maybe it isn't. If it is, something's gone wrong in his head. That makes sense, because things are going wrong in a lot of heads in this town."
"So, you don't believe that he's working for Hillerman ... or Brady?" Broussard asked.
"I do not. I believe that he's freelancing. Why? You'd have to ask him."
"Van, you're missing the bigger issue here," Powell said. "If we recognized him, then he recognized us."
Walters held up his hands. "Maybe. But, I've got one answer for you: Armstrong's equation."
"Which is what exactly?"
"Risk plus reward equals goal."
Broussard hung his head and crossed his arms. "Van, this stinks from every angle and you know it. But you're so desperate to get to Canada that you're willing to wrap it up and put it under your pillow—"
Walters gave Broussard a look that was almost feral. "You were right about one thing, Neal. This is my plan. If you don't like it, walk away."
Another elevator arrived and Walters quickly stepped on board, leaving the others to ponder their next move.
Later that evening, Walters, Broussard, Bautista, and Powell waited in the lobby with the rest of the team. Chang had called to say that he would be down within fifteen minutes.
As they waited for him, the men sipped sodas and furtively checked out the various women roaming the area. Bell-bottom jeans and sequined halter tops were ruling the evening.
Powell grimaced.
"What's wrong?" Tara asked him.
"These damn shoes are killing me."
Bautista looked his way. "Yeah? With guns or knives?"
Walters clucked his tongue. "Mike, you might want to update your joke repertoire. That joke is sixty years old."
Bautista grinned. "Then I'm right on time."
Kuiper, Kwolski, and Roger had rented tuxedoes for the evening.
"I've never been in a monkey suit," Derek said, relaxing comfortably in a pair of denims and Converse tennis shoes.
"Have you ever been in a suit?" Powell asked.
"Once or twice. But it was against my considerable will."
"Where's Z?" Broussard asked Kwolski.
"He and Herschel are babysitting." He pulled out a pocket video camera. "I'm filming the festivities for them."
Broussard nodded. "They'll appreciate that."
Kwolski turned the camera on. "I might as well get started now." He went around the lobby and got random shots of various team members.
Chang finally showed up. The boss was obviously dressed to impress Dina's East Coast crowd. He had donned the preppy professor look, complete with a new tweed jacket with elbow patches, a cashmere sweater over a cotton shirt and tie, and brown corduroy pants. He was finally dressing like the highly esteemed doctor of science that he was.
He looked his fellow engineers up and down and sniffed disdainfully. "Let me guess. Revenge of the Nerds Night?"
Bautista squared his padded shoulders. "More like Players' Night."
Chang coughed. "Well, men need to dream."
Powell flipped his collar tips. "Actually, we're still working the boy band angle. Just in case the engineering gigs don't work out."
"Got it. Well, let's go." The engineers fell in line behind him. "Dina and Fields are waiting outside."
Walters stopped in his tracks. "Fields? Who invited him?"
Chang shrugged. "Dina, I guess."
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"The guy's a prick," Walters answered. "That's what's wrong."
Bautista patted Walters's arm. "Come on, man. Let's just enjoy the evening."
Walters jerked his arm away.
Outside the hotel the city was bustling with nightlife. A short rainy spell had cleared out some of the thick haze and given the clean streets a coating of high-gloss polish. Sturdy men with gilded women on their arms stepped through the moving maze of horse-drawn carriages and luxe motor coaches with cursive grace. Unfortunately, the place still harbored a rank smell; tonight it was playing host to an eclectic blend of lavender and gunpowder.
Hillerman and Brady stood waiting beside a long limousine. Inside, a bejeweled Dina Hodges sat, smiling vaguely at nothing in particular and stroking her hair.
Fields was standing next to the hotel's doorman. He was having a lively conversation on his cell phone. Chang espied him and the two men waved at each other. Fields finished up and then strolled over. "Good evening, gents."
Everyone responded with hearty hellos. Except for Walters. "You here to keep an eye on us?"
Fields's first response was puzzlement and then aggravation. "Actually, I was hoping to have a nice time out tonight. Silly me."
Walters smirked at him. "Among other adjectives."
Sensing some potential drama, Kwolski surreptitiously aimed his camera at the scene.
Broussard placed a hand on the scientist's shoulder. "What's wrong with you, Van?"
"Nothing," he snapped. "I just don't appreciate people sticking their noses in my business."
Fields looked from Walters to Chang and then back to Walters. "I give up. What the hell are you talking about?"
"You don't want us talking to any
one tonight, do you?"
"Talking to whom about what?"
"Talking to any of Dina's 'friends' about the MIT. Because in case you didn't know, the MIT is our baby. Not yours!"
Chang turned red. "Van, this is not responsible. We can discuss this at a later time."
Walter's eyes flashed angrily. "Once they test out the DAT, they're going to lock us all up and throw away the keys! We don't have a 'later time,' Allan."
Chang sighed. "Van, this is your paranoia talking."
Walters screamed at him from the tops of his lungs. "I'M NOT FUCKING PARANOID!!!"
Fields motioned for Walters, Bautista, Powell, and Broussard to step out of earshot of the other hotel guests. "I want you all to hear this." They gathered around. "Get hip to this fact: You cannot negotiate the MIT or the DAT with anyone without DARPA. Not you." He stabbed a finger at Walters. "Not you." He turned the finger on Broussard. "And not you." His finger speared both Powell and Bautista. "And if you try, you will forfeit everything. Everything. Understood?"
That made Walters even madder. "You are violating our civil rights," he hissed.
"Nonsense. You gave those up when you became wards of the state."
"This is illegal!"
Fields cocked his head to one side. "Ironic words coming from the likes of you."
Walters was breathing hard. "You won't think they're so ironic after I file an injunction and stop production on the DAT!"
Fields became livid. "An injunction? Really? On what grounds?"
Walters sniggered. "Don't worry about it. You'll find out soon enough."
Broussard grabbed Walters by the arm and hissed at him. "Van, will you shut up?"
Walters pushed him away. "That's our sweat and blood in them. We created the MITs and we created the DATs. All you do is shake your fat ass for Voode!"
Fields's head angled downward. "Mr. Walters, you are a provocateur and a fool. As I'll only suffer one of the two, I'd tread very lightly if I were you."
That enraged Walters even more. "Is that a threat?"
"No. It's a statement of fact."
"You can't threaten me, Fields! You're not even an American citizen!"
"I was born in Brooklyn. I've not only got the citizenship, but I've got the bad attitude that goes along with it. So let me put this in the proper vernacular so that you'll get my point: You are fucking with the wrong motherfucker!"
A police siren began to holler in the distance.
Walters's eyes flashed. "You don't scare me! Back at Lincoln, I ate pukes like you for breakfast. If we weren't in mixed company, I'd flatten you right now."
Hillerman tapped his temple with his index finger, and two MPs stepped out of the shadows, looking serious.
"Well, that's America now, isn't it? A nation of spoiled brats, full of piss and vinegar and little else!"
Chang wearily tried to get in between the two frothing men. "Gentlemen, please. Can we settle this another time?"
Walters stepped around his manager to confront Fields. "You've got nothing, Fields!" Spittle sprayed the Englishman's face.
"Oh, yeah?" Fields landed a vicious kick to the middle of Walters's right leg, which promptly buckled. Walters's eyes rolled up in the back of his head from the pain. As the computer scientist's body flailed around, reflexively trying to regain its balance, Fields leaped directly in front of him and grabbed Walters's head from below with both arms and jerked it up in a guillotine lock.
"NO!" Dina zoomed into the brawl at top speed. "FREDERICK, PLEASE STOP!"
In a rare display of bipartisanship, Powell gleefully elbowed Bautista. "Wow, Fields is going