“What’s in the bag?” I asked.
“My D&D stuff.”
“You carry it around with you?”
“Totally.”
“But you said that no one around here even plays.”
“Which is why I have it with me at all times. I have to be ready when the opportunity arises.”
“Will you get in trouble for this?” Beeber asked.
“Not if you guys don’t tell anyone, but, honestly, it wouldn’t be the worst job to lose. I mean, shit—I have a PhD in Computer science from University of Hawaii, but this was all I could swing after grad school.”
“Dude? Seriously?” Beeber asked.
“Yeah, I know. It’s probably time to move to the mainland.”
“No doubt. I could get you a job in the Bay Area in about three seconds.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I have my own security software company called Helm’s Deep.”
“Holy fuck! You’re Justin Beeber?”
“In the flesh.”
“He’s not the Justin Beeber you’re probably thinking of,” I said.
“No shit. He’s the talented one. I studied some of your code in school. It was amazing,” Jerasian said, his face instantly lighting up.
“Thanks. It’s nice to be appreciated.”
I was watching real life nerds fall in love and decided that it was time to get the hell out of the hotel room and experience a little sunshine.
“Knock yourselves out, brave knights, I’m going to the beach.”
“Um, hello, I’m playing a Ranger, who, while being in the fighter class, is hardly a knight,” Beeber whined.
“And I’m playing a Wizard,” Doug said.
“And I’m playing a Rogue,” Jerasian added.
“And I’m going to be playing with myself for the rest of my life if I don’t get the fuck out of here,” I said.
I left the nerds to their nerding and walked down to the beach, where I passed a large party that was just being set up. The hotel staff were setting tables and laying out silverware and napkins while servers brought out large trays of food. I thought back to my incident at John’s party and my bad time with the poi and decided I should have a little talk with the chef. There was a cute young woman nearby, likely of Filippino descent, and she was busy lighting little Sterno canisters, so I went to her first.
“Excuse me. Are you the chef?”
“No, that would be Bianca. She’s right over there,” she said, pointing to a woman on the other side of the courtyard.
I walked over and saw that she did indeed look like a chef and wore the obligatory checkered pants, white shirt, hat, and, of course, clogs. She was probably around forty and appeared to be some kind of Pacific Islander with her lovely tanned skin and Polynesian features.
“Excuse me, chef,” I said.
“How can I help you, sir?”
“Well, I’m not sure how to say this because I really make it a habit never to complain to restaurant staff, but a few days ago I got some bad poi at a dinner here.”
“Are you talking about the vice president’s pre-wedding dinner?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. I got a terrible case of diarrhea—as did a number of other guests.”
The woman looked skeptical.
“I’m sorry, but I personally tasted every item that went out, and I can say without a doubt, that the poi was perfectly fine.”
“How do you explain the diarrhea? Could the poi have sat out too long and gone bad?
“No, obviously you don’t know poi. Even if it had sat out for a long time—hours or even overnight, it would become sour poi, which is also one of the ways we prepare and serve it.”
“Interesting. It doesn’t actually go bad.”
“Not in a way that would make you sick, but I’m still very sorry for your discomfort. I honestly can’t believe your food poisoning came from my kitchen. Cooking for me is a family experience, and I take it very seriously. If you are at one of my tables, then I cook for you like I do for my family. Only the best.”
I believed that the chef was sincere, and I hated that I even brought up the topic, except that more than one person getting sick was considered an epidemic and not something to be taken lightly. Still, her explanation of poi was hard to contradict.
“Well, thanks for taking the time to talk to me,” I said, now feeling even more confused.
“You’re welcome.”
I was about to walk away when I remembered something the bartender had said.
“Oh sorry. I have one more question. Was Rudy Rafael working that party?”
She thought a moment then nodded.
“Yeah, he helped with food setup that night. Sad what happened to him—even if he was kind of an idiot.”
“Yeah, I suppose. Well, thanks again, I’ll get out of your hair now.”
“No problem, and sometime I would like to cook for you again and show you that I stand behind my work.”
“That would be nice.”
I left chef Bianca and moved down to the beach then kicked off my thongs and walked to the water’s edge and paused to gaze out at the clear blue Pacific Ocean. It was kind of frustrating that I was at the mercy of technology and therefore didn’t have a lot to do today except relax and reflect. I needed a break in this case more than ever, but all I could do was wait. I moved out into the water and played in the small waves and did a little body surfing before coming out to walk along the beach and do a little people watching.
The sun was directly overhead, and the sand was hot, thus forcing me to stick close to the water so that I didn’t burn my feet. There was a crowd of youngsters building sand castles just ahead, so I segued inland to the grass that bordered the sand and continued my northwesterly journey along the shore. Up ahead, I saw a man going for drinks, and he had apparently opted to wear his wife’s pink frilly sandals in order to make the painful journey over the burning hot sand that loomed between their reclining chairs and the bar. I had deduced this fact because the sandals were at least three sizes too small and had large yellow decorative flowers over the toes, which made them look completely hilarious on his large manly feet. As if that weren’t enough, their small size made for an even better show when he tried to walk, as his toes spilled over the edge and looked a bit like shrimp cocktail, which made his steps short and awkward and his progress painfully slow. He noticed me watching and smiled as he approached.
“Anything for a drink,” he said.
“Don’t worry. It takes balls to wear pink sandals.”
“And even bigger ones if they happen to have yellow flowers.”
“No doubt,” I said, before the two of us shared a small laugh.
I continued on and eventually left the resort’s grounds and continued for another hour and enjoyed the time and used it to clear my head and think about things. My scrot-sense had been tingling on and off for the last few days, so something was brewing in my subconscious. I eventually turned around and headed back to the resort to find his majesty the vice president sitting on a lounge chair on the beach. Sandra and a bevy of other agents were also nearby, and they were ever watchful as I sat down and took up residence beside Sasquatch.
“What gives, miracle worker?” he asked.
“Not much. Just waiting.”
“Well, at least the girls are having fun.”
“Want to go snorkeling?”
“Sure, but Sandra won’t be happy. She’s a little afraid of the ocean.”
“She can’t swim?”
“She can swim like a fish, but she’s afraid of sharks.”
“Aren’t we all.”
John signaled for Sandra to come over, and when he explained his plan, he received a decidedly unhappy look in return.
“You’ll love it out there. I promise,” I said.
“We’ll see,” she responded.
I headed off to grab my snorkel gear from my room, and, ten minutes later, I came back just in time to see Sandra sl
ip off her cover up dress and reveal a spectacular figure. I already knew she was extremely attractive, but I had no idea she was hiding the body of a fucking fitness model all this time.
“Sweet Lord, Sandra, you are stunning! How is it that someone hasn’t locked you into holy matrimony yet?”
“I haven’t found the right guy—or girl, for that matter,” she said, a little sadly.
“Well, being open minded to either improves your odds by at least fifty-percent, and if you continue to wear that bikini, he or she will surely find you.”
The three of us headed down to the water and began swimming along the hotel’s reef, and the other Secret Service agents watched from the beach as a small Coast Guard ribbed inflatable idled just offshore, where it thankfully kept its distance so as not to scare the fish. It was a good day on the water with excellent visibility due to the minimal amount of wind or wave action, and we managed to see a turtle and just about every other major fish. Sandra was actually starting to relax and enjoy herself—that is, until a school of young tunas encircled us, and she panicked and climbed up onto my back. The crisis was soon averted, and we continued on until eventually returning to shore about two hours later, at which point John and I decided to spend another hour watching girls in bikinis as they frolicked on the beach. One girl, a drop dead gorgeous twentysomething, recognized John and looked enamored as she approached him. He was polite and talked with her for some time and finished up by autographing a cocktail napkin. She thanked him, and, as she was walking away, she suddenly stopped and turned back towards us.
“If you run for president, I will totally vote for you,” she said.
“Thanks,” he responded.
The girl turned and continued on, and both John and I watched her lovely tan backside as it moved down the beach.
“I’m impressed,” I said.
“Why?”
“You didn’t flirt at all. The john I knew would have had that woman in his room in about six seconds flat.”
“This is the new John, and he’s desperately in love.”
“I can see that, and it makes me happy, because, believe it or not, I really want you two to get married, so you can be the next president, and it’s not because I think it’ll make me cool because I know you. It’s because I sincerely think you’ll do a good job.”
John regarded me for a long time, and I was starting to wonder if he was about to cry. We usually only gave each other insults, so compliments could get pretty emotional. Before either of us could say another word, we heard a loud wet fart and turned to see Corn was soaking wet from head to toe, as he had obviously just come from the ocean.
“Am I interrupting something? You two look like you were about to kiss,” he said.
“Look, John, it’s a talking whale, and the fucker came up on to land to empty its lower blowhole.”
“Fuck you, this is all muscle,” Corn responded, as he patted his belly.
“Apparently, it’s a talking whale that is very sensitive about its weight,” John added.
“Perhaps we should we get some kind of gurney and carry him back into the ocean.”
“Dude, we’re going to need a fucking flatbed.”
“Ha ha ha—making fun of the married guy. Well, you two assholes will see what happens after you walk down the aisle.”
“We’re going to get fat?”
“Oh yeah, now enough about me—what are you two lovebirds up to?” Corn asked.
“Snorkeling and moping, mostly.”
“And Finn was espousing his undying love to me until you interrupted us with that fucking fart.”
“I was just setting the proper mood. So, any good news yet?” Corn asked.
“No, but we should have something soon. In fact, I should probably head back to my room, get cleaned up, and check in. Do you fuckers want to meet in my suite for a drink in a half hour or so?”
“Sounds pretty romantic,” Corn said.
“It will be, once you two get there.”
“I’m in,” John said.
“Will there be hors d'oeuvres?” Corn asked.
“Oui.”
“Well then I’m in too,” Corn added.
I walked to my room and was surprised to find that the nerds were working rather than playing D&D, and all three were in front of Beeber’s laptop talking animatedly about root access and a bunch of other shit. Apparently, Jerasian really did know a thing or two about software.
“What’s up, nerds?”
“We’ve had a breakthrough.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, thanks to Jerasian.”
“Do tell.”
Beeber went on to explain that he was having a hard time focusing on the D&D game because his software hadn’t cracked the Governor’s firewall. He and Jerasian started discussing the problem and rewrote a piece of Beeber’s code that apparently allowed it to detect and bypass unnecessary information and drastically reduce the anti-encryption time—whatever the fuck that meant.
“We’re in,” Beeber said.
“Sweet fucking titties. Start searching, gentle nerd!”
Beeber sifted through the various sent emails and soon isolated the one in question—namely the one sent from the Governor’s office to the Police Commissioner. I’d glanced at it briefly in the commissioner’s office, but it had obviously been a dead end, as its sender came with a generic title. Any one of the Governor’s staff could have sent it, including the Governor himself, so I’d never know the answer to my question without questioning each and every person in his employ. Of course, if that person were a part of the conspiracy, then they obviously wouldn’t tell me shit, so we had to use the nerds. Beeber, meanwhile, continued his search, and, upon finding the sender of the email, he looked up at me with legitimate surprise.
“Shit, it was sent by the governor himself,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty much, as it came from his actual computer.”
“Someone else in his office could have accessed it.”
“This came via his official email account—from his home computer.”
“Fuck, that means our conspirators have the help of a pretty powerful person, but the upside is that we finally have something. Nice job, my brilliant amigos! Now, I’m going to celebrate with a shower.”
I left the guys and proceeded to take a lovely hot shower then dressed and returned to find them all still engrossed in their snooping activity. It was nice to see them hard at work, and it gave me faith that we’d soon bust this fucker wide open. I looked at my watch and saw that it was almost five, and my company would be arriving soon. No sooner had I stepped up to the bar that there was a knock at the door, and in walked John and Corn, though Sandra remained outside.
“Hello, boys. The nerds here have been busy, so I have some good news,” I said.
John and Corn came over and joined me at the bar, and Jerasian looked up for a moment to see who had arrived and practically shit his pants.
“Holy shit!” he said, loudly.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“What did you find?” Beeber asked.
“Um, the vice president of the United States.”
“Yeah, that’s who all this is for,” Beeber said.
“Oh my God. I’m sorry about the profanity, sir.”
“Not a fucking problem,” John said.
“Don’t worry, youngster, the vice president is more than comfortable with all manner of profanity—and depravity, for that matter.”
“Speaking of which—where’s my fucking cocktail, Finn?”
“Coming, your majesty.”
The nerds returned to their work, and I set about mixing up a pitcher of Mai Tai’s. Finished, I gave john and Corn a glass then offered one to the nerds, and they all accepted gratefully, except for Jerasian, as he was worried he might get fired. Beeber explained that he already had a far better job waiting for him in San Francisco, so it was time to live a little. Jerasian accepted a coc
ktail, and, drinks in hand, our merry band of men and nerds toasted and set to work on the first cocktail of the evening.
Now that the liquor was flowing, I explained our latest news, and John’s mood immediately improved, and he pulled out his phone and called Frank. Frank was equally happy, and he would, in turn, make some calls in his old boy’s network to get things rolling for a meeting with the Governor. It was a decent break in the case and would hopefully lead to something concrete, though we were approaching treacherous ground. If the governor was actually complicit in the conspiracy, then things were going to get very complicated—very quickly. Hopefully, he was just a man passing on a favor for a friend—a friend who would be our next link in uncovering the bad guys behind this conspiracy. Frank called back about a half a cocktail later and said that the Governor was in the middle of a formal dinner and would call as soon as he was free.
“Shit, we need a name right now if we’re going to figure this out in time,” I said.
“I know, but what choice do we have. Frank’s doing his best,” John said.
I made another pitcher then filled everyone’s glasses before taking a sip, and, as I sat there thinking about the situation, I suddenly felt a little bothered that we had managed to uncover so much yet still hadn’t salvaged John’s political career.
“I can’t believe you were finally about to make it to the alter when all this shit went down,” I said.
“Yeah, though I got pretty close once before.”
“Bullshit.”
“It’s true.”
“Really? When?”
“Right after Afghanistan.”
“Who was the unlucky girl?”
“Melissa Williams.”
“Wait a minute. You were going to marry Melissa Williams?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“What happened? Why did she dump you?” Corn asked.
“She didn’t me. I dumped her.”
“No fucking way!” Corn said.
“It was a difficult time, as I had just returned home, and I realized marrying her wasn’t the right decision. Plus she was bat-shit crazy.”
The Poi Predicament Page 33