Nelson cracked an exasperated smile, and said, “Because…?”
It was difficult to resist answering him. The last time Javier had been betrayed by a lover, the clues, in retrospect, had been obvious enough. Ambition. Cunning. Not to say that Nelson wasn’t intelligent…but ambitious? Only when it came to getting laid. Unable to entirely resist that naughty twinkle in Nelson’s eye, Javier extended a bit more trust, and said, “Why do you think?”
“Me? Hell, I can think of a dozen reasons. Crappy offshore working conditions, like Marianne said. Weaseling out of keeping up with whatever environmental standards they’re supposed to meet. Hiring a big raft of people like they were at that job fair…why? So they can cut the employees who’ve been there for thirty years and replace them with someone at half their age and half their salary?” He pressed his fingertip deeper between Javier’s middle and ring fingers as if to hint at something he’d rather be doing, and then followed with one of his typical double entendres. “Do you need me to keep going? ’Cos I can.”
Javier looked down at Nelson’s hand. His index finger. Stroking. Probing. And if he claimed Nelson didn’t turn him on despite his efforts to control himself, it would be a lie. “What about…a recall?” Javier said quietly. “A recall no one knew about?”
Nelson’s finger stopped its stroking. “Like a spoiled batch?”
“Maybe.”
Nelson considered the idea. “But you’d hear about that. It would be public record.” His other hand, Javier saw, had worked its way around Tim, caressing his stomach absently while Nelson leaned into the back of Tim’s head. Tim was blushing.
Javier watched Nelson’s eyes track side to side in thought. Maybe he really wasn’t aware he was seducing them, both of them, with every casual move. Throwing himself at men came as naturally to him as breathing.
Javier decided to press further. “What other reasons could they have for swapping huge amounts of manna from store shelves and calling it a stock rotation?”
“Quality control? A new flavor? You’ll need to give me more to go on than that. I could think of about a million reasons.”
Tim opened his netbook. All three watched the monitor scroll through some startup scripts, and then a plain, utilitarian screen appeared. Tim navigated to a text document and opened it. Javier took the strings of symbols for some sort of programming language, until Tim held up the tiny computer and said, “You tell me. This formula was locked up tighter than anything else on the server. Does it have to do with a flavor?”
Rather than simply taking the netbook, Nelson used the opportunity to slide his hand up Tim’s chest and press his entire upper body into Tim’s back to read over his shoulder—and scowl at the screen. Javier expected a glib answer, but none came. “Nope, not a flavor, that’s for sure. But there is something here—something to do with the process. It’s not shorter, though. It’s longer—which makes no sense at all, because the more steps you add, the more expensive it is to make, and if they were doing something that cost them money, they’d advertise it as a big, fancy feature. Can you print it out for me?”
Tim extricated himself from the huddle, which finally pulled Nelson’s hand from Javier’s, and figured out where to plug his netbook into the office’s printer. “And you’ll be able to tell what it is just by reading the formula?” Javier said skeptically.
“Some supporting documentation would be nice, but yeah. I can read it. Ten years ago, when the whole ‘more protein’ formulation was the buzzword in the industry? That was me. I figured out how to bind another amino acid to the chain when I was twenty-four friggin’ years old.”
He should be wealthy, if not famous. That much was obvious. Javier thought it was best not to pry, but Tim couldn’t seem to resist. “What happened?”
“I was in grad school…so technically, my advisor owned the idea. Bought himself a condo in Miami with the patent, or that’s what I think they told me. Something like that. I don’t know for sure. I was on a wicked bender at the time.”
“Wasn’t there anything you could do about it?” Tim said.
“He slid me ten grand to not make a big stink. I had a two-year-old at home. I took it.”
The sound of the formula printing out was a welcome diversion. As was the case with everything Alejandro de la Rosa owned, the printer was the top of the line, and the pages slipped into the tray with a mere whisper. Even that subtle sound was enough to put an end to the conversation that none of them wished to take part in any longer.
Nelson took the first few sheets from the printer and curled up with them on the sofabed, chewing on the end of a pen, with his knees drawn up to his chest and the formula resting on his thighs. Javier caught another sheet as it fed from the printer. Gibberish, to him. But obviously Nelson saw something there.
“What’s with that?” he said, mostly to himself, though both Javier and Tim hung on the statement until he began circling parts of the formula, and it became clear he wasn’t going to expound on it.
Javier turned to Tim. “You were updating your site. Why don’t you finish—from this computer, if it’s more secure. And link to that video, if you want to. If you could pause on that sign….”
“I can’t, not without video editing software. Maybe I can grab a screenshot, though.” Tim sat down at Alejandro’s desk and began keying in some commands. Javier stood and watched over his shoulder as he downloaded the video, paused it at the point where the Child Killers sign was as clear as it was going to get, and took a shot. “What should I put in the caption?” he asked Javier.
What, indeed? Was manna killing children now? That would be a hell of an accusation to make without any proof. Besides, hadn’t Javier seen the county morgue himself? There were no children’s bodies on those bloody tables. Not a single one. “Forget the caption. Just post the image on your front page.”
“No explanation?”
“None. Everyone knows by now there’s something going on in Manhattan. We don’t know for sure what it is—so why risk pointing someone in the wrong direction, someone who might be able to sort out the truth? Put that picture online just as it is and let it speak for itself.”
“Hand me the rest of that printout.” Nelson wiggled his fingers in a “gimme” gesture without looking up. Even as he took the papers from Javier, his eyes remained glued to the formula. He was doing it again, and he didn’t even know it. He was making Javier feel something.
The side of his personality that Nelson showed the word most of the time—the thirty-something who desperately needed to grow up, but what did it matter since he was fun in bed—it wasn’t exactly a false persona. But there was so much more than that, and not very far beneath the surface, either. Just when Javier began to convince himself that Nelson was nothing but a good-time lay, a bit of that façade would slip, and Javier would realize Nelson was a much better man than he.
That thing Nelson made him feel? Regret. But Javier supposed it was better than feeling nothing at all.
***
Nelson wished he had the standard, unadorned formula for Canaan “plain” at hand. Yes, plain: the flavor that had netted Randy his ill-fated hundred dollars. Because plain had been developed to yield the highest amount of nutrition with the least amount of labor and expense. No fancy proprietary processes, and certainly no tweaking for mouth-feel or aftertaste. Good old plain. A third-world staple and a tightwad’s delight.
While part of Nelson’s brain was working on the problem of getting a copy of the plain formula—probably Tim could do it, a very useful guy to have around—the full frontal portion of his attention kept coming back to a single line in the current formula: a hydrogen carbon chain that had no business being there.
Granted, Nelson hadn’t dug around in manna nuts and bolts for years. He’d been busy comparing the relative virtues of Porky’s Revenge and Hot Tub Time Machine for anyone who was willing to listen. Maybe the chain was some byproduct of a new manufacturing process. Maybe it was a nutritional fortification. He
ll, maybe it was just a slip of a data entry clerk’s finger.
Although…he didn’t think so. Not really.
Because despite Nelson’s best efforts to keep his head buried in the sand so he could stop salivating over sour grapes, if the formula for basic manna had changed that much…he would have heard about it.
And now he owed the cliché jar two bucks. Three, if you counted the Pavlov reference.
“What is it?” Javier asked quietly, and Nelson glanced up from the paper. “You look concerned.”
“I don’t know what the hell this is. They added an extra step to the manufacturing process—but that’s crazy. If anything, they should be trying to eliminate steps if they want to keep their cost down. Multiply a new step by a hundred million pounds every year, and you’ve got….” Nelson shook his head. “I have no idea. It costs them time and money…and it serves no purpose that I can see.”
Javier shot Nelson a bitter smile. “And here I thought nothing could ever shock you.”
Chapter 21
Without evidence, Javier hadn’t been totally convinced that the manna recall had meant anything (or, that it had even happened at all). Now, though, it was beginning to seem more and more likely that Canaan Products had something to hide. Nelson had been poring through their formulae and their records—and he was so engrossed by what he’d found that he hadn’t made a dick joke in nearly ten hours.
"We’re running out of paper,” Tim said.
Javier glanced at the printer. Stacks of printouts surrounded it: email, databases, files. From the safety of the office, Tim had resumed his downloads, and he’d been unearthing the information ten times faster than Javier could even skim it. “How much more is there?”
Tim tallied up the figures listed on the monitor, scrolled down, counted some more, scrolled again, and finally said, “Lots.”
Javier didn’t want to violate the sanctity of the second office, the one that belonged to the site manager—even though they didn’t know each other, or maybe because of that. And because Alejandro would have simply strode in and taken what he needed without giving the matter a second thought. Javier didn’t want to be his father’s son. But it seemed he wouldn’t have a choice—at least in the matter of the paper.
He left Alejandro’s office so focused on the task of finding that paper, he was startled to find Randy and Marianne seated on one of the meeting room couches, keeping silent watch on the door.
They both looked at him expectantly.
Since Javier couldn’t think of a single thing to say, he said nothing, and simply walked past them and into the second office. He felt a presence behind him as he opened a closet and scanned the boxes. Mostly files and small equipment, parts that wore out quickly and components that were either expensive or fragile. And, of course the types of things Alejandro wouldn’t deign to store in his own office, like toilet paper.
They should probably take it, Javier decided, just in case Tim had only stocked enough for one or two people. Who knew when the stores and businesses would open again? He pulled out a shrink-wrapped block of toilet paper rolls and turned to set it down, and found Marianne directly behind him, watching. She took the toilet paper from him, braced it against her hip, and said, “What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, don’t give me that. The printer’s been running all day long. You guys are so wrapped up in it you haven’t even eaten. Something’s up.”
Javier turned a lie around in his mind. There could be food in the office, for all she knew…but she was right. They hadn’t eaten. Words and letters, letters and words. The day had been lost to combing through documents trying to figure out exactly how much manna had been moved, and why.
“I realize you hardly know me,” Marianne said, “but I care about you, all of you. If something is going on, I want to know what.”
She was right. Javier hardly knew her at all.
She must have seen he wasn’t inclined to explain himself, since she added, “I want to help.”
Maybe she did, or maybe she was just curious. Or maybe it was no accident she’d followed them out of the job fair. Javier had no reason to trust her. More importantly, the secrets were not his to divulge. “You want to help? Find some copy paper.”
Marianne’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t like being kept in the dark. And what was worse than that…when Javier gave her that directive, he’d sounded exactly like his father.
Voices carried through from the conference room, because as well-made as the office trailer might be, it was still a trailer—a lightweight, prefabricated box. A jumble of voices, and then Randy exclaiming, “How did you know that?”
“How did who know what?” Marianne called back loudly—probably to ensure that Javier could see he wasn’t the only one who might give her some answers. She gave Javier a pointedly displeased look, then dropped the toilet paper and went to see what was going on in the other room. Javier considered pointing out as she swept past him that she’d claimed she wanted to help. But he knew better than to start getting petty with a woman.
He followed her into the conference room. Randy stood in front of the couch with a hand on his abdomen. Nelson was in front of him, holding a sheet of paper. Tim stood in the doorway to Alejandro’s office, wild-eyed, excited. Had they found something? Javier tried to catch Tim’s eye, but failed.
“Seriously,” Randy said. He shook his head. “That’s just freaky.”
“What is?” Marianne asked.
“Nelson knew I’d just put on some weight.” Randy looked down at himself. He was more muscular than heavy, but there was no way Javier would have known that some of his bulk was more recent, not without a before-and-after shot.
“What about you?” Tim asked Marianne. “Did you gain any weight lately?”
She looked as if she’d just been slapped.
Nelson rolled his eyes. “You don’t just ask a woman—”
Marianne lurched through the group of men, limping, shoving Nelson aside, then ducked into the bathroom and slammed the door.
Tim stared at the closed door, mouth working. “But I…I meant either her or Javier. I was looking at both of them.”
Randy said, “Smooth move, Ex-Lax.”
Tim was genuinely distressed. “Why would she…? I wasn’t implying that I thought she was fat. It was a plural ‘you.’ Plural!”
“Here’s a tip,” Randy said. “Ask her how old she is, next. She’ll really like that.”
Nelson scrunched up his face in an effort to keep from bursting into laughter. Javier ignored Nelson, approached Tim, and put a hand on his forearm. “Before we start throwing around any theories, we need to decide—”
“So how’d you know about my weight?” Randy was asking Nelson, oblivious to Javier’s attempt to plug the information leak. “It’s not the fact that I’m wearing a new pair of pants. Anyone would wear new pants to a job interview. Not that you can even tell they’re new anymore—they look like I just slept beneath an overpass in ’em.”
Tim broke away from Javier and went to the bathroom door. He tried the doorknob, then rapped on the door a few times, and called through it, “It was a plural you!”
“What type of manna do you eat?” Nelson asked Randy.
He shrugged. “Cheese, usually. Or mushroom. Sometimes I mix them together.”
“Not the flavor—the brand. Is it Canaan Products manna?”
“Well, sure. The only other brand they sell by my place is Fiesta Maná—and that Mexican stuff is spicy enough to burn your tongue right out of your head.”
Nelson turned to Javier. “What about you? Has your weight been about the same?” His eyes raked Javier’s body. Shameless as always, even while he was working through a theory. “Or has it gone down…” His gaze settled on Javier’s crotch. “Or up?”
“I’m not discussing this now.”
Randy looked baffled. “What, now he’s sensitive about his weight, too? What the hell for?”
; Javier looked Nelson in the eye, and said, “Wait. Just wait. Can you do that for me?”
Nelson gave an “I suppose” shrug. It would need to be good enough. Javier took Tim by the arm, drew him away from the bathroom, led him into Alejandro’s office, and closed the door behind them.
Tim looked stricken. For someone out to champion the cause of the people and their right to know and to hell with the consequences, he fell apart quickly enough when he made a girl cry. Javier backed him into a wall, stood chest to chest with him, and said, slowly and quietly, in a voice that was impossible to ignore, “Pull yourself together.”
Tim paled a bit, and then nodded. He also shifted his hips so that his crotch wasn’t pressed into Javier’s pubic bone, and he began breathing very carefully. Javier suspected it shouldn’t turn him on to know he could elicit such a strong and visceral response from Tim, and so easily. But it did.
Unfortunately, he had more to say. “Bringing in Nelson—fine. He’s an asset. We’ve seen his home. We’ve met his family. We can guess what kind of person he is. But the other two? Are you going to take your most precious possession—your anonymity—and throw it all away? Why? To make a couple of strangers like you?”
Tim paled further still as the harshness of Javier’s assessment, and more importantly the accuracy, hit home. Javier was willing to bet the sparks of arousal that had flared so quickly between them were now firmly extinguished for the moment. Cruel? Yes. But if that was what it took to protect Tim, then so be it.
Tim visibly wrestled with his reply for so long it seemed like he might not answer Javier at all, but when he did, he spoke loudly, as if he was trying to convince himself, too. “I think they’re okay. Both of them.”
“Tim….” Javier sighed, and pressed his forehead into Tim’s shoulder. “Back at the job fair, Randy screwed Nelson out of a hundred dollars without a second thought.”
“Nelson doesn’t seem too broken up over it.”
The Starving Years Page 18