Book 2: 3rd World Products, Inc. Page 6

  Williams was furious. “You can't threaten me with shit like that. I know my rights."

  "Uh, huh. You think about this very carefully, Williams; some very powerful people are involved in making and marketing flitters. Big money corporations and big government agencies. If you piss them off, you can be absolutely certain that they'll piss on you. People usually wind up jobless and broke after they mess with big corporations and governments, Williams. This is still just a simple matter of an unruly, undisciplined, obnoxious brat, misbehaving in a violent manner intended to damage someone else's property. Instead of taking a chance on having your world demolished around you, why not just call this incident one of your son's learning experiences? He got wet. He didn't get hurt."

  Williams floundered briefly, then belligerently asked, “Well, if you don't own that flitter, who does? Who do you work for?"

  "You'll find that out if you try to file a lawsuit, Williams. Not before. How bad do you want to know? Wouldn't it be a lot safer for your family's financial well-being to simply put a leash on that kid and teach him some manners? I won't believe that nobody's suggested that to you before now, or that if you don't do it soon someone will be doing it for you later. If he pulls crap like that after he's sixteen or so, you'll be pawning your world to bail him out and pay legal fees. That's if someone doesn't just shoot him when he turns mean, of course."

  Anne had been quiet, but watchful, during our exchange.

  "Mr. Williams,” she said. She had to say it twice to get his attention. “Mr. Williams. As he said, the entire incident was recorded, and this hotel will not be held responsible in any way for the uncontrollable actions of patrons, particularly minors. Should you choose to try to sue us, you can expect a long, drawn-out, expensive court battle. That's all I have to say on this matter. Now, people, I need my office back, so if there's more to be said between you, you'll have to say it somewhere else. Good afternoon."

  She pressed a button on her speakerphone and four hotel cops entered the room. They stood in pairs on either side of Williams and me and looked as grim as possible while awaiting Anne's orders.

  I'd said my piece. I stood up and nodded to Anne, then headed for the door. The kid jumped out of his chair and grabbed at his father's arm.

  "But Dad..!"

  Williams looked down at his offspring and snarled, “Shut up, Billy."

  "But Daddy..!"

  Williams grabbed the kid by his biceps and lifted him off the floor so they were face-to-face. His voice was low and dangerous when he said, “I-said-to-shut-the-fuck-up, Billy."

  Williams glared around the room, then led—dragged, really—Billy out of the office and down the hall to the elevators. The cops and I were watching them leave when Anne tapped on her desk.

  "Harry, have your people keep an eye on them,” she ordered. “Especially that brat. Any more trouble of any kind and they're out of here instantly."

  As I turned to leave with the others, Anne pointed at me and said, “Ed. You stay."

  When the others had left, she asked, “Do you own that flitter?"

  "In every sense that matters, it belongs to me."

  She nodded. “Spoken evasively enough. Do you work for a government agency?"

  I smiled slightly. “Don't we all, to some degree? Most Americans work four months a year to pay their taxes."

  Anne stood and came around the desk to stand gazing at me.

  "I don't like evasive answers,” she said.

  "Then don't ask questions that require them."

  "You aren't just another Trekkie. What the hell are you doing at a sci-fi convention, anyway?"

  "I like science fiction. I read it and catch most of the better movies sooner or later. I even write it and sell it on the web. Mostly, though, I'm here to distribute some flyers and visit a friend in the area."

  "Flyers? What kind of flyers?"

  I produced one of my Aurora Universe Writer's Group flyers from a shirt pocket and handed it to her. She scanned it quickly and put it on her desk, then fixed me with another unwavering gaze.

  "Could you really have called up an IRS audit?"

  "Anybody can do that if they don't mind being audited themselves, Anne. It's kind of like calling an air strike on your own position, but it isn't all that bad for someone with nothing to hide."

  "Another indirect answer."

  "Sorry ‘bout that. Since I'm not making you happy, maybe I ought to go."

  "What about our lunch date?"

  "I didn't know if we still had one."

  "We do,” she said, tapping her phone.

  Her secretary answered, “Yes, Ms. Carson?"

  "I'll be at lunch, Beverly. I don't know how long I'll be out. Beep me if anything major comes up."

  "Yes, Ms. Carson."

  Anne turned to me. “Where and what do you want to eat?"

  I said, “I don't know the town. You do. Your choice. No Mexican food and no sushi and I'll probably be okay."

  She muttered, “Sushi,” and shuddered. “No, no sushi. There's a nice surf ‘n turf around the corner and down the hill. We'll go there."

  Without waiting to see if I was agreeable, she simply headed for the door. It surprised me that she carried no purse, but I said nothing about it. I figured she might be looking for a reason to park me at the elevators for a moment while she went back into her office but, when the elevator doors opened, she stepped right in.

  At the front desk, she held a brief conversation with the clerk and one of the bellhops before rejoining me.

  "Told them to watch out for the brat,” she said. “You're wondering why I'm not carrying a purse, aren't you?” She grinned. “I saw you looking."

  "Not many women go anywhere without one."

  She removed her hotel name badge and said, “I don't need money. You're buying."

  I put my DragonCon badge in my pocket and asked, “What about your makeup and ID and all that?"

  "Are you saying I need makeup?"

  I pretended to examine her face for flaws.

  "No way, miLady. You don't need that stuff at all."

  Anne reached in her coat pocket and produced a driver's license and a money clip. She pulled her cell phone out of another pocket and a tiny makeup kit from another.

  "How good of you to say so. Here's my ID, cell phone, makeup, and money. I'm all set. Happy now?"

  "Delirious. Ecstatic. Hungry, too."

  Chapter Six

  Anne ordered some kind of multicolored pasta dish. I didn't care for the smell of it, so the name of it didn't stick with me. My steak and fries came with a large side salad and a big glass of tea. Anne's expression said 'that figures'. I shrugged and dug in.

  "Not very daring about food, are you, Ed?"

  "If it doesn't smell good to me, there's no reason to think it will taste good."

  She glanced at her plate in surprise, then back at me.

  "What's wrong with it?"

  "Probably nothing, except that it doesn't appeal to me. Let's not waste time discussing food, Anne."

  She nodded as she forked up some of the stuff on her plate. Before she took another mouthful, she asked, “What do you think about Williams and his son?"

  "I think he should have swatted the kid's ass more often along the way to head off something like today."

  "You believe in using corporal punishment?"

  "Only until they make sergeant."

  "Huh? Oh. I see. A rather small joke."

  "Okay, then, only until they've learned to communicate and behave."

  "I see. Don't you think that violence is learned?"

  "Learned? Sure. It's also innate, and the potentials for it are about equal in boys and girls until after puberty. Billy's a violent brat. Who'd teach him to kick people? His parents? Doubtful. Other kids? Maybe. Or did it just pop into his pointy little head? Everything has a starting point."

  "I don't believe in hitting children in any fashion."

  "Another conversational dead end, then. Let'
s not discuss religion, either, and maybe we should avoid politics. You wouldn't convert me, and vice versa."

  "Was that sarcasm, Ed?"

  "Nope. Just an observation. Our differences probably run a lot deeper than that, too. Why don't we talk about why you invited a guy like me to lunch, instead?"

  Anne stopped eating and put her fork down. She wiped her mouth as her gaze fixed mine, then carefully placed her napkin back in her lap without looking away.

  "It seemed like a good idea at the time. I could have been wrong about that."

  I nodded. “Yeah, maybe so. Want to finish up and go back to work?"

  She shook her head and picked up her fork. “No, there's no hurry and we're here. I just didn't think that talking with you would be quite so difficult."

  "It doesn't have to be, unless you can't stand hearing opinions that don't sound a lot like your own. You're a hotel honcho. Honcho-types aren't usually well equipped to hear differing opinions. They're used to deciding how things are or will be and having the implicit or enthusiastic cooperation of others. So, back to 'why me'?"

  I sipped my tea as I waited for her reply. For several moments she seemed to be engrossed in winding some of the muck on her plate onto her fork.

  "I don't really know, Ed. Curiosity, perhaps. You just seemed different. Unusual, somehow. You don't fit any of the profiles we use to screen potential guests."

  I smiled at her. “Oh, good. I like being outside the profiles."

  A guy wearing a shirt from a popular designer walked by and Anne thumbed in his direction.

  "That guy, for instance. Most people wear brand names from head to toe. Your jeans are a department store house brand and they're the only things on you that say who made them."

  I turned up my shirttail in front to show her a yellow, sewn-in label.

  "Shirt, Utility, DuraPress, 0G-507,” I read aloud. “It fits well and has big pockets. Besides, nobody will pay me to wear Tommy Whosis's advertising and his styles look as if he's designing for rodeo clowns. Baggy pants and shirts, crappy colors, tiny pockets where there should be big ones and big ones where whatever's in them will flap and bang when you walk. Sneakers used to be sneakers. Now you can't find anything that isn't heavily padded with a fat sole and someone's name on the sides. My rubber-soled K-mart golf shoes are comfortable as hell all day long."

  "That sounds rather defensive."

  "Just sounds that way because it is, ma'am. When someone talks about 'style' in America, they're only talking about today's fads and manipulations to make consumers part with big bucks trying to outdo each other. How does tacking a name on a pair of jeans make them worth ninety bucks? Only because someone else will supposedly notice that you're wearing them and be impressed, or because not wearing them will automatically exclude you from some group or imagined class."

  "What if I told you that I own a few pairs of expensive jeans?"

  "No biggie. You didn't spend my money on them."

  "Tell me, Ed, what kind of car do you drive?"

  "An eighty-four Oldsmobile, lately. Cool A/C, comfortable ride, sound system that thumps out dance music."

  "Dance music? What are you calling dance music?"

  "They used to call it disco, but somebody declared it dead in the eighties, so now they're calling the Donna Summer recuts and the like 'dance' tunes."

  "You mean like Cher's 'Believe' and Madonna? You like that kind of music?"

  "Sometimes I alternate with Brahms or 'Itzhak Perlman's Greatest Hits'. Just depends on my mood. Or Prokofiev's piano concertos. Or Tchaikovsky's stuff."

  Anne laughed. “Tchaikovsky's stuff!? God, I hope my sister never hears you call it that. She'll order you tortured and shot as a musical Philistine."

  I shrugged. “People make big deals about inconsequential things. Classical's just old, good music that doesn't have to rely on the pop charts to find an audience."

  "Uh ... Yeah, I guess that could describe it. Sort of. What kind of music does your local lady friend listen to?"

  "Diana likes the dance stuff, mostly. Hates rap and hates country, same as me."

  "Diana? That's a name to live up to, isn't it?"

  "I guess you'd have to ask her about that. She'll be at the hotel after work, if you want to meet her."

  Anne looked startled, then said, “Oh, well, I ... I guess so, if I'm free, then."

  "Go ahead and be free. We aren't as close as we used to be when she lived in Florida, Anne. When she moved up here for college..."

  "College? How old is she, Ed?"

  "Almost thirty, now. She stalled college for a couple of years, but they finally said that if she didn't use her scholarship, she'd lose it."

  Anne's gaze narrowed slightly. “How long were you with her?"

  "Why is that important?"

  "I'm just curious, that's all."

  Uh, huh. Right.

  "We started seeing each other in ninety-five, Anne. She moved for college in ninety-nine. Look, I've heard all the comments that have to do with our ages, so don't bother, okay? We had something special while we were together."

  Anne raised both hands in mock defense and said, “I wasn't going to say anything, Ed. I was just curious, that's all."

  Again, I thought, 'Uh, huh. Right.'

  "What about you?” I asked.

  "Me? Uhm, well, there's nobody special in my life at the moment. I'm too busy to get involved with anyone right now."

  I nodded and dug into my steak again. When I lifted the fork, Anne was still looking at me. Her quiet gaze remained as I chewed and swallowed.

  "Something on your mind, Anne?"

  She shook her head slightly and said, “Just thinking."

  I nodded again and continued eating. After a moment, so did she. Not much else was said. When we finished, I placed a twenty on the table and set the check tray on it. Anne looked at her watch and stood up, so I did, too.

  Anne said, “Thanks for lunch, Ed. I'll reciprocate in the bar tonight if you and your friend don't make other plans."

  As we headed for the door, I said, “Fine, but that'll be around seven. You sure you want to stay after work?"

  She smiled and said, “I don't have to commute far. I live on the fifth floor."

  "Ah, hah ... They've really got you on a leash, then, huh? Anything happens, you get the first call. Do you ever wish you didn't live in a hotel?"

  Her smile became a grin. “Live in a hotel? No, that's no problem. Live where I work? Yes, now and then. But the advantages outweigh the hardships. Room service, for example. Living in town."

  Before we turned the corner, she stopped in front of a shop window and used the reflection to put her hotel badge back on her jacket. I clipped my DragonCon badge on my shirt collar. A guy in some kind of alien outfit walked past us, eyeballing her legs. Anne watched him as he passed behind her, almost running into a newspaper box, then she looked at me.

  "Nice to know I've still got it,” she said. “Has that ever happened to you?"

  "Oh, yeah. Women run into things all the time around me."

  Anne giggled softly and said, “Onward. Duty calls."

  We'd no sooner arrived in the lobby than the guy at the front desk beckoned to her and asked for a decision on something he'd have had to pass upstairs, anyway. She initialed something for him and turned back to me.

  "Thanks for lunch. I'll be in my office if I'm not on the floor.” She gestured at the desk crew and added, “They'll be able to find me."

  After a businesslike handshake, she headed for the elevators. I watched her go, admiring the view. I had no doubt that she was somehow watching me watch her, so I waved. She waved back at me over her shoulder without turning around.

  "Kind of spooky, isn't it?” asked the desk clerk. “She sees all and knows all."

  "Careful,” I said. “She may hear all, too."

  "Wouldn't matter,” he said. “She won't hear me say anything against her. When she took over last year, a lot of us thought she was too young for th
e job, but now this place runs like a Swiss watch. I've been here since the day the hotel opened, and things have never run smoother. We call her Mother Carson."

  I nodded and smiled at his comments as I left the desk area. His admiration sounded genuine, and he was obviously impressed that she'd gone to lunch with me, a convention guest who wasn't even staying at the hotel.

  There was nobody in the phone alcove, so I stepped in and reached above my head for my briefcase. As soon as my hand grasped the handle, the case became visible. I pulled it down and opened it on the counter to retrieve four bundles of the Aurora Universe Writer's Group flyers, then closed it and watched as it disappeared.

  Yeah, I knew it would automatically return to its position above me, but I'm human enough to want to be sure, so I deliberately placed the four bundles of flyers precisely where the briefcase had been. Nothing there. I started splitting the bundles.

  It took about an hour to find all the tables where ads for various upcoming events and conventions were displayed. I left a bundle on each table, stopping once in another alcove to replenish my supply of flyers.

  Just as I shut my briefcase, a woman in a vampire costume came into the alcove. She was distractedly rooting in her bag for something and I thought at first that she hadn't seen the case disappear, but she stopped and looked at me for a moment, then at the counter, then back at me. I put the flyer bundles down and pulled one free.

  "Hi,” I said, handing her a flyer. “Check us out on the internet."

  She rather automatically accepted the flyer and looked again at the counter where the case had been as I looked her over. Red hair. Maybe five-nine or so without the three-inch heels. Not overweight, not skinny, not overdeveloped on top, but the push-up bra made her seem so at first glance. Freckles everywhere on pale skin.

  When her gaze returned to me, she caught my eyes traveling from her neck to her shoulders and downward.

  "Nice outfit,” I said. “Be sure to drop by the site, okay?"