Ted lumbered through the foyer of his home, following the sound of his wife’s guitar back to her office. He waited for a few minutes outside the door, listening as she picked out a simple but beautiful tune on the instrument. The air smelled normal, plain, like nothing in particular. That meant that she had not had a chance to cook dinner, which meant she was overcome either with work or depression. And the fact that she was playing the guitar meant it was probably the latter, or maybe both. Ted pushed open the office door.
“Hi, Clyde,” he said. “You had a day, too, I see.”
She stopped playing. “Hey, you,” she said kindly. “No, I was just thinking.”
“Thinking. Sounds pretty scary. Or depressing,” he said without cracking a smile.
She paused to gaze at the man towering over her in a suit coat and tie. Her eyes seemed to dwell on his graying rooftop.
I feel old, Ted thought. Too old to be working twelve-hour days. Too old to dragging my butt home late, again.
He bent down to kiss her. Their lips lingered over each other for a moment, and then they pressed gently but passionately together. Ted tenderly stroked her loose, fiery curls. Then he admired her creamy, slightly freckled skin, her arched eyebrows, her soft complexion.
She sighed.
She looks too young for me, he thought. Too precious, too passionate.
“What’s for dinner?” he said.
“Well, I wanted to make chicken-curry soup, but I got distracted.”
“So… Nothing for dinner?”
“Well, I was working on the QX project, and then the phone rang.”
“So nothing for dinner.”
“Well, I guess whatever you want. I had a late lunch, so I’m not really hungry. There’s some bologna in the fridge.”
Ted turned toward the kitchen.
Clydene set down her guitar and followed him.
“So I was working on the QX project. They’re still screwed up. Another story.” She took a breath. “And Mira called.”
“Great,” he said. “What does she need now?” He grabbed the bologna and a bottle of mustard, and headed for the kitchen table.
Clydene’s curls bounced as she walked, like tight, little springs hanging from her head.
Really looks too young for me, Ted thought.
“She doesn’t need anything. Well, nothing new, anyhow. She’s been planning for that demonstration outside Town Hall.”
“Yes.” Ted snatched a loaf of bread from the shelf behind him.
“She thinks she’s in trouble,” Clydene said.
Ted paused. Then he breathed in. “She probably is.”
Clydene regarded him. “Why? What do you know?”
“I know only what you do. Less, probably.” He returned to his sandwich ingredients. “What do you know?”
“Remember I told you about that web form I coded up a couple weeks ago?”
“Yes.”
“I spent almost a whole day trying to get it working the way the analyst suggested. That was stupid. I should have stuck with my instincts.”
“Okay.”
“So I started over, and did what I should have done in the first place. And I had it done in an hour.”
“That’s a nice story. Is Mira designing software now?” He squirted a trail of mustard onto each of two slices of bread.
“No, but—“ Clyde stammered. She started again. “When she gets a feeling that something is wrong, she’s usually right.”
“Okay. What’s wrong?”
“Mira knows political activism.”
“She hasn’t been ‘an activist’ any longer than you or I,” Ted retorted. He was beginning to get annoyed and wished that Clyde would stop beating around the bush.
“But she’s better at it than we are,” Clyde countered.
“She’s also a perfectionist. And she sees problems that don’t matter to the rest of us.”
“So what? You think that means she’s not in trouble?”
“I think that means we have to wait and see,” Ted said.
“Wait and see if she gets hurt?” Clydene was clearly disturbed.
Ted stopped and looked at her. “No—”
“You believe in the Committee as much as I do. At least I thought you did.”
“Ironic, isn’t it? If she succeeds, I’m out of a job.” That wasn’t actually true, but a part of Ted liked arguing. And he was just too tired to be nice.
“You mean you’d have to get bona fide work, instead of defending victims? Is that your problem?”
Ted stared at her. “My problem is that I don’t know how to read the future.”
“That’s not funny, Ted.”
“I’m not laughing, Clyde.”
A pause. Clyde was staring at the ceiling. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts. Ted wished, if she wanted him to do something, she would just ask him, so that he could say “No,” eat his sandwich, and go to bed. And if she didn’t want anything, she would just say that, too, so he could just eat his sandwich and go to bed.
Clydene finally said, in that sad but firm voice that only Clyde knew, “I wish you could be a little more sympathetic.”
Ted’s heart softened. He really was old: old and tired. Too old to learn any new tricks, and too tired to try.
He replied as sweetly as he could, “Clyde, I’m glad Mira’s your friend. And I’m fond of her, too. All I meant was that she’s standing up to Sam Baedes. It stands to reason that she’ll get into trouble. I don’t know how or when. I’ve gone over the plan with her. She’s not doing anything wrong. We both know that. But do you think that’s going to stop him?”
“Exactly!” Clyde said.
“Indeed. And we’ll both be there to stand up for her when the time comes. Right?”
Clyde was now staring at the pattern in the kitchen linoleum. Ted knew that pattern well. He had stared at it himself.
“Right?” he repeated, reaching out to caress her cheek.
“Right,” Clyde agreed.
“Unfortunately, the next step is to wait and see what happens.”
Clydene looked back up at him. “I just wish you could show a little more sympathy.”
Ted touched her shoulder. He breathed in, then breathed out. Apologizing was the most difficult thing Ted had ever had to learn to do. But for numerous months, he had been making a concerted effort to be more understanding to those around him, and to apologize quickly, whenever he might have offended someone, even if he didn’t really understand why they were offended. This was one of those cases. He knew he was arguing with Clyde, and she didn’t feel like arguing, and the conversation was upsetting her, even if he didn’t know why this particular conversation was different from any of the other friendly debates they had.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He had learned the form of the apology from Mira herself. “I’m being insensitive. I’m tired, and I’m not thinking about how you feel. Please forgive me.”
Clyde sighed and smiled a little. “I would really like a hug,” she said.
So he held her for a while.
Mira knew Chief Beady-eyes was out to get her. Of course, he was out to get her. Everyone knew he was out to get her. But Mira also knew he was on the verge of action.
She knew he was on the verge of action. But she didn’t know how she knew. She just knew. She just had a feeling. It wasn’t fear that gave her this feeling, because she didn’t feel afraid. This surprised people when they first met her. This tiny, dark-eyed, raven-haired woman, not much bigger than a girl, stood up to tall, strong Sam Baedes, because there was only so much he could do to her. And because someone needed to stand up to him, and no one else would do it.
Maybe she had this feeling because none of his goons had harassed her in weeks, despite the fact that she had been planning for a big demonstration at the town hall, with protesters and victims telling their stories and hecklers and reporters drooling all over their notepads and everything. But that alone wasn’t enough, because Baedes didn’t make it a habit to get on her case indiscriminately. He always had a good excuse, no matter how contrived it was, and he never did anything overtly illegal. Besides, she had organized political protests before with no fallout. Even so, this was the biggest yet. Her demands for an independent council to investigate abuses in Beades’s department had started her troubles. That Baedes would be called to account, this was the vision she held in her mind. And Lando Benitez, he was the victim she held in her memory.
There was something she had heard at the last envelope-stuffing party, something that troubled her, though she couldn’t say why. It was an off-hand comment someone had made. The words still rang in Mira’s ears:
“He’s all in on this one. You can be sure of it. Ol’ Beady-eyes is gonna stop us, even if it takes all of his men, even if someone knocks over the Tangelo Street Diner.”
The Tangelo Street Diner was a well known cop hang-out. Clearly, this was supposed to be a joke, to build morale. Because nothing pleases an activist more than to hear that he’s the top priority on his adversary’s hit-list. An activist’s biggest fear is that he will be ignored. But the comment still gave Mira pause. Not that she was concerned about herself. She wasn’t. She was, however, concerned that the protest go as planned. If something went wrong, it would grieve and anger her to have the press show up Monday morning to a non-event.
Of course, if he tried to shut it down, that could make for an even bigger story for the press release:
Police-Abuse Protest Squelched by Chief
Abe’s Turn Chief of Police Sam Baedes today at the local town hall oversaw the arrest of numerous demonstrators, who were protesting abuses of power by the local police force.
“This is a perfect example of the kind of abuse of process we’re talking about,” protest organizer Mira Jayson said from her jail cell. “We just want to have our say, to take part in the democratic process. But he consistently shuts down dissent on a technicality. Can’t he take honest, peaceful criticism?”
And so forth.
That part about the technicality was just speculation on Mira’s part. And that was the problem. She knew something had to go down. She just didn’t know what, or when, or who, or where, or how.
She had another concern, too, one that she tried to push to the side every chance she got. While she was happy to be arrested for the cause, she always grieved when others were attacked along with her. Yes, she knew it was good for morale and good for the cause. People who are willingly arrested for what they believe in only believe in it more. But these were people, human beings, and they were people she considered her friends.
These thoughts filled Mira’s mind as she drove quietly down the road. She even forgot Ike sitting in the passenger’s seat next to her, until he broke the silence.
“Did you miss your turn?” he said.
Ike had been resting his eyes after a long, hot day on top of a roof. He was sweaty and sticky and smelly and dirty.
Dirty. Mira loved the sound of that word, especially sitting next to Ike. And sometimes she loved how he sweated and how he stuck and how he smelled. And sometimes she loved the rugged look of his five-o’clock shadow. Or the way his short, straight hair clumped together after he woke up from a nap. She blinked and forced herself to breathe, to get her heart beating again. Thoughts of Ike often distracted her.
Being an apprentice roofer was hard, dangerous work. But it was good work. Mira was glad he was making the job work, and that she had not misjudged him. Not many people would trust a parolee, and she called in some heavy favors just to get him the opportunity. She smiled at the thought.
He was right, though. She had missed the turn. Deep in thought, she had forgotten that she was going to drop Ike off at his place, on her way home from work.
“You’re right. Sorry. I’ll double-back,” she said.
It was then that she noticed the flashing red and blue lights in her rear-view mirror.
“How long has he been behind us?” she asked, as she pulled the car over to the side of the road.
“Don’t know,” Ike replied.
Now that they had fully stopped, a uniformed man with a crew cut stepped out of the car with the flashing lights. He sauntered up to the driver’s-side window of Mira’s car and looked in. He was older than the two in the car, by at least ten years, but as fit as Jack La Lanne. Still, time had etched hard lines into his grim visage. His voice resonated with a deep basso quality.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“No, Chief, I don’t,” Mira replied politely, “but I’m sure you have a good reason.” There was a note of sarcasm in her tone that only she could detect.
Baedes pursed his lips. “Who’s your friend?” he asked, motioning to Ike.
“Just a friend. Isn’t it a little unusual for you to be making traffic stops?”
“In a small town like this, we all do our fair share.” He looked in at Ike. “What have you been up to? Staying out of trouble?”
“Yes, Sir, I have.”
“Think again.”
By the look on his face, Ike could’ve been playing poker. Mira eyed him carefully. But she believed him when he said he was keeping out of trouble.
The man at the window turned back to Mira. “Your registration expired last week.”
A sudden tightness gripped Mira’s chest.
“Driving with an expired registration is an arrestable offense,” the chief added.
Silence. No one asked what he was going to do. No one even asked whether he had called in backup, though he surely knew whose car he was following and that Mira Jayson would offer no physical resistance.
Mira knew what was happening, though. This was it. This was his move. True, Abe’s Turn wasn’t all that tiny, and it was unusual for the chief to be making a traffic stop, no matter what he said. But Mira didn’t have to deduct the true purpose of his stop. She could see it in his eyes.
He continued speaking to Mira. “You’re also a convicted felon. It’s a violation of his parole to be associating with you.”
That sounded like bullshit. Neither Mira nor Ike challenged it, however.
The chief continued. “Mr. Morgan, slowly get out of the car, hands on your head, and come to the back of the car. Then you, Miss Jayson.”
He followed Ike around to the back. Mira opened her door as instructed and was getting out, when suddenly a loud banging noise came from behind her. She swung around to see. The chief had Ike in a headlock. Ike was scraping wildly to get out of it. Suddenly, Ike was free and staggering backwards toward the side of the road. The chief came after him and knocked him to the ground.
Without thinking, Mira had run up to the back of the car, and now she tried to get to Ike, who was struggling to sit. Suddenly, the chief’s billy club, propelled by great force, whacked Mira in the forehead, sending her body smashing sideways against the car. She might have seen Ike pinned and then handcuffed, were she not unconscious.
“I need you to export the brochure to Flash and download it to their server before you leave.”
Michael looked up from his desk at his boss’s face. “Uhm… Why do you need that?” he said, grinning slightly. He decided to play a little cat-and-mouse with the pointy-haired one, since it was already half past six in the evening, a time when normal people had already gone home for the day.
“I told them we would do it today.”
All at once, there were squeaking and shuffling noises from the adjoining cubicles.
“O-kay,” Michael sang, as though considering carefully his next words. “We’re happy to do whatever needs to be done,” he said. “And I’ll do my best. But I need you to check with me first before promising the client something that makes no grammatical sense.”
The man smiled. “Riiiight,” he said, playing along.
Michael continued, “I mean, if I have to promise to deliver gibberish, you at least have to get my sign-off on the gibberish I’ll have promised to deliver.”
The woman on the other side of the cubicle wall suddenly guffawed loudly.
“Michael Kelly, everyone!” said the man. “Let’s all give him a big round of applause!”
The office erupted in applause and hoots and laughter.
Michael segued into his best Elvis impersonation. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”
After the commotion died down, the man continued, “Seriously, though, can you do that?”
“Uh, seriously, it’s gibberish.” He found that the direct approach almost always worked the best. Besides, it gave him a chance to verbally poke at the man, and that was always good for a laugh.
The boss’s eyes narrowed, his face turning into a scowl.
“I’d be happy to call him and see what he wants,” Michael quickly added. “If it’s easy enough, I can even bang it out before I leave. Probably it is. Otherwise, I’ll get on it first thing tomorrow.”
The man shook his head. “I’d rather that we arrange a conference call tomorrow.” He meant he wanted to arrange a meeting, using the conference room’s speaker-phone.
“Okay,” Michael said. “We can do that. But he’s probably waiting for something. That’s why he called you. Let’s try to set something up right now. Is there a conference room free?”
“No, the—“
Michael put up his hand. “I’m going to call him right now and clarify what he’s expecting.”
“I don’t think that’s such a good—“
“If we can’t deliver it tonight, I’ll hand the phone over to you, and you can schedule a meeting for tomorrow morning. Okay?”
The man frowned, sighed. “Go ahead.”
But before Michael could make the call, the phone rang.
He lifted the receiver to his ear. “Hello. This is Michael.”
“I’m glad I caught you,” said the voice in slow, measured tones. “This is Ted Jackson. You’ll never believe what happened.”
“Um. The Abe’s Turn Post Office now opens all mail for signs of inflammatory political truth?” Michael sneaked a peek at the expression on his boss’s face.
“No, but close enough,” the voice continued. “Mira’s been arrested.”
“Well, she should have been staying out of trouble,” Michael said in the deepest voice he could muster, mimicking the big, burly police chief.
“Not so funny today, I’m afraid,” Ted said.
“Hey, mocking Beady-eyes is always funny.”
“Hilarious.”
“You’re making fun of me,” Michael said.
“What tipped you off?”
“Sometimes, I don’t get you, Ted. Are you joking, or are you pissed?”
“I’m pissed at the world, pissed at the system, pissed at God, and pissed at the man who thinks he ought to be telling God what to do.”
“You know, for a minor character, he sure does use up a lot of our legitimate complaining time,” Michael observed.
“You think he’s a minor character?”
“He ought to be a minor character. Humble public servant and all that.”
“I’m afraid you’re not being realistic,” Ted said. “The system doesn’t actually work that way.”
Michael sneaked another peek at his boss, who was waiting impatiently. Michael held up an index finger and mouthed, “Just one second.”
“No witty rejoinder?” Ted said.
“What did he pick her up for?”
“Driving with an expired registration.”
“Shit,” Michael said. “I knew I forgot something.”
“Doing the right thing is sometimes as hard as getting away with murder,” Ted said.
“Murder might be preferable. Anyways, I have to get to a meeting. Thanks for telling me, though.”
“Isn’t it a little late for a meeting?”
“It’s a late meeting.”
“Speaking of which, can you stop by my place tonight? So we can have a late meeting, too.”
“Or a prayer vigil,” Michael said.
