“And was I normal?”
“Perfectly healthy and happy.” Khone poured hot water into the cups. “Stir, please.”
Langston got a spoon from the drawer and started mixing the powder in the mugs. He concentrated on the chocolate vortex he’d just created. “I feel like I’m missing something.”
“I’ve told you everything.”
“No, I mean like… I’m missing something inside me.”
Khone shook her head as if trying to rid herself of his words. “Here.” She held up the tray. “Take these to the ladies. And tell Betty they’re hot. She always burns her mouth.”
He didn’t take the tray. “Mom.”
She put the drinks down and rubbed his arm. “You worry too much. Relax.”
“Do you think I need to see someone? Like a therapist?”
“I think you need to stop worrying so much.” She threw open her arms. “Give Momma a hug.” He did, and she squeezed him tightly around the middle before holding his face in her hands. “So handsome!”
He smiled.
“Life is good, Langston. Enjoy it.” She picked up the tray again. “Now, take these to the den.”
Langston stood in the empty lobby of his apartment building, staring at one of the ficus plants flanking the front entrance. Move. He focused on the clawed feet of the gold pot. Scoot! Slide!
He tuned out the sound of traffic beyond the glass doors and concentrated. Ever since the incident at Jade’s, he’d been trying to get a handle on his new skill. He’d tried moving loose coffee beans when he was waiting for his cappuccino at Starbucks this morning, and had wasted a considerable amount of time sitting on his couch staring down a lamp, a coaster, and a magazine. Now, he was focused on a potted tree, visualizing where he wanted it to go: six inches to the left.
“Come on…” he whispered through clenched teeth. “Come on, you son of a—”
The leaves trembled, and the gold claws scraped hesitantly over the marble tiles a few centimeters. Langston’s heart leapt. He envisioned the pot twirling clockwise, and the tree started a slow rotation. The sound of elevator doors closing behind him broke his concentration, and the tree went still.
“Dammit!” Langston whipped around, but no one was there.
Johnny peeked in from outside and raised an eyebrow.
Langston waved and shrugged. “Sorry.”
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Langston backed up to the elevator. “Just going upstairs.”
Johnny pursed his lips. “Right.”
Langston rode up and stopped at Jade’s floor in time to see her unlocking her door.
“Jade!”
She made a half turn toward him, then turned her back again when she saw who it was. “Yes?”
“I’ve been calling you.”
She turned the key. “I know.”
Langston jogged over to her, afraid that after she opened the door to go inside, she would slam it in his face. “You haven’t returned my calls.”
She shrugged and opened the door. “Can I talk to you later? I’m tired.”
“I’m sorry about the other day. I left you five messages, but you didn’t call or text back.”
She turned to face him. “Yeah. So?”
“What can I do to make it up to you? I promise it wasn’t personal.”
“You can’t kiss a girl, run away, and then say it wasn’t personal.”
“But it wasn’t personal.” He smiled. “I’ve been thinking about that kiss ever since it happened.”
Jade walked inside the apartment. When she left the door ajar, he took a tentative step in. “How was your trip? Did you see the baby?”
“Yes.”
“How is she?”
“She’s good. Cute.”
“I’m glad you’re back.”
Jade nodded.
Langston ran his hand across the top of the couch cushions. “You’re really mad at me, huh?”
She shrugged. “More like confused. I don’t know what to think.”
“Believe me. If I could turn back time, I wouldn’t have done that. I was being weird. I do that sometimes. Be weird, I mean. Not kiss someone and then run away.”
Jade looked like she wanted to laugh, but she didn’t. “What were you doing downstairs?” She put her purse on a chair and shed her coat. “You looked like you were going to lay an egg.”
“Downstairs?”
“You were squinting at one of the plants.”
“Oh.” Langston laughed nervously. “I told you. I get weird sometimes. I’m working on it.” He gave her his most endearing smile, and her expression softened.
“You’re still going to see the bands with me tomorrow, right?” he asked.
“Hmmm…”
“We’ll have a good time, I promise.” He gave the Boy Scout salute. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”
“Well…” She glanced up at the ceiling as if struggling for an answer. “Sure.”
His phone rang, and he looked at the caller ID. “I need to get this. I’ll come by at nine, okay?”
She nodded.
Langston left and closed the door behind him. “Hey, J.T.”
“Nate said you were having a shit fit over the weekend.”
Langston walked to the stairway, whispering. “I think we’ve got a problem.”
“What kind of problem?”
“A breech in anonymity.”
“And how do you figure that?”
“Last week I was chased down the 405. I got shot in the arm.”
“And what? You think I had something to do with it?”
“It’s the only thing I’m involved in that could land me in this predicament.”
“You’re a skittish something, you know?”
Langston didn’t answer.
“Listen, you are only identified as Tech 1225. On paper and in conversation, that’s your name, alright?”
“Working for you is the only logical reason I’d be chased and shot.”
“I don’t like your implications, Langston. What I’m hearing you say is that I’m a sloppy businessman. You saying I’m a sloppy businessman?”
“No! That’s not—”
“You saying my enterprise ain’t what it ought to be?”
“Not at all.”
“So.” Langston heard J.T. blow out cigarette smoke. “Sounds like you have yourself a personal problem, friend.”
Langston’s shoulders sagged. “Right.”
“You started working on that BDA, yet?”
Langston climbed the stairs. “I was going to today.”
“Chop chop.” J.T. hung up.
Langston arrived at his apartment and unlocked the second bedroom that he used as his workspace. Inside were a chair, workbench, and several black cases. Spare parts had been catalogued and stored on shelves along the walls, and the windows were blacked out with a thin film.
“Play track one. Repeat.”
The stereo in the corner clicked, and Peter and the Wolf played from the surround sound speakers. He’d discovered the story a few years ago during an errant Google search. Even though it was a children’s story, it had struck a chord in him. Now, as was his routine when he worked on his designs for J.T., he opened with Peter and the Wolf before listening to classical music.
He absently mouthed the story along with the narrator as he dragged a suit form out of the closet and set it up next to the workbench.
“The bird, whose name is Sasha, by a flute…”
Langston whistled the melody, unpacking the specialized optical resonator parts he’d requested. A flame retardant suit designed to his specifications was packed neatly in another case, and he took it out and put it on the suit form.
He started with the front of the suit jacket, carefully separating the material which revealed several rows of buttonhole-like cutouts. He worked nimbly, tucking and securing each resonator in its own cutout.
Chapter Eight
Eighteen months a
go at Long Beach Convention Center, Langston had given a presentation on how patient care will be influenced by the future of nanotechnology. It was a week of attending workshops and seminars that ended in job offers from several companies. On the last night of the convention, Langston walked out to his car, both pleased by how well the convention had gone and exhausted by how busy the past few days had been. He walked through the parking lot to find two men standing by his car, waiting for him.
“Well, well, well,” the taller of the two men said, his Texan drawl unmistakable. “If it isn’t the fine Mr. Crump in the flesh.”
Langston took his car keys out of his pocket. “Sorry, I’m not taking any offers right now.”
The man turned to his companion and gave a chuckle. “Did you hear that? He said he wasn’t taking any offers right now.”
The companion scowled, but remained silent. He was considerably younger than the Texan, and tattoos crawled out from under his wrinkled black t-shirt onto his pale neck and arms. Flames, a naked woman, and a snake coiled around a skull were colorfully stamped on his skin.
Langston turned his attention back to the Texan, and this time really looked at him. Black Stetson, crisp white button-up shirt under a black blazer, leather bolo tie, fitted blue jeans, snakeskin boots, and highway patrol sunglasses. Corey Hart’s “Sunglasses at Night” came to mind. Langston would have laughed if not for the very palpable edge in the air.
“It’s been a heck of day.” Langston could feel his smile falter. He glanced around. There were only a few cars left in the lot, and he didn’t see anyone from the convention. “I need to get back to my hotel.”
The Texan, who was blocking the driver’s side door to Langston’s car, did not move. Langston gripped the strap of his bag tightly.
“I’ve been reading up on you, Langston,” the Texan said. “I believe I like the cut of your jib.”
“I’m sorry. You are…?”
“You can call me J.T.” He tilted his head to the scowling, tattooed companion. “This is my assistant, Nate.”
“’Sup?” Nate offered.
An uncomfortable silence fell around them.
Langston cleared his throat. “I’m not entirely sure…” He didn’t know how to finish that thought.
“I need another tech,” J.T. said.
“Tech?”
J.T. nodded once, but didn’t elaborate.
“I’d love to look at your… company… after I get done with my current research.” Langston didn’t even sound convincing to himself.
“Naw,” J.T. said. “I need another tech now. Let’s sit in my car so we can have a little more privacy.”
“I need to be going. I’d be happy to take a business card.”
“Nate,” J.T. said.
Nate pulled up the hem of his shirt just enough to show Langston the handle of the gun tucked in his waistband. He held out his hand, palm up. “Keys.”
Langston didn’t move.
Nate reached for the gun. “I said keys.”
Langston handed over his car keys.
Nate crammed them into his pocket and held out his hand again. “Bag.”
Langston gave him his bag.
Nate jerked his head to the left. “This way.”
Langston followed J.T. and Nate to a white Hummer with tinted windows. All three of them got in the back seat, Langston crammed between the two men.
J.T. lit a cigarette and blew out the smoke slowly. “As I was saying. I need a technician.”
Langston coughed. “For what?”
“Well, now.” J.T. leaned back in the seat and propped his elbow on the door frame. “I provide goods and services to those in need. In order for me to do that, I need skilled people such as yourself.”
“I’m not following you.” Langston tried to find a more comfortable position on the slippery leather seat. “Do you need me to fix something?”
“I need you to make something, Langston. You see, I have high-profile clientele who have need of defense and weaponry.”
J.T. ended the word “weaponry” with a bit of a flourish that reminded Langston of Foghorn Leghorn.
Langston fidgeted. “Weapons?”
“That’s right. I’ve vetted you and want to add you to my… company? Is that what you called it?” J.T.’s gold-plated canine gleamed in the muted light of the parking lot.
“You… I mean, I…” Langston turned to look at Nate. Nate looked annoyed by Langston’s confusion. “You make weapons? Underground?”
“No,” J.T. said. “You make weapons underground. I complete transactions.”
“I don’t make weapons.”
“But you can, can’t you?”
Langston’s mouth worked, but nothing came out.
“Nate,” J.T. said.
Nate reached in the front seat and produced a fat, manila envelope. He dropped it into Langston’s lap. After a nod from J.T., Langston opened it. There was a huge wad of cash in large denominations. Underneath the cash was a thick stack of paper. He skimmed through several pages of legalese and elaborate descriptions of requested weapons. On the bottom of the last page, his signature had been perfectly forged.
“Um…”
“As you can see,” J.T. said, “you’ve already agreed to work with me, which was a mighty fine decision.”
“Um…”
“And you may have seen in the fine print, we have one year to deliver the list of requests to my client. I expect a blueprint for item one in forty-five days or less.”
“Um…”
“If you need any help with your deadline, I’m sure Nate can incentivize you.”
Langston found his words. “Can’t you find someone else to do this?”
J.T. took his time, blowing smoke rings that floated in wobbly circles before colliding with the ceiling and vaporizing. “Yes, but I don’t want to. I like your style.”
Langston couldn’t recall anytime he’d been complimented on his style. He flipped through the pages again, slower this time. He turned to item #3. “I don’t think I could, in good conscience, get involved in…” He brought the page to his face for closer inspection. “Is this supposed to repel a bullet?”
“Supposed to.”
“No, no.” Langston flipped through a couple more pages. “This is garbage. You can’t use magnets. The speed alone would be too—oh, what is this? This won’t work on lead! Who’s supposed to wear this thing? The Hulk? It would weigh a ton. And would you look at this?” He flicked the page with his finger. “Where did they get these numbers? Sure, they’re great to knock around in theory, but this would wreak havoc on an analogue.”
J.T. held out a pen. “Care to make some notes?”
Langston reached for the pen, but stopped. What am I doing? “I… shouldn’t.”
“And why not?”
“I make things to help people. You’re asking me to make things that hurt people. It wouldn’t be right.”
J.T. indicated the drawing on the page Langston held. “This little doodad here is supposed to keep someone from getting shot. I’d say that’s helpful, wouldn’t you?”
“Well, yes. But you mentioned weapons, too. Mr. J.T.—”
“No need for the ‘mister.’”
“Oh. Well, J.T., I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“Technically, Langston, you won’t be hurting anyone, now will you? Are you going to be the one who pulls the trigger?”
“No, but it’s just semantics, isn’t it? If I make the weapon and someone else uses it, didn’t I do the hurting, too?”
J.T. leaned forward to look at Nate. “I believe we’ve got ourselves a—what do you call ‘em? Existentialist?” Nate’s thin lips spread into a smile. J.T. sat back and returned his attention to Langston. “Look, son, I don’t have time for this horse shit.”
Langston slid the contract and money back into the envelope. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
“That’s a damn shame,” J.T. said. “I was hoping to avoid a trip to 5372 Graham Str
eet.”
The hairs on the back of Langston’s neck stood on end at the mention of his mother’s address.
“Since you want to carry on with ethical quandaries,” J.T. continued, “I have one for you. If you don’t cooperate and I put a slug in the back of your dear ol’ mother’s skull, did I kill her… or did you?”
Langston tightened his grip on the envelope until the thick creases in the paper bit into the flesh of his palms. He saw the glint of J.T.’s gold tooth again.
“What do you say, son?”
Not trusting himself to speak, Langston forced a nod instead.
J.T. slapped his knee heartily, laughing loudly. “That’s the spirit!”
Nate opened the door and got out. He yanked Langston out of the back seat and threw his keys and bag onto the pavement. “See you in Seattle, dickhead.”
With J.T. remaining in the back seat, Nate got behind the wheel of the Hummer and drove away, leaving Langston wheezing and angry, clutching his new contract of enslavement.
Chapter Nine
A melody from the computer in the living room pulled Langston out of his reminiscence. He put a resonator on the workbench, flexed his tired fingers, and walked to the next room. Everett was requesting a video chat.
Langston accepted the call, and Everett’s face appeared. “Hey! How was—”
“Where have you been?” Everett held up his hands, palms up. He let them fall onto the desk, making the image on the screen vibrate momentarily.
“I’ve been busy,” Langston said.
“Doing what?”
“Stuff. Oh, and thanks for my box of Christmas condoms.”
“I put some in your wallet, too. Did you see them?”
“How could I not? Like four of them fell out when I went to pay for gas. The cashier looked at me like I was a total perv.”
Everett burst out laughing. “Keep them in there so they’ll be handy.”
“Everyone knows you shouldn’t keep condoms in your wallet, especially not jammed all in there like you did it.”
“The only people who say that are the people not getting any.” Everett flicked his hand at the screen. “Never mind. I’ve got to tell you what I saw last week.”
The Wiseman Revelation (The Wiseman Series Book 2) Page 7