TIME:
8:46 PM

"Sydney's coming here? Tonight?" Angie echoed.

"Let me get this goddamn well straight," I said; where Jarod's voice had been overly quiet, mine was overly loud. Hell, I could swear I saw him flinch. He might look all calm and cool on TV, but in reality, he's actually very much on edge. Loud noises and stuff like that startle him. "OK. The people from the Centre--that's Miss Parker and company, right?--those people are real? And one of them is coming here? Here, as in Joe's Sports View Cafe?"

Wordlessly, Jarod nodded.

"This is not good," Angie whispered to me. "Somebody's crazy around here, and I don't think it's us."

I waved a hand to silence her. "What the hell is Sydney coming here for?"

"Because I told him to."

"Because you told him--" Like he'd really be able to get away with coming here alone. While the prospect of someday meeting Andrea Parker was an interesting one, the idea of running into the actual Miss Parker was another matter entirely. And then there was Mr. Raines. Ye gods. "If you're real, and the situation is the same as it is on TV--them after you, and you having escaped--?" I looked at him, expecting an answer.

Again, he nodded assent.

I continued. "You called Sydney and--"

"Arranged a meeting," he said, eyeing me warily, obviously unsure how to handle my outraged tone. "I--I did tell him to come alone."

"Like he's really gonna do it! Are you--" I took a deep breath and lowered my voice. "Are you crazy?"

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"OK," I said. "You called in the dogs because you think you're crazy? Seriously?"

"It's on TV," Jarod said. "It's not real. Except . . . " He glanced down at the "weird laptop."

"Except you actually have the DSAs to prove it," I finished for him. "Show me one?" Here was the real Jarod (or so it seemed) and he was doubting his own reality. This was entirely too much. "Jarod, let me see a DSA. No--I don't mean watch it, not here. I just want to look at one, you know?"

Jarod hesitated, but then decided to go along with me. He opened the case, watching me the whole time. He handed over a small silver CD. In awe, I turned it over in my hands, watching the play of multicolored lounge lights flash over its surface. On the non-playing side, the CD was blank, save for the ominous words CENTRE USE ONLY etched in forbidding black letters.

I handed it over to Angie, careful not to smudge the "reading" side with my fingertips. A small smile played about my lips. Nothing was funny, exactly--I was just discovering that the fabric of reality as I knew it wasn't stitched together all that well, if you know what I mean. And it was one of those "either laugh or cry" (or maybe "scream" would be a better word) moments.

Angie examined the CD-ROM and then handed it back to me. I passed it on to Jarod, as though we were all performing a weird technological communion. The rite over with, he returned the DSA to its proper place in the case.

Angie asked the relevant question: "So when is Sydney getting here?"

"What time is it now?" Jarod glanced down at his watch (one of those fancy ones with dials that tell you everything from the barometric pressure to the current time in Tanzania, for all I know). He frowned and looked back up at the TV. "I was hoping to watch more of the Olympics, before--"

"That's what I was afraid you'd say," I muttered. I picked up my beer again--damn, empty. And I didn't want to just up and leave this little scene for the paltry purpose of acquiring another brew. I grabbed my lighter and started turning it around in my fingers.

"What're we gonna do?" Angie asked me. "I mean, shit! We wouldn't stand a chance against the Centre--"

"--but we can't let them just steal Boy Genius here, either!" I finished.

But Angie and I seemed to be doing all the obligated worrying in this situation--Jarod's concentration was back on the TV, where Tara Lipinsky was skating around the ice amidst flashing overhead spotlights and loud classical music.

"What is he--oblivious?" Angie snarled.

I merely looked at her. Around and around went the lighter until--dammit. I dropped it.

"He's oblivious." Angie answered her own question.

I bent down, practically crawling under the table as I searched for my lighter. It's a black Zippo, my name engraved on it and everything--I wasn't about to lose it.

"Try 'easily distractible,' a new voice interjected.

A new female voice. A new harsh female voice.

I froze, leaning down, my hand on the floor under the table. I raised my head a little, so that I was looking out from under the table. I could see feet--or shoes, to be exact. Black stiletto heels.
"Oh . . . shit . . . " I breathed. Behind me, I heard Angie's quick indrawn breath.

My eyes panned upwards like a slow-motion camera, over tanned legs . . . long gorgeous legs . . . Miss Parker's legs.

I lunged back in my seat, nearly hitting my head on the bottom of the table in the process.

Behind her was Sam the Sweeper. And behind him was Sydney. They were all arrayed out around the table, which was backed into a corner on one side, anyway. None of us was going anywhere.

"I believe you lost this." Miss Parker said. She bent down and reached under the neighboring booth, silver leather trench-coat swirling around her legs. Next thing you know, Miss Parker was handing me my own Zippo. The woman had this smug little half-smile on her face and a certain glint in her eyes--oh, she knew the effect she was having on us, all right. And she was just soaking it up.

"Uh, thanks," I breathed. "I think."

"And I believe we lost this," Miss Parker continued, indicating Jarod.

Jarod wasn't taking all this too well--I could tell by how pale he'd gotten since the last time I'd checked. Like, yeah, he'd called Sydney here, but now that they were all here, he regretted the hell out of the decision. Surely he knew now that he really wasn't crazy--after all, here they all were, the various personalities from his paranoid delusion. Oh, yeah, he wanted to cut and run now--I could read the barely-controlled tension all through his body--but it was too late for that now.

"This does not look good," Angie managed, just before I elbowed her in the side.

Miss Parker suddenly lunged forward, towards Jarod, who drew back--he seemed to want to disappear back into the corner behind him, as if it could protect him. But she was only going for his beer. Jarod wasn't the only one surprised by her sudden move, I saw--Sam actually had a hand under his suit-coat, presumably reaching for his Centre-issue Special.

Miss Parker took a swig of beer. "What, Jarod?" she said. "You didn't drink much. You should've, considering you're not gonna get another one for a very, very long time--"

Right then, a drunken college kid lurched in the wrong direction. I knew him vaguely--Rob Something-or-Other. The poor unfortunate soul collided with Miss Parker's arm. The beer sloshed onto the front of her expensive dark purple blazer even as she turned on him. "You stupid asshole!"

"I--I--" Rob stammered.

"Get out of here, you moron!"

Rob made a run for it, glancing back at me, obviously wondering what I was doing with such a bitch. I shrugged, indicating that I didn't really know her. I watched him go, jealous that he was able to encounter Miss Parker and leave. I had my doubts as to whether or not Angie and I would be so fortunate.

Miss Parker, meanwhile, continued where she'd left off. She smiled sweetly as she slammed the bottle back down on the table in front of Jarod; everyone present jumped a little at the sound. "And it's too bad about your friends here--"

'Friends here.' Meaning Angie and me. It was that 'too bad' part that worried me, though. "Uh, 'too bad,' what?" I asked. And then I offered what had to be the only thing currently in our favor: "Remember, Miss Parker, there's all kinds of witnesses here."

Miss Parker didn't even look my way as she snapped, "Keep your mouth shut, kid." She walked the few steps over to the chair next to Jarod. She picked up the aluminum computer-case and set it on the table and sat down next to him. "Now, Wonder-Boy, are you going to be a good little rat and come running home to the lab?" She reached out to take him by the arm; he raised his own hand, ready to strike hers out of the way. She gauged Jarod's reaction, and then added, "Or do we have to take hostages?"

"Hostages?" Angie squeaked. She really did--squeak it, I mean. Never heard anything like it before, and never have since.

Miss Parker nodded to Sam, who stepped forward--and this is when I realized that I was the most likely "hostage," given that I was sitting in the spot closest to Sam. "No, uh-uh, I don't think so," I demurred, even as Sam moved aside his sport-coat just enough so that I could see the butt of his gun.

"Witnesses, hell," Parker snarled, pulling a small gun from a holster behind her back. She jammed it into Jarod's ribs. At least I think that's what she did--all this was below the table, mind you. "I could shoot you dead right now and no one would even hear it over the damn TV. We'd be in and out of here, a clean sweep."

Jarod stayed very, very still, his eyes fixed on hers. I tell you, he looked miserable.

"Parker--" Sydney broke in. He didn't seem to like the fact that Miss Parker was holding Jarod at gunpoint. I don't think he trusted her.

"Shut up, Syd," Miss Parker snapped.

I wasn't looking all to happy myself, with Godfather II hovering over me like he was--and here I'd never had any particular urge to get close to Sam. "Let's talk about this 'hostage' thing," I began, opening the floor to debate. "We're all reasonable adults--" One glare from Sam won the debate before it even had a chance to begin. I shut up. So much for the Reasonable Adult Theory.

Miss Parker continued. "In fact, Jarod, if it was up to me, I would end this here and now." Her smile widened, which definitely did not bode well for the rest of us. Hers was a decidedly predatory grin.

"But it's not up to you, Miss Parker," Sydney said, stepping forward.

"Thank God," I muttered.

Miss Parker retorted, "Well, it sure in hell isn't up to you!"

"There's no need to hold me at gunpoint," Jarod interjected, speaking for the first time since Miss Parker and Company had arrived.

Miss Parker focused her attention on him again. "Do you think I'm stupid, you little shit?" She dug the barrel of the gun into Jarod's ribs; he winced, but made no protest. "'No need to hold me at gunpoint,'" she mimicked, sarcastically. "How many times have I been this close to catching you once and for all, and then you--"

"This isn't necessary," Jarod said, his voice low and calm, totally contradicting the expression in his eyes, which betrayed just about everything but calmness. Miss Parker was crazy-angry with him about something, and we all knew what that meant. You've watched the show, too, right? You understand. You know just how impulsive she can be when she attains high levels of that particular emotion. But Jarod wasn't done yet. "Put the gun away."

"Don't you even tell me what to do, Jarod!" Miss Parker yelled, her gray-blue eyes glinting dangerously.

"Parker," Sydney cautioned. "This is a public place, for God's sake."

"Yeah," I agreed. Everyone turned around and stared at me, as though they'd forgotten I was there until I'd spoken. Geez, some hostage I was, right? I mean, nobody remembers I'm there, until it's time to kill me or something. "I know I'm the hostage, and you don't have to listen to me, but--"

"You're right." Miss Parker considered, the somehow psychotic grin never wavering. "You are the hostage. And I don't have to listen to you. But I'm sure Lab Rat here wouldn't want to see anything happen to you." She looked at Jarod, pointedly, as she added, "Innocent blood on your hands, and all that." She smiled even as she returned her gun to its holster.

Everybody relaxed. A little. Jarod actually breathed a small sigh of relief--I think he really believed she might do it. Shoot him, I mean. I myself didn't relax all that much, considering that the "innocent blood" in question was my innocent blood.

Miss Parker reached under the back of her blazer again. We all tensed, thinking she was going for her gun. No--just a pair of handcuffs. The woman was packing more equipment than a cop.

"Turn around," she ordered Jarod. "Face the wall."

But the last thing he wanted was his back to that woman. "I don't want to."

"Does it look like I care?" she snapped. "Now do it!"

Reluctantly, he faced the wall.

"Hands," she commanded. "Where I can reach them."

Jarod accommodated her, putting his hands behind his back. She pushed up the sleeves of his leather jacket; Jarod actually flinched at her touch. That gave Miss Parker pause for a second, for whatever the reason, but she went through with it anyway. The handcuffs closed around Jarod's bare wrists with a metallic snap that seemed to be the very sound of finality itself.

"Now," Miss Parker said, triumph in her voice. "We're going home, Jarod."

"The Centre is not my home," Jarod said, watching her over his shoulder.

"Shut up, Jarod," Miss Parker told him, giving a little tug on the handcuff-chain, just because she could, just to show him who was in charge. "Sam, get the DSAs." Sam grabbed the aluminum computer-case off the table as Miss Parker eyed Angie and I. The smile finally disappeared from her lips as she deliberated what to do with us. "And it looks like you two ladies are coming along for the ride."