by Ken Benton
Jessie answered for him. “He’s a magnet scientist.”
Joel turned to encounter a mischievous smile from Jessie.
“We both are,” Debra said. “That is, we are geologists who specialize in geomagnetics. It’s not quite as glamorous as that probably sounds, either.”
“Hmm.” Joel took a gulp of beer. “I know I’ve driven by a … geomagnetic observation center of some kind here in Fredericksburg.”
“Yes, the observatory,” she replied. “That’s where we both work, when we’re in the field.”
“And where they met,” Jessie added.
Joel set his glass down. “I don’t really understand what that is, to be honest, but it sounds like something cool. For people of education, I mean. I’ve always made my living selling this or hustling that, ever since dropping out of city college. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be paid for having a brain.” He paused. “But, all I ever wanted to do was run my own business.”
“That’s why we’re so perfect for each other,” Jessie said climbing his shoulder to kiss his cheek. “We share the same spirit.”
She then turned to Debra. “And maybe why you two are as well, right? Although, you know what they say about workplace relationships…”
Debra frowned. “No, what do they say?”
“Yeah,” Archer said. “What do they say?”
Fortunately, the food arrived before Jessie was forced to answer. She changed the subject and made light talk about what it was like to be a yoga instructor with her own studio, but the conversation died. Not so much due to eating as to everyone using the opportunity to read their phone screens. Joel got the impression they had all been resisting the urge to check them out of politeness during the pre-dinner chat, and now at long last were able to submit to the ever present tug.
Joel was not immune, either. He checked his own screen to read a message from his salesman who’d wrapped up the deal on the Mustang and was closing the lot for the night, since he also had obligations this evening. When Joel looked back at the table, he noticed Jessie reading Twitter, something which struck him as inappropriate when out with company. Messages were one thing. Even Facebook had reached acceptable status at the dinner table these days. But descending to nonessential social media flirted with rudeness.
The phones, having gained a foothold on the scene, were not easily going away again. Everyone set theirs within sight now, where the devices remained even as plates were cleared and dessert menus appeared. That’s why Debra and Archer both reacted simultaneously, making casual reaches for their phones with spare hands, when both chirped at the same time.
Their casual attitudes abruptly changed.
“Wow, did you get this, sweetie?” Debra said to Archer.
“Yep,” Archer replied. “Just our luck.”
“What’s up?” Jessie asked.
Debra made a sad face. “We both, uh, have to go back to work tonight. Shoot. I should not have consented to a second glass of wine. I’m going to be tired.”
“You must be joking,” Jessie said. “Why?”
“The nature of our profession is that we are always on emergency call. First time for me.”
“Not me,” Archer groaned.
“There’s a magnet emergency?” Jessie asked. Her tone bordered on mocking.
“Could be,” Archer said tossing back the remainder of his drink. “An emergency with Earth’s geomagnetic field, that is. Looks like a solar storm has been observed. The last time this happened, it ended up missing us by a comfortable margin. I still had to pull an all-nighter.”
“Sheesh.” Jessie uncapped a tube of lipstick. “They have you guys jumping like Chicken Little because of stuff happening on the sun? Don’t they know it’s a big ball of fire? Of course it’s going to have flames jumping off it.”
Joel picked up his own phone and remarked, “A solar flare is a potentially serious event, actually, if it heads our way.”
“Yes it is,” Debra said. “See, your man here knows. Even if he did drop out of city college.”
Joel shot Debra a stern glance, but her blue-eyed smile contained only playful innocence, taming him instantly.
The waitress returned. The four of them proceeded to get the check and settle up. Debra and Archer reluctantly said their goodbyes and hurried out. Joel sat with Jessie a while longer, trying to think of an excuse to go back to DC tonight so he could take care of lingering bookkeeping chores. He also felt a sudden desire to prepare a few things at home in case of a power outage.
Jessie would have none of it. She’d been nagging him lately about being a workaholic. Joel conceded to spending the night after she began rubbing his arm. Maybe he’d get an early start in the morning.
* * *
Mick Murray pondered the state of his career as he worked on polishing another noncommittal opinion. This part of his job was beginning to become frustrating. Not that Mick didn’t enjoy the distinguished position of clerking for a Supreme Court Justice. It was a dream job, to be sure. He just wished one of the other eight justices had hired him. Any of the other eight.
The phone rang. Mick tried to grab it before the second ring with his left arm, which now dangled an unrolled sleeve.
“I thought you’d still be there,” the voice of Associate Justice Janet Peterman said through the receiver. “You don’t get paid for overtime, Mick. Go home.”
“I’m almost done readying your statement on the Apple anti-trust case,” Mick replied, cradling the phone in his neck and re-rolling his sleeve. “We need to get that done. Everyone else has already completed theirs.”
“Oh, right,” she said. “Thanks for being on it. Have you read the others, by any chance?”
“The others?”
“Just curious.”
“Some,” Mick answered. “Yes.”
“What do you think?”
“About what, Ms. Peterman?”
“About my opinion, in light of the others you’ve read.”
Mick tried to keep his sigh from going through the phone, and, realizing he failed, said, “I think your reputation as a moderate is secure.”
“You still like working for a moderate justice, don’t you?”
Uh-oh. Mick straightened up in his chair.
“Yes, yes, of course.”
She laughed. “That was far from convincing. It’s only an opinion statement, not a vote. I don’t need to telegraph my position ahead of time.”
“You rarely do.”
The laughter stopped.
“Any of the others noncommittal?” Justice Peterman asked.
“No,” Mick said. “The ones I perused, at least, are all lining up against Apple.”
“Really!” She paused a moment. “Tell me, what do you think about the case?”
“What … what I think?”
“Yes, if you have a take on it.”
“Well, that should hardly matter.”
“Off the record, Mick. And no, it doesn’t matter. It certainly won’t influence me. I know how to do my job.”
“Of course, Ms. Peterman. I didn’t mean to suggest—”
“I do respect your opinion from a cultural standpoint, though, as someone representative of your generation. You have a good head on your shoulders. With the right experience, you might be capable of doing my job someday.”
“Thank you, Ms. Peterman. That means a lot coming from you.”
A noise in the hallway drew Mick’s attention. The frosted glass of the cracked-open office door prevented him from seeing who it was. Probably the janitor or night security.
“So, do you have an opinion?” Justice Peterman pressed.
Mick thought for another second before giving his answer.
“Well, I like Apple. I buy their products, and I’m a stockholder, so this is hardly unbiased. But I have never understood anti-trust law. To me it seems like penalizing a business for being successful.”
“I get that,” she said. “But the anti-trust laws themse
lves are not in question here. Just whether the spirit of them is being violated.”
“And I get that,” Mick replied. “But I cannot see myself ever supporting an anti-trust complaint. So I guess I couldn’t do your job after all.”
Her voice lowered. “Mick, do you think I should start taking a more firm stance on some of my opinion statements?”
“Now that is none of my business whatsoever.”
“Oh, come on. Pretend you’re talking to a friend at a cocktail party.”
Uncomfortable silence.
“Yes,” Mick finally answered. “If you have a position formed, that is. I don’t believe you should make any effort at maintaining a moderate image. Let that come naturally, if it does. Please forgive me.”
Laughter again, thank God.
“You’re forgiven. This is why I like working with you. You’re the most brutally honest person on Capitol Hill.”
The office door swung open, startling Mick. Two court policemen he knew stood there, wearing their daytime uniforms. Their white shirts looked freshly-pressed, as they do at the beginning of a long day. Rather than greet him as they normally would, they both turned to the side and called for someone else down the hallway.
“Hold on a second, Ms. Peterman. Security just came in.”
“They probably want you to go home, too,” her voice spoke through the receiver as Mick leaned away from it.
A man in a full dress military uniform appeared, slowly entering the room. Middle-aged and decorated, he moved and acted as someone of authority.
“Are any of the justices here tonight?” the soldier asked.
“No,” Mick said. “No one else at all, but me. I happen to have one of the justices on the line, though.”
“Okay.” The soldier nodded and pointed at the phone. “Tell her to come in early, please, to pack up everything required for moving. We’ll need to contact the others, too.”
“Um … moving?” Mick asked.
“Yes.” The soldier looked around the office. “We’re moving the court somewhere safe for … a few days.”
“Ms. Peterman,” Mick said back into the phone. “Something’s happening.”
Chapter Two
“Dang it!” Joel yanked the file cabinet drawer harder with each tug. “No wonder everyone stores everything in digital clouds these days.”
The drawer finally gave way, almost throwing him into the mini-fridge. That would have been bad, because the coffee pot sat atop it, still full, as Joel had not yet poured his first cup.
The customer on the lot wandered inside the small mobile home that served as Joel’s office. Not many did that, as the adjoining mobile home, being the official sales room and customer lounge, was more than twice the size and much more inviting. This guy didn’t fit the usual profile. Him being here this early—and not even wanting to take the truck he was interested in for a test drive—told Joel he was sold on it before he arrived. The odd thing was the vehicle had never been advertised, and was kept buried deep in the lot.
Somewhere in the back of Joel’s mind he knew he didn’t want to sell his only remaining diesel truck. But in the front of his mind he fulfilled the usual role of the self-made businessman who would do anything within reason to close a deal. The salesman part of him needed such constant nourishment, and it was wise to keep him fed. The salesman, after all, was the one who provided for the other faces of Joel. It was that part of him who proved to his father so many years ago that not only could an entrepreneurial spirit not be crushed, but it could make a man a better living than his dad’s short list of acceptable career paths for him. For a while there, he really showed his dad.
Those were the days. Maybe it was best his dad couldn’t see him now, reduced to a used car hustler. The increasing overhead of this business kept Joel from enjoying any excess the last few years. Back in the day, there used to be plenty of excess, but it was all pretty much spent. Much of it on tangible assets, to be sure. Most of the time those assets remained difficult to appreciate from an everyday living perspective.
“So what’s your best cash price?” the man in his office asked. His tone lacked patience. Joel decided to have some fun with that.
“Coffee?” Joel offered.
“No. I’m ready to pay right now, and drive away in it, if you make me the right deal.”
“Sure,” Joel said as an automatic response. “Let me get myself a cup. Still a little early for me.”
“Why is there no price in the window?” the man asked wiping his thin-frame eyeglasses with the bottom of his untucked golf shirt. “Every other vehicle on the lot has one, as far as I can see.”
Joel feigned a confused look and carefully guarded his coffee mug while slipping past the man, drawing him back outside. Before they descended the three steps to the asphalt, Joel noticed a military vehicle speeding by on the street. That was the third one this morning.
“Let’s take another look at it and talk numbers,” Joel said even as part of him screamed in protest. This was going to be a battle of Joel’s personalities. The salesman usually won those.
The phone in Joel’s pants pocket buzzed. He ignored it as he traversed the maze of cars on the lot, customer in tow. Before going beyond earshot of the office phone, Joel heard that one start ringing, too.
“I really don’t need to see it again,” the customer protested.
“Maybe I do,” Joel said.
Five seconds after the land line stopped ringing, his pocket began buzzing again. Someone urgently wanted him.
Never let anything interrupt a deal. Joel pointed to three of his other full-size trucks.
“Make you a heck of a deal on any of those.”
The customer put his glasses back on. “None of those are diesel.”
“I see,” Joel said.
“Mister, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m a bit pressed for time. So if you could just name your price…”
“Please call me Joel. All right, the red F-250 in the back. For cash on the barrel, or a bank transfer today, I’ll let that go for…” he sipped at his coffee. “Seventeen even.”
The customer scowled. “Come on, man.”
“Joel.”
“Joel. I heard you ran an honest lot here. I’m not in the mood to haggle. I’m not a fool, either.”
Joel forced a grin. “I guess you don’t like the price.”
“It’s fifteen years old—”
“Fourteen.”
“With a hundred and sixty thousand miles—”
“Hundred and fifty.”
“And rust everywhere. Worth maybe half that price. But I’ll give you twelve.”
“Only surface rust. And not that much of it, really. None where it counts. Runs like a top, and the four-wheel drive works flawlessly. These are getting harder to find in a crew cab. Brand new tires. Good ones.”
“Thirteen,” the man said. “That’s what I can do.”
Joel shook his head. “Sorry. Not feeling thirteen right now. Maybe if you come back tonight after happy hour I’ll have a different perspective. We’re usually open late.”
“I’m leaving town today,” he said. “In that F-250, I was hoping. Throw in a full tank and I’ll go thirteen-five. Final offer.”
“Car dealers don’t keep more than a quarter tank in their vehicles, at most. And we don’t have gas here.”
“I’ll still go thirteen-five. Take it or leave it.”
Joel smiled. The deal was nicely profitable, and he did have a line on another diesel truck coming in. The salesman in him instinctively reached his hand out for a deal-cinching shake.
But the customer turned around. “Where is the closest diesel station?” he said looking about.
“I’ll show you.” Joel rerouted his still-outstretched hand into his pocket and retrieved his cell phone. But before he could open the map app, it buzzed with another incoming call, from Jessie. He had no real choice but to take it.
“Excuse me a moment.” Joel accepted the call and too
k a half-step sideways to talk. “Hi, honey. I’m on the lot with a customer.”
“Debra says we’re in trouble,” Jessie blurted.
“Who’s in trouble?” Joel switched the phone to his other ear.
“We are. All of us. Like everyone in the country.”
“Because of the solar flare?” Joel asked. He noticed a sudden frown on his customer’s face.
“Right. She says it’s a huge geomagnetic storm, whatever that is, and they think it could cause an extended national blackout, and maybe destroy all kinds of electronic things everywhere and cause chaos. I usually don’t listen to doomsday stuff like this, but the way she is talking has me scared, Joel.”
“Calm down, honey. What does she mean by huge? How huge?”
“Big. I don’t know! She compared it to something she called a ... carry-ton, I think.”
“The Carrington event?”
“Yes, that’s it. Debra says this one is three times bigger than that one, whatever that means. And it will happen around noon tomorrow, according to her boss.”
Moment of silence while Joel’s brain raced and the customer’s frown intensified.
“Joel?” Jessie said with obvious growing distress.
“Still here. You have classes scheduled today?”
“Yes.”
“Cancel them and start packing, like you are getting ready for a long camping trip. Okay?”
“What? Why? I just wanted you to come over and be with me.”
“I’ll be there tonight, Jess. Don’t worry. But we may need to hit the road. It’s going to be okay, I promise. I’ll take care of you.”
“Hit the road where?”
“I’ll call you later, all right? And I’ll see you tonight. Thanks for telling me!”
“Joel…”
“Gotta go. Love you. Talk to you in a while.”
Joel hung up.
“Fifteen thousand,” the customer immediately said. “Bank transfer, right now, as-is.” This time he extended his hand.
Joel shook his head. “Sorry, friend. This truck is no longer for sale.”