Terminal Compromise

by by Winn Schwartau

"Jealous?" Scott asked gently. He knew about Arlene's reticence to try anything new, out of the ordinary. She was very pleased with her life in Westchester. She felt that knowing someone who lived in Paradise whom she could visit once a year was new-ness enough.

  "No, man," Tyrone said genuinely, speaking as himself again. "I got exactly what I wanted." He cocked his head at the pool, where Arlene seemed more relaxed than she had in years. "Can't you see? She's miserable, but she's mine. Scott, you've lived your fantasy, made a difference. Now, it's my turn."

  Scott looked over at Arlene. "Hey, shit for brains," he said to Tyrone. "She's no slouch. It's what the hell she's doing with you I never understood." Scott lunged at Tyrone's attention- getting sized abdomen with the steak fork.

  "Nice and juicy," retorted Tyrone, patting his prominent stomach.

  "You're not my type. I like mine lean. I cut off the fat," Scott barbed. Before Tyrone could get in his jibe Scott called out, "Steaks' on. Outside black, inside mooing."

  The girls smacked their lips in anticipation and sat in the elegant all weather PVC furniture. A red sailor's delight sun was mere inches above the horizon, setting to the west over Hassel and Water Islands which provide umbrage to Blue Beard's harbor of choice.

  The men were providing all services this evening and the ladies were luxuriating in this rare opportunity. Little did they know, or little did they let on, that they knew the men enjoyed the opportunity to demonstrate their culinary skills without female interference. Beside, thought Scott, it was the maid's day off.

  "Seriously, though," Tyrone said quietly as Scott piled the plates with steaks and potatoes. "I know you better than that. I don't see how you can do nothing. You don't know how to sit your ass still for ten minutes. It's not your personality. Don't you agree Arlene?"

  "Yes dear," she said, still talking to Sonja.

  "And that room you call your office, Jesus. You have more equip- ment in there than . . ."

  "It looks like more than it is . . ." Scott downplayed the point. "Mainly communications. The local phone company is a joke, so I installed an uplink. No big deal."

  "C'mon, man, I just can't see you sitting on the sidelines." Tyrone stressed the word 'you'. "Not with what's happening now? There must be a thousand stories out there . . ."

  "And a thousand and one reporters. Too much noise, too busy for my liking. After the Homosoto story, if there's one luxury I've learned to live with, it's that I can pick and choose what I do." Scott spoke much too reserved for the Scott Mason Tyrone knew.

  "Aha! So you are up to something. I knew it. I gave you one, maybe two months, but I never figured you'd last three."

  They carried the four plates laden with steaks and potatoes over to the table where their spouses waited. Fresh beers awaited their much appreciated efforts.

  "I do get a little itchy and I read a lot." Tyrone glared at Scott with disbelief. "No really, just a little research," laughed Scott in mock defense. "O.K., I received a call, and it sounded kind of interesting, so I've been looking into it."

  "Poking around, here and there and everywhere?"

  "Kinda, just following up a few leads."

  "Just a few?"

  "Well, maybe more than a few," Scott admitted.

  "When did this little project begin?" Tyrone asked accusingly. He suspected Scott was hiding a detail or two.

  "It's not really a project . . ."

  "Don't skirt the issue. When?"

  Scott lowered his head. "Two weeks after we got here."

  Tyrone stifled what might otherwise have become a volcanic roar of laughter. "Two weeks? Ha!" Tyrone needled. "You only lasted two weeks? How did Sonja feel about that?" He looked over Scott's at better half listen in.

  "Ah, well, she sort of insisted . . ."

  "You drove her nuts? In two weeks?" Sonja shook her head vigor- ously in agreement but kept speaking to Arlene Duncan.

  "Kind of; semi-sorta-kinda-maybe." Scott grinned impishly. "But, yeah, I have been working on something." He couldn't keep it to himself.

  "Dare I ask?"

  "Off the record?" Scott sounded insistent.

  "This is a twist. How about attorney-client privilege?" Tyrone asked. Scott didn't disagree. "Good," said Tyrone. "Give me a dollar. That's my yearly fee."

  Scott complied, finding a soaking wet dollar bill in his swim- ming trunks. He laid it next to Tyrone's plate.

  "Well?" Tyrone asked with great interest.

  "Well, I discovered we never developed the A-Bomb to end World War II."

  "Excuse me?"

  "Someone gave it to us."

  Afterword

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