Song of the Red-Legged Birds: Chapter 40: I love that dirty water
Christo takes it on the chin
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With gratitude, Bill
Last week, in chapter 39, The crew read the final message from Wake
Chapter 40: I love that dirty water
“He’s what? Not feeling well? And he thinks taking off and not answering his phone is okay? I’ll have his ass!” Desmond yelled from his desk at Careen.
“Easy, Des. The kid’s sick. The flu or something. It’s a wonder he got home at all. He hitchhiked and left his car here. It’s better that he left and didn’t infect everyone. He ran too hard chasing down the network, and it caught up with him. I gave him some cold medicine and will check on him on my way home.”
“Whatever, fine. The little prodigy needs to learn how to work as part of a team. He’s been throwing attitude lately, don’t you think?”
“No. He’s had some success at his first real job. Maybe it’s burgeoning confidence. That’s a good thing, right?”
Desmond took off his glasses. “You always seem to be looking out for him,” his synthetic blue eyes flashed, “are you covering for Luke?” He watched her.
“No, Des,” she said with a dismissing wave. “I’ve got a soft spot for the kid.”
“Think I’ll stop by his place,” he said, lips drawn back.
“Do what you want. Fair warning, I told you he’s sick. If your eyes are still as sensitive to viral infection as they were in the past, you might, well… think about it. I’d hate for you to go blind again.”
Desmond huffed, put his glasses back on, and sat down. “Text me when you see him. I want to hear that the kid is okay and will be in the office tomorrow. Unless he’s suffering from rigor mortis, he’ll be here, understand? It’s not the time to sit home with the sniffles; shit is hitting the fan, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“Okay, okay, yes, I’ll text you. He’ll be here tomorrow; relax.”
He pointed at her while looking at his computer. “Don’t tell me to relax, Careen. Just make it happen. Get with Tim and get something accomplished today. I want that damn network back, and I want it now!”
Arthur was still sitting with Christo in his office when a request for a vid call came through. It was Tom. He accepted it right away and sent it to the large wall display. Tom’s head appeared about four feet tall.
“Hello, Tom. You know Arthur of course; would you like to speak privately?”
“Fuck if I care,” he threw up his hands, “I could give a shit… hello, Art.”
“Hello, sir,” Arthur said.
“Christo, I have a question for you.”
“Yes?”
“Am I your laundry?”
“I’m sorry?” Christo said.
“I said,” he put his mouth so close to the camera that the whole wall was filled with a view down his throat, “am... I... your... fucking... laundry?”
“Uh, no, of course not...” Christo interlaced his fingers.
“That’s strange. Because you hung me the fuck out to dry again, asshole!”
Arthur stifled a laugh. Christo shot him a quick look, “Tom…”
“Shut up. I wanted answers. I wanted no surprises. I wanted a reason to justify my job and the whole PDCO, frankly. And you fucked me, hard. Ambassadors are calling the White House for answers to questions about the grid pulsing, the explosion in Boston, The Red Foot network’s disappearance, and two renegade assholes on the run. What do you people do there all fucking day? I’m shocked you answered the phone and weren’t out catching some waves… dude!”
“Tom, I can explain…”
“No.” Tom sat back in his chair, his head filling the screen again. He wasn’t wearing a suit jacket, his tie was askew, and his normally perfect hair was messy. “I’m on death row here, asshole, waiting for the President’s call to have my head. Now I’ve got to figure out how to tap dance for that jet-setting action star in a last-ditch effort to save my ass. I don’t want an explanation from you. I want a goddamn miracle. I want a buzzer-beater, a Hail Mary, a grand slam with two outs in the ninth, pick your shitty sports metaphor!”
“The President would like to see you now,” a voice said behind him. He blinked and looked up.
“Tom, if you could buy us a little more time, a day or two,” Christo said, pleading.
Tom straightened his tie, gave the finger to the camera, and hung up.
Arthur clapped Christo on the back. “Don’t let him sweat yah, bra–guys wound too tight. There have been sketchy times before; we’ll be fine. He’s going to take some shit is all. Man, that’s what he’s paid to do.”
Christo sighed and stood up, “Thanks, man. Bunch of shit luck and bad timing is all. Can you get with Desmond and find out what government suits know about the pulsing increase? And, more importantly, do we have anyone on the inside there that we can work for intel? Might help us in the short term while we get our head back in the game.”
An alert flashed on Christo’s screen. “Huh, that’s odd.”
“What’s up?”
“Just a surf alert. I guess Pe’ahi is going off. People are scrambling to get out there.”
“Jaws is going off now? That’s very odd. Bizarre is more like it. Them waves ain’t due until at least January.” Arthur scratched his wild mane of hair, his eyes drifting to a scene in his mind.
Christo smiled, watching him. “Shit, I know that look. It’s like an old friend just showed up in town, right?”
Arthur laughed, “It’s mother Maui, bra, she put them waves in my blood! I can’t ride ’em that big anymore, but I can pay my respects.”
“Go then. I’m not about to fuck with island karma. We need all the good luck we can get.”
“Look, I’ll talk to Desmond before I head out. Call me if you need me.” He stood up to leave.
“Yeah, yeah, fuck off then, buddy. We’ll talk soon. Give Pe’ahi my respects.”
"Mahalo nui loa," Arthur said.
Christo listened to the sound of him trotting down the hallway. Alone again, he thought.
Next week in Chapter 41, Part 1 “Only hard feelings” Holly and Takeda gear up to leave