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Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: Please refer to Part 1.
Till We Meet Again
Part 3: Life's Little Mysteries
Langer M. Fritz
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
As Broots took that walk through the halls of the Centre's sublevels from Sydney's office to the tech room, his steps slowed and his shoulders hunched the more he thought of what he had to do.
He wasn't sure whether he should be feeling elation or fear. Elation in knowing that Jarod had finally contacted his concerned mentor, or fear that Lyle would find out about it.
The thumbless psychopath had been on a rampage lately, Sydney and him being his chief targets for their failure in tracking down Jarod, the Major or the clone. The closest they had gotten in the last 12 months was when they missed Major Charles and the clone at a cattle ranch outside Houston by mere seconds, watching as the car carrying the duo sped away spewing dirt in their wake.
Not that he or Sydney was trying very hard. The fact of the matter was since Miss Parker's death, neither was in any great hurry to witness the capture of Jarod and his family. The lack of effort on both their parts was unspoken of course. A kind of silent agreement between confidantes. It will never do to talk about such things at the Centre. An immediate death sentence if Lyle or the Triumvirate even had an inkling, Broots brooded as he walked on.
So what now of Jarod's latest request through Sydney? It was one thing to slow the progress of Lyle and his team of sweepers by planting false trails like the latest one to nowhere in Montana, but quite another to be actively in contact with the Pretender, helping him.
But Broots also knew he owed Miss Parker to do the right thing. It was the least he could do for his friend. Jarod needed his help in finding out who killed her.
It wasn't asking too much of a friend, was it?
Well, it was if your head's on the chopping block, one half of him argued.
But it's for Miss Parker, the other half countered.
Yeah, and you'd be joining your friend real soon if you went through with it.
But it's for the woman you once had a crush on.
Oh, right, like she reciprocated or had any feelings for you.
What about Debbie? The little girl idolized Miss Parker. The least you could do was help ...
Smack! Broots had walked right into ...
"M ... Mr. ... Ly ... Lyle!" poor Broots stammered in shock.
Taking a step or two back to regain his balance, the dapper Lyle didn't miss a beat as he said calmly, "I hope that means you were thinking really hard at capturing Jarod and the others, Mr. Broots?"
"Uh, ... y...yes, ... Mr. Lyle."
"Any news yet?"
"N ... no ... not at the moment."
Lyle raised an eyebrow and waited, "Well?"
"Well?" asked the clueless Broots.
"What are you still doing here?" asked Lyle impatiently. "Get to work!"
"Y ... ye ... yes, Mr. Lyle," Broots answered, scampering away.
As Broots turned a corner, he stopped to lean against the wall to take a breath.
The walls looked to be closing in. And they're closing in on him, he sighed heavily.
========================================================================
The Red Tattoo Restaurant
Ocean Front Walk
Venice Beach, California
"Hey lady, I ordered a side of mixed vegetables, not coleslaw," the man called to the retreating figure of the waitress who had just placed his order on the table.
The tall brunette walked back to the table and forced a smile at the man, "Yes?"
"I asked for a side of mixed vegetables, not coleslaw," the well-muscled man repeated.
"I'm sorry, I'll make the change now," the waitress said, picking up the plate. That was when out of the corner of her eye she saw the man wink to his two male companions.
"And while you're at it, baby, why don't you walk that tight ass of yours back to the cook and tell him we would prefer our meals hot?" the man said, smiling broadly at his companions.
A fiery flash sparked in the eyes of the waitress.
********
Jean Branson could spot trouble a mile away. The minute those three hulks walked into the restaurant, she knew they were trouble. With a capital T.
Granted that their waitress was a very attractive woman, and Jean had gotten used to male customers' reactions to this striking brunette, but too much was too much. First, there was the ogling the minute they sat down. Then there were the snickers, rude remarks and gestures every time her back was turned.
The veteran waitress saw her young charge's flash of anger and knew the storm was about to turn into a full gale force hurricane.
She hurried over, hoping to avert a disaster in the making, weaving her way expertly through the dinnertime crowd at the tables.
She heard her young charge's slow and deliberate reply, which matched the icy smile on her face, "You like your meal hot? I'll let you have it hot now."
Lightning quick, Jean Branson intercepted the plate and its contents before they came raining down on top of the obnoxious hulk's head.
"Sir, we'll get right to it," Jean said, taking a hold of her young charge's arm and the plate of food, and dragging her toward the kitchen.
Upon entering the kitchen through the double swinging doors, her inexperienced charge turned to Jean and said heatedly, "Why did you stop me?"
"He's the customer, remember? And what's the first rule?" Jean asked calmly, walking over to one of the counters to replace the offending coleslaw with mixed vegetables.
"The customer's always right," the younger woman mumbled grudgingly.
"But he deserved it," she added as an afterthought.
Jean walked back to the woman. "We both know he deserved that and more. BUT ... he's the customer."
The forty-something head waitress shrugged her shoulders and gave the younger woman a resigned smile as she headed back out the doors with the man's food.
The brunette ran a hand through her shoulder-length hair as she looked at the retreating back of the older woman.
She groaned and muttered, "God, I need a cigarette."
========================================================================
A week later
Outside Blue Cove, Delaware
Sydney didn't think it was such a good idea, but he trusted his protégé's judgment. Jarod had suggested they meet at the one place he knew the Centre would never think to look, and they were each making their way there.
As Sydney's car pulled into the driveway, its headlights brought into view the beautiful, single-story country home - Miss Parker's home to be exact.
Sydney alighted and glanced around. Except for the swaying shadows cast by the trees in the gently blowing breeze, all was quiet. Guess I'm the first to arrive, thought Sydney.
He approached the front door and tried the knob. It was unlocked.
As the door opened to reveal the interior, Sydney was surprised to see a warm amber glow enveloping the white sheets covering the furniture in the room.
Then he saw him.
Standing by the fireplace, Jarod was looking intently at the flames engulfing the logs.
As Sydney walked in, Jarod turned to the older man, "Hello, Sydney."
"Hello, Jarod," Sydney replied, making his way to stand next to younger man by the fireplace.
Both were quiet as they stared at the flames. Then Sydney noticed a photo frame in one of Jarod's hands. It was Miss Parker's favorite - the one with Catherine Parker smiling dotingly down on her daughter during a much happier time.
"Seems like it was just yesterday that I met her," Jarod said quietly when he noticed Sydney staring at the photo. "So full of life and hope. Why did things have to change so much, Syd?"
"Sometimes in life, circumstances have a way of changing people," Sydney said philosophically.
"You mean the CENTRE has a way of changing people and destroying lives," Jarod refuted bitterly.
"Jarod-," Sydney sighed and was about to reply when he was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. "That must be Broots."
********
The three men had removed some of the sheets covering the living room furniture and were now perched on the couch.
"What have you found for us, Mr. Broots?" Jarod asked, looking at the techie intently.
"Uh, I've been doing some backtracking," Broots answered, whispering. "And everything seems the norm-"
"Broots, why are you whispering?" Sydney asked, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.
"Uh ... um ... oh, sorry Syd," Broots corrected himself, speaking in his normal tone. "It's just that I ... um ... half expect ... eh ... the house to be bugged."
"I checked, Broots," Jarod said, giving a half-smile that indicated he had left nothing to chance. As usual.
"Go on, Broots," Sydney encouraged.
"Well, as I was saying, my backtracking in the Centre mainframe has indicated nothing that I would term unusual, but then again, everything at the Centre is unusual," Broots explained.
"And the point is?" Jarod asked, a tad impatiently.
"Well, uh, the point is ... although there wasn't anything I would term as highly unusual, there seemed to have been quite a bit of communication between Mr. Lyle and Mr. White prior to and immediately after ... uh ... Miss Parker's death."
"What sorts of communication?" Sydney prodded.
"Mostly classified phone conversations, and a couple of emails."
"What were they about?" asked Jarod.
"I haven't been able to access any of them yet ... Mr. Lyle has been trying out a new scrambler to prevent outside intrusion on Centre communications," Broots said, looking meaningfully at the "intruder" in question. "And I've been trying to decipher and unscramble them."
Jarod stood and stared off into space, contemplating.
Then he turned to face the two seated men, "Continue in that direction Broots, there may well be something there."
"Uh, Ja-Jarod," Broots said, feeling awkward at having to address the Pretender by name directly. "There's something else."
Jarod raised an eyebrow at Broots.
"It's about Mr. Raines. His communication log indicates regular communication with someone at Clarkson Pharmaceuticals in Sunnyvale, California."
"Clarkson," Sydney repeated, looking up at Jarod. "Isn't that the company that makes the anti-depressant drug-"
"Panalex," Jarod finished for his mentor, as he began to pace. He recalled a red notebook case a few years back where he had exposed a doctor for murdering the hospital administrator that was initially thought to be a simple case of Panalex overdose. He had then gone on to help George Harper rescue his kidnapped son, Patrick.
"But that's not so unusual," the sound of Sydney's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Raines himself admitted to being a major shareholder in the company - his "nest egg," according to him."
Broots cleared his throat to say, "Not unusual in and of itself, but it's the WHO he's been communicating with that's .. uh ... a little odd."
He now had their attention. "He's been in contact with a low level pharmaceuticals sales rep."
"What would Raines want with a company sales rep?" Sydney asked, puzzled.
"Not just any company sales rep, Syd," Broots replied, and then paused. "Remember Michael Patrick?"
Sydney's eyes narrowed. Jarod noticed the grim look on the older man's face.
"Who is he, Sydney?"
========================================================================
The Red Tattoo Restaurant
Back alleyway
Venice Beach, California
The brunette sat on the back steps of the Red Tattoo, sneaking a smoke during her break.
She inhaled deeply and let out a sigh.
"I thought you said you quit?" a voice admonished from behind her.
Jean Branson came into view as she moved to stand in front of the younger woman.
"I did, or I think I did," the woman replied, taking another puff.
"What's wrong?" Jean asked in a motherly fashion, taking a seat next to her.
Jean had sort of taken the younger woman under her wing since she started working at the restaurant six months ago.
"If you absolutely must know - everything," the younger woman sighed again.
"Trouble on the homefront?" Jean asked.
She was met by silence as the brunette took another puff of her cigarette before tossing the bud to the ground, and flattening it forcefully with a foot.
"Everything okay with the hubby?" she tried again.
"The sex is good when he's around," the brunette replied dryly.
The older woman let out a laugh before continuing in a more serious tone. "If you're unhappy, get out while you still can, before the kids come. Trust me, I'm speaking from experience," advised the thrice-divorced woman.
"You know I can't," she replied.
"I really don't understand why you stay with that man," Jean fumed. "Half the time he isn't around, and when he is, he is all possessive and crazy. Remember the hard time he gave you about working here? What did he expect? You staying at home all day doing nothing and waiting for him to call when he's on the road?"
"He's just protective. He doesn't want me to over-exert myself," the younger woman tried to put up a defense for her husband.
"Hmphh! Oh, sure, over-exert! He just wants to make sure he knows where you are 24 hours a day, 7 days a week," the older woman continued hotly. "You're more than capable of taking care of yourself. Leave him."
"I can't," she repeated. "He's my only connection to the past."
"Oh, Kate ..."
Till We Meet Again
Part 3: Life's Little Mysteries
Langer M. Fritz
The Centre
Blue Cove, Delaware
As Broots took that walk through the halls of the Centre's sublevels from Sydney's office to the tech room, his steps slowed and his shoulders hunched the more he thought of what he had to do.
He wasn't sure whether he should be feeling elation or fear. Elation in knowing that Jarod had finally contacted his concerned mentor, or fear that Lyle would find out about it.
The thumbless psychopath had been on a rampage lately, Sydney and him being his chief targets for their failure in tracking down Jarod, the Major or the clone. The closest they had gotten in the last 12 months was when they missed Major Charles and the clone at a cattle ranch outside Houston by mere seconds, watching as the car carrying the duo sped away spewing dirt in their wake.
Not that he or Sydney was trying very hard. The fact of the matter was since Miss Parker's death, neither was in any great hurry to witness the capture of Jarod and his family. The lack of effort on both their parts was unspoken of course. A kind of silent agreement between confidantes. It will never do to talk about such things at the Centre. An immediate death sentence if Lyle or the Triumvirate even had an inkling, Broots brooded as he walked on.
So what now of Jarod's latest request through Sydney? It was one thing to slow the progress of Lyle and his team of sweepers by planting false trails like the latest one to nowhere in Montana, but quite another to be actively in contact with the Pretender, helping him.
But Broots also knew he owed Miss Parker to do the right thing. It was the least he could do for his friend. Jarod needed his help in finding out who killed her.
It wasn't asking too much of a friend, was it?
Well, it was if your head's on the chopping block, one half of him argued.
But it's for Miss Parker, the other half countered.
Yeah, and you'd be joining your friend real soon if you went through with it.
But it's for the woman you once had a crush on.
Oh, right, like she reciprocated or had any feelings for you.
What about Debbie? The little girl idolized Miss Parker. The least you could do was help ...
Smack! Broots had walked right into ...
"M ... Mr. ... Ly ... Lyle!" poor Broots stammered in shock.
Taking a step or two back to regain his balance, the dapper Lyle didn't miss a beat as he said calmly, "I hope that means you were thinking really hard at capturing Jarod and the others, Mr. Broots?"
"Uh, ... y...yes, ... Mr. Lyle."
"Any news yet?"
"N ... no ... not at the moment."
Lyle raised an eyebrow and waited, "Well?"
"Well?" asked the clueless Broots.
"What are you still doing here?" asked Lyle impatiently. "Get to work!"
"Y ... ye ... yes, Mr. Lyle," Broots answered, scampering away.
As Broots turned a corner, he stopped to lean against the wall to take a breath.
The walls looked to be closing in. And they're closing in on him, he sighed heavily.
========================================================================
The Red Tattoo Restaurant
Ocean Front Walk
Venice Beach, California
"Hey lady, I ordered a side of mixed vegetables, not coleslaw," the man called to the retreating figure of the waitress who had just placed his order on the table.
The tall brunette walked back to the table and forced a smile at the man, "Yes?"
"I asked for a side of mixed vegetables, not coleslaw," the well-muscled man repeated.
"I'm sorry, I'll make the change now," the waitress said, picking up the plate. That was when out of the corner of her eye she saw the man wink to his two male companions.
"And while you're at it, baby, why don't you walk that tight ass of yours back to the cook and tell him we would prefer our meals hot?" the man said, smiling broadly at his companions.
A fiery flash sparked in the eyes of the waitress.
********
Jean Branson could spot trouble a mile away. The minute those three hulks walked into the restaurant, she knew they were trouble. With a capital T.
Granted that their waitress was a very attractive woman, and Jean had gotten used to male customers' reactions to this striking brunette, but too much was too much. First, there was the ogling the minute they sat down. Then there were the snickers, rude remarks and gestures every time her back was turned.
The veteran waitress saw her young charge's flash of anger and knew the storm was about to turn into a full gale force hurricane.
She hurried over, hoping to avert a disaster in the making, weaving her way expertly through the dinnertime crowd at the tables.
She heard her young charge's slow and deliberate reply, which matched the icy smile on her face, "You like your meal hot? I'll let you have it hot now."
Lightning quick, Jean Branson intercepted the plate and its contents before they came raining down on top of the obnoxious hulk's head.
"Sir, we'll get right to it," Jean said, taking a hold of her young charge's arm and the plate of food, and dragging her toward the kitchen.
Upon entering the kitchen through the double swinging doors, her inexperienced charge turned to Jean and said heatedly, "Why did you stop me?"
"He's the customer, remember? And what's the first rule?" Jean asked calmly, walking over to one of the counters to replace the offending coleslaw with mixed vegetables.
"The customer's always right," the younger woman mumbled grudgingly.
"But he deserved it," she added as an afterthought.
Jean walked back to the woman. "We both know he deserved that and more. BUT ... he's the customer."
The forty-something head waitress shrugged her shoulders and gave the younger woman a resigned smile as she headed back out the doors with the man's food.
The brunette ran a hand through her shoulder-length hair as she looked at the retreating back of the older woman.
She groaned and muttered, "God, I need a cigarette."
========================================================================
A week later
Outside Blue Cove, Delaware
Sydney didn't think it was such a good idea, but he trusted his protégé's judgment. Jarod had suggested they meet at the one place he knew the Centre would never think to look, and they were each making their way there.
As Sydney's car pulled into the driveway, its headlights brought into view the beautiful, single-story country home - Miss Parker's home to be exact.
Sydney alighted and glanced around. Except for the swaying shadows cast by the trees in the gently blowing breeze, all was quiet. Guess I'm the first to arrive, thought Sydney.
He approached the front door and tried the knob. It was unlocked.
As the door opened to reveal the interior, Sydney was surprised to see a warm amber glow enveloping the white sheets covering the furniture in the room.
Then he saw him.
Standing by the fireplace, Jarod was looking intently at the flames engulfing the logs.
As Sydney walked in, Jarod turned to the older man, "Hello, Sydney."
"Hello, Jarod," Sydney replied, making his way to stand next to younger man by the fireplace.
Both were quiet as they stared at the flames. Then Sydney noticed a photo frame in one of Jarod's hands. It was Miss Parker's favorite - the one with Catherine Parker smiling dotingly down on her daughter during a much happier time.
"Seems like it was just yesterday that I met her," Jarod said quietly when he noticed Sydney staring at the photo. "So full of life and hope. Why did things have to change so much, Syd?"
"Sometimes in life, circumstances have a way of changing people," Sydney said philosophically.
"You mean the CENTRE has a way of changing people and destroying lives," Jarod refuted bitterly.
"Jarod-," Sydney sighed and was about to reply when he was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. "That must be Broots."
********
The three men had removed some of the sheets covering the living room furniture and were now perched on the couch.
"What have you found for us, Mr. Broots?" Jarod asked, looking at the techie intently.
"Uh, I've been doing some backtracking," Broots answered, whispering. "And everything seems the norm-"
"Broots, why are you whispering?" Sydney asked, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.
"Uh ... um ... oh, sorry Syd," Broots corrected himself, speaking in his normal tone. "It's just that I ... um ... half expect ... eh ... the house to be bugged."
"I checked, Broots," Jarod said, giving a half-smile that indicated he had left nothing to chance. As usual.
"Go on, Broots," Sydney encouraged.
"Well, as I was saying, my backtracking in the Centre mainframe has indicated nothing that I would term unusual, but then again, everything at the Centre is unusual," Broots explained.
"And the point is?" Jarod asked, a tad impatiently.
"Well, uh, the point is ... although there wasn't anything I would term as highly unusual, there seemed to have been quite a bit of communication between Mr. Lyle and Mr. White prior to and immediately after ... uh ... Miss Parker's death."
"What sorts of communication?" Sydney prodded.
"Mostly classified phone conversations, and a couple of emails."
"What were they about?" asked Jarod.
"I haven't been able to access any of them yet ... Mr. Lyle has been trying out a new scrambler to prevent outside intrusion on Centre communications," Broots said, looking meaningfully at the "intruder" in question. "And I've been trying to decipher and unscramble them."
Jarod stood and stared off into space, contemplating.
Then he turned to face the two seated men, "Continue in that direction Broots, there may well be something there."
"Uh, Ja-Jarod," Broots said, feeling awkward at having to address the Pretender by name directly. "There's something else."
Jarod raised an eyebrow at Broots.
"It's about Mr. Raines. His communication log indicates regular communication with someone at Clarkson Pharmaceuticals in Sunnyvale, California."
"Clarkson," Sydney repeated, looking up at Jarod. "Isn't that the company that makes the anti-depressant drug-"
"Panalex," Jarod finished for his mentor, as he began to pace. He recalled a red notebook case a few years back where he had exposed a doctor for murdering the hospital administrator that was initially thought to be a simple case of Panalex overdose. He had then gone on to help George Harper rescue his kidnapped son, Patrick.
"But that's not so unusual," the sound of Sydney's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Raines himself admitted to being a major shareholder in the company - his "nest egg," according to him."
Broots cleared his throat to say, "Not unusual in and of itself, but it's the WHO he's been communicating with that's .. uh ... a little odd."
He now had their attention. "He's been in contact with a low level pharmaceuticals sales rep."
"What would Raines want with a company sales rep?" Sydney asked, puzzled.
"Not just any company sales rep, Syd," Broots replied, and then paused. "Remember Michael Patrick?"
Sydney's eyes narrowed. Jarod noticed the grim look on the older man's face.
"Who is he, Sydney?"
========================================================================
The Red Tattoo Restaurant
Back alleyway
Venice Beach, California
The brunette sat on the back steps of the Red Tattoo, sneaking a smoke during her break.
She inhaled deeply and let out a sigh.
"I thought you said you quit?" a voice admonished from behind her.
Jean Branson came into view as she moved to stand in front of the younger woman.
"I did, or I think I did," the woman replied, taking another puff.
"What's wrong?" Jean asked in a motherly fashion, taking a seat next to her.
Jean had sort of taken the younger woman under her wing since she started working at the restaurant six months ago.
"If you absolutely must know - everything," the younger woman sighed again.
"Trouble on the homefront?" Jean asked.
She was met by silence as the brunette took another puff of her cigarette before tossing the bud to the ground, and flattening it forcefully with a foot.
"Everything okay with the hubby?" she tried again.
"The sex is good when he's around," the brunette replied dryly.
The older woman let out a laugh before continuing in a more serious tone. "If you're unhappy, get out while you still can, before the kids come. Trust me, I'm speaking from experience," advised the thrice-divorced woman.
"You know I can't," she replied.
"I really don't understand why you stay with that man," Jean fumed. "Half the time he isn't around, and when he is, he is all possessive and crazy. Remember the hard time he gave you about working here? What did he expect? You staying at home all day doing nothing and waiting for him to call when he's on the road?"
"He's just protective. He doesn't want me to over-exert myself," the younger woman tried to put up a defense for her husband.
"Hmphh! Oh, sure, over-exert! He just wants to make sure he knows where you are 24 hours a day, 7 days a week," the older woman continued hotly. "You're more than capable of taking care of yourself. Leave him."
"I can't," she repeated. "He's my only connection to the past."
"Oh, Kate ..."
