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Not in Kansas Anymore
part 2
by Charlatan
The Next Day
“Sydney!” A voice behind him called. The aging psychiatrist turned to the approaching woman.
“Miss Parker.” He said. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Jarod’s here.” She stated simply, “and that means I can’t be far behind.” He nodded.
“When will you be going back to corporate?”
The air whooshed out of her lungs. “Who says I’m going back?”
The older man shrugged. “The chase is over,” he pointed out, “and unfortunately Lyle was the one who brought Jarod in.”
“Lyle’s part of the team.” She defended herself lamely.
“Yes,” said the psychiatrist. “I’m sure your father will see it that way. Miss Parker,” Sydney ventured, “You’re won’t let your apparent emotional distress over Jarod’s return take hold of you?”
She turned on the older man. “In other words, am I going to behave irrationally…fall into the abyss?” The older man did not respond. “Of course not Sydney, I’m a Parker, and that still means something around here.” She paused, “I know who I am, the question is who are you, and what are you doing helping?” She turned not waiting—or wanting to hear the answer.
“What are you going to do?” he called after her a she stalked away.
“Put the puzzle together,” she retorted over her shoulder, ‘and,’ she silently added ‘see what truth it holds.’
“Speaking of puzzles, sis, I’ve got a riddle for you.”
“Can this day get any better?” She responded with false cheerfulness, turning around to place the newcomer in her crosshairs.
Her twin was unperturbed. “Tell me, how do you plan the perfect kidnapping.”
She smiled coldly. “What kind of a game is this?”
The smile dropped from his face, “A real one. You see, my dear sister, I had this, well, call it a ‘gut feeling’, that the perfect kidnapping requires an expert. And who can be better qualified than a man who has been kidnapped himself.”
“Jarod.” She whispered in realization.
“Great minds think alike. He’s simming it right now. Care to join me?”
“That’s ok,” she smiled, “I have a life.” She turned and marched away, her head spinning.
Despite the recent barrage of weird events, Miss Parker knew one thing for sure: Jarod would never allow another child to be kidnapped—and would certainly never help plan that kidnapping. Something was very wrong.
“Oh sis.” Lyle called after her. “I’m really going to miss all these fun times when you go back to corporate.” She didn’t acknowledge the remark, but her stiletto heals seemed to dig a little bit deeper into the unforgiving steel floors as she stalked away.
***
Broots’ office
“What do you have, and it better be good.” The technician looked up eagerly as the woman entered.
“I got them all,” he announced excitedly. “They really weren’t even classified. It’s like someone wants to flaunt how many sims there are—coming in and leaving.”
“Well Lyle never was very good at being subtle.” Miss Parker pointed out.
“I did what you said, scanned for content. It looks like Jarod has completed sims that could be easily used in a questionable ways. This one Z93 from DreiDesert firms, is a real doozy, but it was one of the first ones Jarod solved.”
Miss Parker picked up the file and paged through it. “They’re located in Boston.” She noted. She thumbed intently through the other files; an idea had begun to form in her mind, but she could not quite grasp it. Instinctively she asked “Broots, how many of these corporations have dealt with the Centre before?”
He shrugged, “I’m not sure, but I can run it through the main computer.”
She stood up, “Call me as soon as you know,” she ordered as she turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To Boston, “ she said. “I hear they serve a great tea.”
***
Boston, Massachusetts
“I’m looking for a Mr. Jim Belguli of the Dreidesert firm. Have you seen him?”
The secretary twirled a fire engine red curl between her bright red fingernails. “No he don’t work here no more. Works at the docks now, I think.”
“Thanks for your time.” Miss Parker said, turning to leave. ‘Well if there’s one thing Jarod’s shown me,’ she thought as she glanced back at the secretary, ‘its how many dead ends there truly are in the human evolutionary chain.’
A sudden thought came to her. She walked back to the woman manning the desk, smiled, and glanced at the nametag.
“Sylvia, isn’t it? Do you know if Mr. Belguli was independently wealthy?”
“Inde- what?” the woman queried.
“Did he have a lot of money?” Miss Parker replied slowly, annunciating every syllable.
“Oh! Who Jim!” the woman exclaimed. “He couldn’t even afford his rent! He lived paycheck to paycheck.”
“Thank you,” said Miss Parker, “You just made my day.”
“Don’t know how I did that.” Sylvia mumbled. “Some people are so strange.”
***
Boston Harbor Dock
“Mr. Jim Belugi?!” she called to the round balding man lying peacefully on his boat in a tone that demanded his attention.
“What now?” the middle aged man began as he sat up. “What part of leave me alone do you idiots—“.
Miss Parker smiled like a Chessirecat at the speechless man. Once again her impeccable grooming had worked its magic. “I’m sorry to bother you sir,” she said in a tone that falsified the syntax of her words, “but I need to speak with you about your account.”
“My account?” he blurted in confusion. “Are you from the bank or something?”
“Hmm, something indeed.” She smiled. “Something called the Centre.”
The man’s eyes widened, and then narrowed. “I thought we agreed to never meet like this.”
The smile never left her face. “I know that this is not exactly status quo, but I’m heading a committee designed to assess how valid the solutions generated by our firm have been in the field. We randomly selected a number of past clients for follow up visits—your number came up.”
The boater’s shoulders relaxed, and the predator in Parker’s nature was aroused by his false sense of security. “Come aboard.” He gestured toward the small distance from ship to shore. She took the small leap—heels and all—with the grace of a panther.
“So tell me,” she began, “How did your little ‘adventure’ work out?”
***
The Centre
“It doesn’t make sense Miss Parker. Jarod’s capture—his complete surrender—none of it makes sense!”
“Don’t wet yourself Broots” she replied. Despite her words to Broots, she recognized that he was voicing the frustration she felt. She had been so sure Belugi would give her something—something she could use to figure this mess out, but aside from being a GQ nightmare, and dumb as a doorknob, he didn’t tell her anything. What he did let her know was that the Centre would deal with any idiot with a fistful of cash. Also, Belugi had made one slip that seemed to indicate he had mob connections—which accounted for the source of his money.
She forced herself to focus. She glanced at a file lying on Broots’ desk. It was a contract for a fugitive search and destroy mission, belonging to a company called “Tresmaenner”. She flipped idly through the file, catching phrases here and there that indicated this mission had no intention of helping out the public at large. She felt as though she were staring the cause of her recent “gut feelings” right in the face, and completely missing the punch line. She tossed down the file, and picked up the list of new companies: Trihealth, Denbars, Tripple-Doppler. Nothing rang a bell.
“Broots,” she said, “Let’s switch tactics. I want you to get me a list of all the most “sensitive” sims Jarod has completed since his return.” She picked up a ticket off his desk. The Wizard of Oz, Broots? Aren’t you a little old for fairy tales?”
“You’re never too old, Miss Parker,” he whined defensively, “and besides, they’re for Debbie. She has a pair of sparkly shoes that she wears constantly. She loves the movie, and when I saw the local theatre was putting on the play—“.
“Thank you, Broots.” He trailed off at her interruption and watched as she suddenly moved toward the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked, startled by her newfound sense of purpose.
“Well if memory serves me, the answer was with “her” all along.”
“Who?” he asked, clearly confused.
“Dorothy Gale,” she called back as the doors hissed shut behind her.
***
SL22
This time the pretender’s room was not lacking in security.
“He’s sleeping.” The “marble statue” at the door informed her.
“Then I’ll just have to wake him up” she smartly retorted. The man hesitated, clearly weighing the consequences he would be facing with Mr. Lyle if he allowed her to enter. She graced him with her meanest glare. The immediate threat won out, and the cell door opened with a beep and a hiss.
Despite the guard’s assertion, Jarod was not in his bed. Instead, he was working intently at his computer. The pretender stood up immediately when Miss Parker entered, and his eyes sought the floor. She stalked up to him, and stopped very close. Her heels clicked together, within his field of vision. “Do you know what that means?” she asked him. There was no response. “That means,” she informed him, “that I’m getting close to the answer to this little puzzle. I won’t be in Oz for long.”
Was it her imagination, or had he shifted uncomfortably—perhaps it was just his injured leg.
“There is an answer? Isn’t there Jarod—or a game? Look at me!” His face shifted up, and soulless eyes met hard ice blue. “I visited one of your clients today. A Mr. Belugi. Do you remember him?” He shook his head, but there was the slightest change in his demeanor that made her eagerly push forward. “He seemed thrilled. Your work was excellent. All the right people died.”
She had expected something from him at that last comment, but his countenance remained the same. “Well,” she insisted, “don’t you have anything to say?” He looked at her.
“How’s corporate treating you?” the pretender intoned in a sterile voice--but had she caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth?
‘Fine, Jarod.’ she thought. ‘If you want to play, I’ll play.’
“I’m getting a new corner office, in the expansion wing we’re building with the profit your work brings in,” she lied.
He issued a robotic nod. “Congratulations, from that window you’ll be able to see.”
“See what?” The ingrained response spilled out before she could stop herself.
“So much, perhaps, but than again they say “the seeing see little,”” he replied.
She regarded him carefully, painfully aware that this conversation was being recorded. Choking his obnoxious little hide for an explanation would undoubtedly draw unwanted attention.
“That’s what they say?” The top of his head bobbed up and down, as his eyes had once again become fixated in the floor. Clearly he had said all he was going to say.
“Remember, Jarod,” she said, “maybe we’re all not the scarecrows you take us for.” And with that last remark she stalked out.
Her footsteps were cut short as the door swished shut, but even if she had remained, she would not have heard his silent reply: ‘I know Parker, I know.’
***
Broots’ Space
“Broots!” she said “Do you have that list for me?”
“Y-yes Miss Parker,” the technician stammered. She paused reflectively in front of his desk. “Broots, do you know the phrase, “’the seeing see little’?”
“Well,” he began I guess it makes sense when you really---”.
Miss Parker didn’t even have the time to suck in the air to cut off his misinterpretation of her question before a voice behind her said, “Helen Keller.” She whirled around.
“Debbie!” she said as a genuine smile lit her face. “I didn’t see you when I came in.”
“Well,” the younger girl answered, “Dad told me to be quiet since he was working, and you are in a bad mood. Of course, he always says you’re in a bad mood.”
“He said that, did he?” The girl nodded. “He and I will have to discuss that sometime.” Broots cringed. Miss Parker noted his expression, and, once satisfied that he was repentant, continued, “So tell me Debbie, what did you mean by Helen Keller?”
“That phrase is the title of one of her poems,” the little girl answered, “I just finished reading it in school.”
Miss Parker frowned pensively. “Wonder boy knew we were being watched, but maybe he still couldn’t resist thumbing his nose at me—at the Centre.” She glanced at the list in her hand. “Broots, reprint this list, but this time only with the names of the contact for each company. The tech went to work. ‘I may not see everything like you Jarod,’ she thought, ‘but I still have my gut feelings.’
****
Broots’ Hole
Miss Parker rapidly ran down the list of names Broots had given her. Q. Langly, R. Keith, H. Keller. There it was in black and white. “Looks like the man behind the smoke and mirrors has just been discovered,” she said smugly. Her smile vanished as she saw where the contact was located. “Broots,” she said, “Call the Centre jet and get it ready for take off.”
***
Boston Harbor
The fisherman casually watched as the Amazon woman flew by him for the second time in two weeks. Her angry run came to a stop in front of the space that had once housed Jim’s Boat. He watched her fists clench at her sides and her posture grow stiff. Then she turned around and saw…him. His stomach churned as she marched toward him like a Fury full of fiery vengeance. The leggy woman towered over him, and he had to squint up at the bright sun in order to look at her. He had expected a deep hateful voice to come from this dark figure, but when she spoke her tone was surprisingly neutral. “Do you work here?’ she asked. He nodded dumbly. “Excellent,” she said. “Do you know where I can find the man who used to dock his ship there? A Mr. Belugi?”
“You mean the ship?” he asked. The woman looked at him as though her were a complete moron.
“No,” she said with exaggerated patience and pronunciation, “the man named Mr. Belugi who used to dock his ship here, but does not currently have it located where it used to be.” He smirked at this treatment.
“Lady,” he began smartly, and than modified his tone as he got one look into the raging depths of her eyes, “there was a ship docked here called the Mr. Belugi, but there was never a man by that name.”
“But, I met him,” she protested, “I spoke with him.”
“Well, unless you have some kind of sixth sense it wasn’t Mr. Belugi--he’s been dead a real long time.”
She frowned, and turned to go. She suddenly whirled back on him and pulled out a picture. “Have you seen this man?” she asked forcefully.
“W-who? Jarod? Sure, I know him.” The dark haired woman grinned, and he thought he caught a glimpse of fangs.
“Was he here?”
“Yeah, a few years back he worked for Jim.”
“Jim?” she queried.
“Jimmy owns the Belugi there.”
Her lips twitched. “Why didn’t you mention Jim in the first place?”
His grin widened, “You never asked.” She turned to go, and this time he stopped her. “Don’t you want to see his boat?”
“Whose boat?”
“Jarod’s,” he said. “The Helen Keller.”
part 2
by Charlatan
The Next Day
“Sydney!” A voice behind him called. The aging psychiatrist turned to the approaching woman.
“Miss Parker.” He said. “I’m surprised to see you here.”
“Jarod’s here.” She stated simply, “and that means I can’t be far behind.” He nodded.
“When will you be going back to corporate?”
The air whooshed out of her lungs. “Who says I’m going back?”
The older man shrugged. “The chase is over,” he pointed out, “and unfortunately Lyle was the one who brought Jarod in.”
“Lyle’s part of the team.” She defended herself lamely.
“Yes,” said the psychiatrist. “I’m sure your father will see it that way. Miss Parker,” Sydney ventured, “You’re won’t let your apparent emotional distress over Jarod’s return take hold of you?”
She turned on the older man. “In other words, am I going to behave irrationally…fall into the abyss?” The older man did not respond. “Of course not Sydney, I’m a Parker, and that still means something around here.” She paused, “I know who I am, the question is who are you, and what are you doing helping?” She turned not waiting—or wanting to hear the answer.
“What are you going to do?” he called after her a she stalked away.
“Put the puzzle together,” she retorted over her shoulder, ‘and,’ she silently added ‘see what truth it holds.’
“Speaking of puzzles, sis, I’ve got a riddle for you.”
“Can this day get any better?” She responded with false cheerfulness, turning around to place the newcomer in her crosshairs.
Her twin was unperturbed. “Tell me, how do you plan the perfect kidnapping.”
She smiled coldly. “What kind of a game is this?”
The smile dropped from his face, “A real one. You see, my dear sister, I had this, well, call it a ‘gut feeling’, that the perfect kidnapping requires an expert. And who can be better qualified than a man who has been kidnapped himself.”
“Jarod.” She whispered in realization.
“Great minds think alike. He’s simming it right now. Care to join me?”
“That’s ok,” she smiled, “I have a life.” She turned and marched away, her head spinning.
Despite the recent barrage of weird events, Miss Parker knew one thing for sure: Jarod would never allow another child to be kidnapped—and would certainly never help plan that kidnapping. Something was very wrong.
“Oh sis.” Lyle called after her. “I’m really going to miss all these fun times when you go back to corporate.” She didn’t acknowledge the remark, but her stiletto heals seemed to dig a little bit deeper into the unforgiving steel floors as she stalked away.
***
Broots’ office
“What do you have, and it better be good.” The technician looked up eagerly as the woman entered.
“I got them all,” he announced excitedly. “They really weren’t even classified. It’s like someone wants to flaunt how many sims there are—coming in and leaving.”
“Well Lyle never was very good at being subtle.” Miss Parker pointed out.
“I did what you said, scanned for content. It looks like Jarod has completed sims that could be easily used in a questionable ways. This one Z93 from DreiDesert firms, is a real doozy, but it was one of the first ones Jarod solved.”
Miss Parker picked up the file and paged through it. “They’re located in Boston.” She noted. She thumbed intently through the other files; an idea had begun to form in her mind, but she could not quite grasp it. Instinctively she asked “Broots, how many of these corporations have dealt with the Centre before?”
He shrugged, “I’m not sure, but I can run it through the main computer.”
She stood up, “Call me as soon as you know,” she ordered as she turned to leave.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“To Boston, “ she said. “I hear they serve a great tea.”
***
Boston, Massachusetts
“I’m looking for a Mr. Jim Belguli of the Dreidesert firm. Have you seen him?”
The secretary twirled a fire engine red curl between her bright red fingernails. “No he don’t work here no more. Works at the docks now, I think.”
“Thanks for your time.” Miss Parker said, turning to leave. ‘Well if there’s one thing Jarod’s shown me,’ she thought as she glanced back at the secretary, ‘its how many dead ends there truly are in the human evolutionary chain.’
A sudden thought came to her. She walked back to the woman manning the desk, smiled, and glanced at the nametag.
“Sylvia, isn’t it? Do you know if Mr. Belguli was independently wealthy?”
“Inde- what?” the woman queried.
“Did he have a lot of money?” Miss Parker replied slowly, annunciating every syllable.
“Oh! Who Jim!” the woman exclaimed. “He couldn’t even afford his rent! He lived paycheck to paycheck.”
“Thank you,” said Miss Parker, “You just made my day.”
“Don’t know how I did that.” Sylvia mumbled. “Some people are so strange.”
***
Boston Harbor Dock
“Mr. Jim Belugi?!” she called to the round balding man lying peacefully on his boat in a tone that demanded his attention.
“What now?” the middle aged man began as he sat up. “What part of leave me alone do you idiots—“.
Miss Parker smiled like a Chessirecat at the speechless man. Once again her impeccable grooming had worked its magic. “I’m sorry to bother you sir,” she said in a tone that falsified the syntax of her words, “but I need to speak with you about your account.”
“My account?” he blurted in confusion. “Are you from the bank or something?”
“Hmm, something indeed.” She smiled. “Something called the Centre.”
The man’s eyes widened, and then narrowed. “I thought we agreed to never meet like this.”
The smile never left her face. “I know that this is not exactly status quo, but I’m heading a committee designed to assess how valid the solutions generated by our firm have been in the field. We randomly selected a number of past clients for follow up visits—your number came up.”
The boater’s shoulders relaxed, and the predator in Parker’s nature was aroused by his false sense of security. “Come aboard.” He gestured toward the small distance from ship to shore. She took the small leap—heels and all—with the grace of a panther.
“So tell me,” she began, “How did your little ‘adventure’ work out?”
***
The Centre
“It doesn’t make sense Miss Parker. Jarod’s capture—his complete surrender—none of it makes sense!”
“Don’t wet yourself Broots” she replied. Despite her words to Broots, she recognized that he was voicing the frustration she felt. She had been so sure Belugi would give her something—something she could use to figure this mess out, but aside from being a GQ nightmare, and dumb as a doorknob, he didn’t tell her anything. What he did let her know was that the Centre would deal with any idiot with a fistful of cash. Also, Belugi had made one slip that seemed to indicate he had mob connections—which accounted for the source of his money.
She forced herself to focus. She glanced at a file lying on Broots’ desk. It was a contract for a fugitive search and destroy mission, belonging to a company called “Tresmaenner”. She flipped idly through the file, catching phrases here and there that indicated this mission had no intention of helping out the public at large. She felt as though she were staring the cause of her recent “gut feelings” right in the face, and completely missing the punch line. She tossed down the file, and picked up the list of new companies: Trihealth, Denbars, Tripple-Doppler. Nothing rang a bell.
“Broots,” she said, “Let’s switch tactics. I want you to get me a list of all the most “sensitive” sims Jarod has completed since his return.” She picked up a ticket off his desk. The Wizard of Oz, Broots? Aren’t you a little old for fairy tales?”
“You’re never too old, Miss Parker,” he whined defensively, “and besides, they’re for Debbie. She has a pair of sparkly shoes that she wears constantly. She loves the movie, and when I saw the local theatre was putting on the play—“.
“Thank you, Broots.” He trailed off at her interruption and watched as she suddenly moved toward the door.
“Where are you going?” he asked, startled by her newfound sense of purpose.
“Well if memory serves me, the answer was with “her” all along.”
“Who?” he asked, clearly confused.
“Dorothy Gale,” she called back as the doors hissed shut behind her.
***
SL22
This time the pretender’s room was not lacking in security.
“He’s sleeping.” The “marble statue” at the door informed her.
“Then I’ll just have to wake him up” she smartly retorted. The man hesitated, clearly weighing the consequences he would be facing with Mr. Lyle if he allowed her to enter. She graced him with her meanest glare. The immediate threat won out, and the cell door opened with a beep and a hiss.
Despite the guard’s assertion, Jarod was not in his bed. Instead, he was working intently at his computer. The pretender stood up immediately when Miss Parker entered, and his eyes sought the floor. She stalked up to him, and stopped very close. Her heels clicked together, within his field of vision. “Do you know what that means?” she asked him. There was no response. “That means,” she informed him, “that I’m getting close to the answer to this little puzzle. I won’t be in Oz for long.”
Was it her imagination, or had he shifted uncomfortably—perhaps it was just his injured leg.
“There is an answer? Isn’t there Jarod—or a game? Look at me!” His face shifted up, and soulless eyes met hard ice blue. “I visited one of your clients today. A Mr. Belugi. Do you remember him?” He shook his head, but there was the slightest change in his demeanor that made her eagerly push forward. “He seemed thrilled. Your work was excellent. All the right people died.”
She had expected something from him at that last comment, but his countenance remained the same. “Well,” she insisted, “don’t you have anything to say?” He looked at her.
“How’s corporate treating you?” the pretender intoned in a sterile voice--but had she caught the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth?
‘Fine, Jarod.’ she thought. ‘If you want to play, I’ll play.’
“I’m getting a new corner office, in the expansion wing we’re building with the profit your work brings in,” she lied.
He issued a robotic nod. “Congratulations, from that window you’ll be able to see.”
“See what?” The ingrained response spilled out before she could stop herself.
“So much, perhaps, but than again they say “the seeing see little,”” he replied.
She regarded him carefully, painfully aware that this conversation was being recorded. Choking his obnoxious little hide for an explanation would undoubtedly draw unwanted attention.
“That’s what they say?” The top of his head bobbed up and down, as his eyes had once again become fixated in the floor. Clearly he had said all he was going to say.
“Remember, Jarod,” she said, “maybe we’re all not the scarecrows you take us for.” And with that last remark she stalked out.
Her footsteps were cut short as the door swished shut, but even if she had remained, she would not have heard his silent reply: ‘I know Parker, I know.’
***
Broots’ Space
“Broots!” she said “Do you have that list for me?”
“Y-yes Miss Parker,” the technician stammered. She paused reflectively in front of his desk. “Broots, do you know the phrase, “’the seeing see little’?”
“Well,” he began I guess it makes sense when you really---”.
Miss Parker didn’t even have the time to suck in the air to cut off his misinterpretation of her question before a voice behind her said, “Helen Keller.” She whirled around.
“Debbie!” she said as a genuine smile lit her face. “I didn’t see you when I came in.”
“Well,” the younger girl answered, “Dad told me to be quiet since he was working, and you are in a bad mood. Of course, he always says you’re in a bad mood.”
“He said that, did he?” The girl nodded. “He and I will have to discuss that sometime.” Broots cringed. Miss Parker noted his expression, and, once satisfied that he was repentant, continued, “So tell me Debbie, what did you mean by Helen Keller?”
“That phrase is the title of one of her poems,” the little girl answered, “I just finished reading it in school.”
Miss Parker frowned pensively. “Wonder boy knew we were being watched, but maybe he still couldn’t resist thumbing his nose at me—at the Centre.” She glanced at the list in her hand. “Broots, reprint this list, but this time only with the names of the contact for each company. The tech went to work. ‘I may not see everything like you Jarod,’ she thought, ‘but I still have my gut feelings.’
****
Broots’ Hole
Miss Parker rapidly ran down the list of names Broots had given her. Q. Langly, R. Keith, H. Keller. There it was in black and white. “Looks like the man behind the smoke and mirrors has just been discovered,” she said smugly. Her smile vanished as she saw where the contact was located. “Broots,” she said, “Call the Centre jet and get it ready for take off.”
***
Boston Harbor
The fisherman casually watched as the Amazon woman flew by him for the second time in two weeks. Her angry run came to a stop in front of the space that had once housed Jim’s Boat. He watched her fists clench at her sides and her posture grow stiff. Then she turned around and saw…him. His stomach churned as she marched toward him like a Fury full of fiery vengeance. The leggy woman towered over him, and he had to squint up at the bright sun in order to look at her. He had expected a deep hateful voice to come from this dark figure, but when she spoke her tone was surprisingly neutral. “Do you work here?’ she asked. He nodded dumbly. “Excellent,” she said. “Do you know where I can find the man who used to dock his ship there? A Mr. Belugi?”
“You mean the ship?” he asked. The woman looked at him as though her were a complete moron.
“No,” she said with exaggerated patience and pronunciation, “the man named Mr. Belugi who used to dock his ship here, but does not currently have it located where it used to be.” He smirked at this treatment.
“Lady,” he began smartly, and than modified his tone as he got one look into the raging depths of her eyes, “there was a ship docked here called the Mr. Belugi, but there was never a man by that name.”
“But, I met him,” she protested, “I spoke with him.”
“Well, unless you have some kind of sixth sense it wasn’t Mr. Belugi--he’s been dead a real long time.”
She frowned, and turned to go. She suddenly whirled back on him and pulled out a picture. “Have you seen this man?” she asked forcefully.
“W-who? Jarod? Sure, I know him.” The dark haired woman grinned, and he thought he caught a glimpse of fangs.
“Was he here?”
“Yeah, a few years back he worked for Jim.”
“Jim?” she queried.
“Jimmy owns the Belugi there.”
Her lips twitched. “Why didn’t you mention Jim in the first place?”
His grin widened, “You never asked.” She turned to go, and this time he stopped her. “Don’t you want to see his boat?”
“Whose boat?”
“Jarod’s,” he said. “The Helen Keller.”
