Come on, Boss. Give me a green light. This one’s perfect.
—Original Message—
From: The Boss <[email protected]>
To: Dr. Don Carlson <[email protected]>
Sent: Monday, September 01, 2004 4:11 PM
Subject: Re: Re: Recent Acquisition
Go. Update me hourly.
Chapter 2
Two months later
St. Paul, Minnesota
“Jimmy! Dude! I heard you were dead!”
Caitlyn set down her daiquiri and looked over her shoulder. My, my. Look what the cat coughed up. Her old college roommate, Stacy Gwen, had just walked into the bar. Although Caitlyn normally distrusted people with two first names, she made an exception in Stacy’s case.
“For the zillionth time,” she said, patting the empty barstool beside her, “don’t call me Jimmy.” She paused, not sure what else to say. She hadn’t seen Stacy since the fateful limo ride in October. “What’s up?”
“What’s up, she says!”
“Also for the millionth time, it’s so disturbing when you talk about people in the third person.”
“Oh my God, I totally cannot believe you’re here!” Stacy seized her and pulled her into a hug, nearly yanking Caitlyn off her barstool. Surprised, and touched, she hugged her friend back. “So bizarre! You, like, pulled a Houdini after the limo crashed. I mean, we were going crazy! I was going crazy! I mean, hello, what is up with that?”
Caitlyn settled herself back on the stool, bit into her strawberry garnish, and considered what to say.
Well, Stace old girl, I’ll tell you how it was. You’ll like this one. Seems that the limo driver had been helping himself to cocaine, which he chased with tequila shots. And the six of us in the back were so blitzed, we didn’t notice.
Wait, it gets better. So the moron crashed into the First National Bank of Miami, setting off about a zillion alarms, and, since none of us was wearing seat belts, cracking the shit out of the rest of us. Pretty dumb about the seat belts, I know, so don’t start.
Then another car came by and hit my side of the limo, further cracking the shit out of yours truly. I mean, up until then it had been a reasonably cool evening.
Then this lame government service, who’d been watching and listening to police bands all over the country for a month or so, heard and came to the hospital where we were being worked on. And they picked me, because I was the most banged up. And they flew me to their secret government installation. I know how it sounds. I died a couple of times on the way, but they brought me back.
And they made some…um…changes.
And now I’m supposed to work for them, do you believe that shit? They did things to me and I’m supposed to thank them and become a government employee. Except I don’t want to, because I didn’t ask for any of this.
And they don’t like that. Not at all.
So here I am.
“It’s been kind of a weird fall,” she said, sad and mad at the same time—as early as three months ago, she could have told Stacy anything.
Those days were done. Thanks tons, United States government.
“Well, are you free?”
“According to some,” she said gloomily, “no.”
“Uh-huh. Let’s go grab some sushi.”
“A fine plan,” she agreed.
Stacy laughed as Caitlyn hopped off the barstool. “You still slay me, girlfriend. I love the way you talk. You were totally the brains behind Tau Delta Nu.”
“A heroic achievement.”
Stacy cracked up again. “And don’t even pretend like I don’t know you’re slamming me, Jimmy. Because you totally are.”
“Don’t call me Jimmy, you evil whore. They have sake at this sushi place?” she asked, linking arms with Stacy. “Because I could use a couple.”
“Or ten!”
“An even dozen,” she agreed, and they laughed and left.
“The thing about sushi,” Caitlyn sighed, walking Stacy to her car, “is that it’s so completely delicious while you’re eating it, but then when you’re full—”
“You’re like, ewww, I just ate a ton of raw fish!”
“And seaweed!”
“Exactly. I could barf right now. In fact…” Stacy looked anxiously over my shoulder. “Does my butt look fat in suede? Maybe I’ll barf anyway.”
“Don’t you dare. Bulimia is so twentieth century.” Caitlyn rolled her eyes. Stacy was one of those marvelous idiots who had no idea how fabulous they looked. She was five foot seven, just about the perfect height for everything except professional basketball, with out-of-control black hair and skin the color of café au lait. She wore green contacts, truly striking in her high-cheekboned face. Caitlyn usually felt like the village frump when she was out with her. “Plus, we just dropped two hundred bucks on all that fish. Don’t waste it.”
“I suppose. I’m doing an extra half hour on the treadmill tomorrow though. What about you?”
I can’t. I’ve burned out the last three treadmills I tried. Apparently, I can move faster than a Ford Mustang when I set my mind to it. “Um…I’ve been lifting weights lately.”
“Well, you look awesomely buff.”
“Thanks.”
“Seriously, Jimmy, what’s up? You’re not like yourself at all. I know the accident was a horror show, but you seem totally fine now. I guess we both lucked out.” Stacy looked her over critically. “Better than fine, actually. I don’t think you’ve ever looked awesomer.”
Caitlyn chose her words carefully. “Physically, there isn’t anything wrong with me.”
“Then, what’s up? I haven’t seen you at a party since the crash. The girls were talking about having, like, a reunion party, now that Shelly’s off her crutches and all—”
“It’s a miracle we weren’t all killed,” she muttered. “Fucking miracle.”
“Yup. Although it was tough work shaving my legs when I got home—what is it with those hospital razors? You’d think a hospital would have, like, sharp things. You shoulda seen my legs by the time I was done. Total gross-out.”
“What happened to you in the crash?”
Stacy
