Severance Pay (Chapters 25 Through 30 Of 78) free porn video

SEVERANCE PAY CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE She said I didn't need to come back once I returned the van to the rental company but I had to see how she was doing. I had my doubts about the whole thing but Patricia was right about everything ... so far. Cruz did exactly as she told him, stay low and tight to the parked cars, ease in at about ten miles per hour, then just keep ahead of the men at the gate as they chase him. He was the first diversion and I was the second. I had rented the van and picked her up immediately after the second to last period at school. We made up a doctor's appointment to get Patricia out early so that we could set up near the gate before they expected. How did she know it was all going to work so well? I keep forgetting how much experience she has at this kind of thing. All I see when I look at her is a beautiful young girl ... and I'm so afraid when she's taking on Hobbes' thugs all by herself. I manage to find an open spot on the street less than a hundred feet from the entrance. Sitting low in my seat, I can see Patricia in her folding chair, calmly reading a book. A couple of the guards are pacing around behind the gate. They look anxious. One of them stops walking and claps his left hand to his ear, like he's listening to something. He says something to the other guard and they both start scanning the sky. I don't hear or see anything at first, but then I recognize the faint sounds of an engine, which quickly grow louder. Soon, I can also hear the regular thwump of a helicopter's rotor approaching the house. None of the guards are doing anything extra, so they must be expecting it. Maybe Hobbes is on board. I'd give everything I have and ever will have for a Stinger missile right now. I'd blow Hobbes from the sky and we'd be done with all this. Patricia and I could go home. When the helicopter appears, flying in low from the sea, in my mind, I carefully aim the launching tube at the approaching machine, envisioning Hobbes in the pilot's seat, blissfully unaware that death is only seconds away. As the helicopter draws closer, it slows and drops down, until it is just a few hundred feet above the tree tops, barely moving in the sky. God! How hard would it actually be to buy a Stinger? Or maybe the Russian equivalent? He's just sitting there, fat, dumb and happy. The helicopter moves forward, above the fence, following the border of the property, until it reaches the gate. It pauses there and actually drops down closer. Patricia doesn't get up, but she puts down her book and stare's right up at the machine, never blinking despite the dusty air swirling around her. It's just there for a few moments before it moves on, continuing to circle the mansion, following along the fence like he's searching for something. After about a minute, the helicopter pivots in a half circle, moves over the compound, drops below some trees and eventually falls silent. The neighbors must love all that noise. Patricia goes back to her book. The guards just stand there, looking at each other, quietly talking and shaking their heads. Suddenly, they both go stiff, one of them looking at the radio attached to the other one's belt. Neither one moves for several seconds before the one with the radio slowly places his left hand to his left ear as before. He appears to say something, then moves off away from the gate, the other guard patting him on the shoulder as he walks away. Patricia just sits there, still reading. I hope she knows what she's doing. * * * *** * * * *** * * * It took Henry several minutes to reach my office after I had him called. He has always been a loyal, if unimaginative, employee. Too much intelligence in a guard can be a negative. You want them smart enough to do their job, to recognize trouble before it happens, but not so smart that they start getting ideas about advancement. Enrique is the exception; he has demonstrated his loyalty several times over. If he had been here, this problem with the girl would have been resolved days ago, I am sure of this. There's a knock at my door. "Yes?" "You wanted to see me, Mr. Hobbes?" "I did. Come in." He carefully opens the door, head and eyes angled down, then shuffles into the room, closing the door behind him, stopping a few feet in front of my desk. So far, he is showing the proper respect. He says nothing, waiting for me to speak. "Why didn't anybody tell me there was a young girl camped out in front of my home for the last four days?" "We didn't want to bother you, Sir. We assumed that we could get her to leave ... but she wouldn't go." "Did any of you think to call Enrique?" "We thought about it but didn't want to bother him, seeing as he was in LA trying to solve that gang dispute." "What do you know about the problem in Los Angeles?" "NOTHING! He just told us he was going to be out of town for a few days and to only contact him if there was an emergency of some kind. We didn't think one little girl was an emergency." Under normal circumstances, he would be right. "And yet, she is still sitting outside of my gate. The same gate my guests will be using in less than two hours. How do I explain her presence?" "I don't know, Sir." "What exactly does she want?" "She says she's a friend of Gretchen's, she wants to talk with you about her. We told her that you don't see someone just because they want to talk with you. I gave her the old appointment routine but she didn't take the hint. Somehow, she got a wireless webcam in the trees inside of old lady Whittman's compound ... you know, the lady who raised all that hell when you put in your helipad?" "I remember." "Well, she's got several guard dogs ... really mean bastards, so there was no way to get to the camera. Tippett tried to shut it down but no luck. The webcam was watching her twenty four hours a day. We couldn't do anything to her without possibly causing you a public relations problem." There was a good example of intelligence. Most guards would have just forced her off the sidewalk, throwing her into the street. Henry considered the possible consequences of such an action, and rightly rejected that option. Enrique would have done the same but he would have found a solution. I look at my watch. Only an hour and half before my guests begin to arrive. There isn't any other option available. "Find Gretchen and bring her here." "Yes, Sir. Right away." Henry hurries from my office. Happy to get away without being fired, no doubt. This girl seems to have put some planning into her actions. I had watched a reply of the video from earlier. She had my men chasing their tails while she swooped in. Very impressive. Not the impulsive type. Another knock at my door. "Yes?" Gretchen pushes it open and tentatively walks in. I rotate the monitor on my desk so that she can see the display from the live camera at the gate. "Do you know this girl?" She leans in towards the screen to get a better look, then her eyes grow large. "Ye ... yes, I do." "Who is she?" "My friend, Patricia Conner. How long has she been out there?" "Apparently, the last four days." "WHAT!?" "You knew nothing about this?" "No! She said she would get you to talk with her ... but she didn't say how." "And why exactly would she need to talk with me?" Gretchen says nothing, looking away. She doesn't like confrontations. It's something she will have to get past if she is ever going to take over the family business some day. "Gretchen, I want an answer." She turns her head to look at me. "We want to see each other outside of school. We want to do stuff, to hang out. She asked me to come over to her house last weekend and you said no." "I said not at this time." "Which means no. She wants to talk to you about it. She says she can talk you into letting me see her." "And how does she propose to do that?" "I don't know ... she's ..." "She's what?" Gretchen glares at me. "She's different. She's not like the other girls. She's kind and brave and smart and good. We're best friends. Please don't ruin this like you have everything else in my life, Father." What is she talking about? How have I ruined her life? I have given her everything! Before I can respond, she runs from the office. I know from experience, when she runs away, there is no use talking to her for at least an hour. There isn't any choice now. "Henry!" He's at my door immediately. "Bring the girl to me." * * * *** * * * *** * * * It's not just a big lawn past the gate. There's a lot of trees and bushes along with flower beds. He's got to have several full time grounds guys. There's also surveillance cameras everywhere. A few are obvious but more are hidden. I'm going to have to get inside the security center somehow. Henry's leading me up the driveway to the main front door. I can hear a lot of activity inside as we walk up the steps. He opens the doors and we step through, into a brilliant white three story atrium with golden staircases on both sides, an enormous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and an elevator in the back. Typical nouveau rich opulence. "Nice place." "Keep it up kid and you'll get your head handed to you. If I'm lucky, I'll get to be the one who hands it." "What? You don't think it's a nice place? You should see my house." "Stuff it. Give me that bag." "Why?" "Because everything gets run through the metal and explosive detectors and everybody gets scanned. You don't have anything to hide, do you?" "No, I'm just not a fan of radiation. How long you been operating those machines?" "Years." "Had a check-up lately?" "Very funny." He drops the side of what I thought was a big book cabinet, exposing a rubber conveyor belt. Next, he slides a door aside, revealing a monitor. He drops my bag onto the belt, pulls a hand scanning wand from the drawer below the monitor and passes it over my body as my bag works its way through the machine. I'm clean, except for my watch. I half expected the metal in my head to trigger the wand. It may have been my imagination, but I swear I heard a slight warble when he scanned the top of my head, though it may have been the barrette I'm wearing. The bag emerges from the scanner and Henry turns to the monitor. Apparently, he saw something, because he opened the bag and pulled out a box. "What's in here?" "They're for Mr. Hobbes." He opened the box. "What are they?" "Electronic bugs I found in my house, the ones he had planted there. I disabled all of them." He smiled. "You're going to go in there and accuse Raymond Hobbes of having your house bugged?" "There's no accusation. He had it done, it's a fact." He closes the box and puts it back in my bag. "Good luck with that one, kid. Come on." Henry walked across the atrium, past what appeared to be a formal dining room which was full of activity, people setting tables, flowers being arranged. "What's going on in there?" "None of your business. Keep walking." I follow him through the house until we reach a large ornate door. "Well kid, this is what you asked for. Hope you enjoy it." I don't think he means it. He knocks on the door. "Come in, Patricia" a voice calls out from the other side of the door. Here we go. I open the door and step through, closing it behind me. Hobbes is sitting at his large, highly polished, wooden desk, leaning back in his swivel chair, hands on the desk, fingers interlaced. Everything is neat and clean, no stacks of papers for me to rifle through. There's a computer monitor to his left, along with a keyboard and a mouse. I don't see any CPU, it may be stashed under the desktop. There is a large picture of his dead wife on the wall behind him and several wooden filing cabinets against the wall to his right, but the cabinets look larger than usual, more space between the drawers, more space around the drawers. They're probably fireproof and waterproof, with extra security features built in. I think I see a fingerprint touch pad by each individual drawer. Impressive. I slowly look around the room. Nice, comfortable furniture. No plants. Artwork on the walls, likely originals. There are a number of photos, probably family. There are several of a young couple and then the same couple with a child. Hobbes and his parents, I'd wager. Then there are several of a young boy with a group of tough looking men, all dressed as gauchos and holding the reins of their horses. The background looks like a ranch of some kind. There's what looks like a bola sitting on his desk, the leather straps wound tightly together, the three fist- size rocks locked together in a triangle. It's more personal than the rest of the house, like a decorator did the places people would see but he did the places where he was going to live. Seeing his bedroom would be interesting. "You have caused quite a lot of trouble for such a small girl." So that's how he's going to play it. Fine. "All I wanted was a few minutes of your time to talk with you about Gretchen. That hardly seems like an imposition. Most caring fathers would want to know if their daughter was having difficulties. Apparently, the trouble was your people didn't want to tell you I was outside asking to see you. Their incompetence isn't my problem ... it's yours." He bristles at that. "They were following my orders." "Then I'm sorry. It wasn't their incompetence; it was your ... lack of foresight." He smiles tightly. "Were you going to say something other than 'lack of foresight'?" "Yes, but my mother taught me to be polite, whenever possible." "To bad she didn't teach you to show the proper respect." "She taught me that respect is earned. Also, that respect is a two way street, you don't get it if you don't give it. On that point ..." I reach into my bag, take out the box of electronic bugs, and toss it onto his desk. It slides to a stop next to his right hand "... I believe these are yours. I'm sure you paid for them, one way or another." He opens the box and dumps the contents onto his desk. "What are these?" "Electronic bugs, listening devices. I found them in my home. They were put there by the people you hired to spy on me and my mother." "I know nothing about that." "Lying to someone is a sign of disrespect, Mr. Hobbes." That he didn't like. He leans forward in his chair, hands planted on the desk top, fingers spread, elbows locked. "You do not speak to me in such a manner! Do you know who I am?" "Yes, Mr. Raymond Hobbes, drug kingpin. The head of the largest criminal organization in the Southeastern United States, possibly the entire country, the details are a little fuzzy. Your primary source of income is drug sales but you dabble in other areas, prostitution, gambling, and so on. It's good to have a diverse income stream." He REALLY didn't like THAT. He's up, out of his chair, leaning over the desk, as close to me as he can get without jumping over the desk. "NO ONE SAYS SUCH THINGS TO ME! HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF THESE CRIMINAL ACTS! I AM A LEGITIMATE BUSINESSMAN!" "Then you should talk to Google, because when I searched your name, all kinds of interesting things showed up." "Google!?" "You know, Google, the Search Engine. Haven't you ever Googled yourself? Oh, you really should try it. Wikipedia has several articles where you are prominently mentioned too. All in all, they paint a very interesting portrait. But I don't really care about all that; I'm just here because of Gretchen." "There are certainly unfounded rumors about me, created by competitors to sully my good name, but I have never been convicted of a single criminal act!" "Look Mr. Hobbes, I truly don't care about how you make your money. This isn't a courtroom and neither of us is on trial. We both know who you are and how you make a living and that's all cool and everything. I don't know any details about your enterprises and I don't want to know, it's none of my business and I want to keep it that way. As far as I'm concerned, you sell widgets. But don't think I'm stupid either. You asked me if I knew who you are and I told you the truth, we both know that. I told you about someone bugging my home and you lied about it ... and we both know that too." He settles back into his chair. "There is no evidence tying me to anyone who MAY have checked into your background." "There you go with the evidence thing again. I don't see a judge or jury or a bunch of lawyers here. I understand, you're worried about who might be friends with Gretchen, any father would. But other parents call each other, talk, feel each other out. They don't have people sneak in and plant bugs to spy on you in the privacy of your own home! My mother practically freaked out when I found those darn things. How would you like it if someone did something like that to you?" He actually looks a little embarrassed. "Many have tried." "Well, that kinda goes along with the territory, don't cha' think? But, hey, I'm not asking for an apology, I don't expect an apology. That's probably why you thought it was okay and all. But Mom and I, we're just regular people. I sorta expected something like this when I decided to be friends with your daughter, but Mom is pretty darn upset about the whole thing. I had to convince her that Gretchen was worth all the trouble, that it's not her fault that she has you for a dad." He starts to rev up again. "And exactly where have I failed my daughter!?" "How many other girls have you had to check out because they were friends with Gretchen?" He doesn't answer right away. He's thinking about lying to me again when the phone rings. He picks it up. "Yes ... what time is it? ... well, keep them entertained for a few minutes ... I should not be much longer ... five minutes at the most." He hangs up and returns his attention to me. "You were the first." HA! Breakthrough! "That's because I'm her first and only friend at St. Ann's." "How can that be? She's a wonderful girl!" "I know that. She stood up with me when things were tough at school, when it would have been a lot easier to do nothing. I know she's great. Others do to, but it's not the other girls, it's their parents. They also know who you are and they don't want their daughters associating with a girl who has a father ... well, a father in your line of work." "I have never been convicted of ..." "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it, no convictions. But that's not the standard parents use. If Gretchen were friends with a girl whose father was a suspected child molester, would you say 'well, the man was never convicted of molesting those ten other girls, so he must be a fine fellow'? Of course not! You'd tell her to keep far away from that girl and her family. Well, I'm afraid that you're that child molester ... not an actual child molester, obviously, but you get my point, right?" "So ... you are saying that my daughter has no friends because of me." "That and you keep her cooped up in this place. When was the last time she got to go anywhere without bodyguards?" "It's a dangerous world." "Particularly for 'legitimate businessmen'?" "Rich businessmen and their families ... legitimate or otherwise. It is prudent to take precautions." "There is protection and over-protection. No one has ever attacked Gretchen in any way." "How do you know that?" "That's what she says." "Maybe she's never been attacked because no one has ever gotten a chance due to my security." "Maybe it's because no one cares." "I am not prepared to take that chance." "I can see why you'd think that way, given what happened to your parents. It's only natural that ..." "What do you know about my parents?!" "Google ... remember?" "Ah yes, Google. Perhaps I should have saved my money and just typed 'Patricia Conner' and pushed enter." "You're famous, I'm not. You won't find much about me on Google, just a couple of Science Fair Awards." Thank you Witness Protection. "Besides, your people were looking for more personal details about us than found in the open information sources." His phone rang again. He picked it up. "YES! ... how long? ... I will be there when I am done with this interview ... however long it takes." He hangs up. "Am I keeping you from your dinner party? I can come back later." He waives his hand dismissively. "They will wait for me." I bet they will. "Anyway, back to Gretchen. She's really upset about you not letting her come over to my house. You've checked us out, we're totally normal people. You can even send the body guards; they can stay outside and watch all they want." "That is not as safe as this house, not nearly as safe." "True, but she won't stay in this house forever. She'll soon be eighteen and free to go wherever she wants. If you don't start giving her the chance to live something resembling a normal life, she'll be out like a shot. And that would be the wrong thing for her to do." "What?" "She's not ready to live in the real world. Her entire life has been spent in the lap of luxury. She's got no idea what it's like out here. Her total lack of experience with relationships will make her a target for the most unscrupulous people." Hobbes looks confused. "I thought you were here to support Gretchen?" "I am. She needs to start to learn how regular people live their lives. She can do great things but not from inside these walls. Unfortunately, she's not remotely ready. If you can't start to loosen your grip, she'll bolt as soon as she can and meet the real world cold turkey. Usually, the real world wins and it ain't pretty." "Then you should try to persuade her that I am correct." "Because you're not. How you gonna keep her here? Tie her up? Lock her door? Threaten her life? The only thing you've got is money. Are you going to bribe her? Tell the truth, can you respect anybody who takes a bribe?" He doesn't say anything right away. I know the answer but he's not ready to deal with it in his own family, not yet. "Do you want to put your own daughter in that position? The other option is to threaten to cut off your support if she moves out. Then you have to ask, can you respect someone who knuckles under to threats?" Still no answer, but I've got him coming and going. "The only way this works is if Gretchen wants to stay here, and that's only going to happen if she gets some freedom to live they way she wants, and that means she sees her only friend outside of school. She'll be safe, trust me. Send her guards, my mom will accept it, as long as they only watch from outside. She won't be happy, but she'll accept it." "Why won't she be happy?" "Well ... I may not care about how you make your money but she's not nearly as open minded. She refuses to let me stay here, she's worried about ... bad influences." "Why should your mother's concerns about bad influences be more important than my concern's about my daughter's safety? Would your mother accept my assurances that you would be well treated?" "Uuhhh, probably not." "Then why should I accept her assurances about Gretchen's safety at your home? We seem to be at an impasse." "I see your point; you both have problems with each other. I gotta tell you, that stuff with the bugs really poisoned the water. My Mom is very upset with you." "I understand her distress, but my concerns are equally valid." I don't want to screw this up now. He's right where I want him. After fifteen seconds of assorted facial expressions demonstrating frustration and thoughtfulness, I go for it. "The important thing here is Gretchen. If she doesn't get some help, the stuff is going to hit the fan. If you promise to consider letting her come to my house, I'll start off visiting at your house, but you've got to promise me to let her come to my home as soon as you're comfortable with it. Do we have a deal?" I offer him my hand. He hesitates. "Will you be able to persuade your mother to accept this?" "She'll be a tough sell, but she trusts my judgment. I can also take care of myself and she knows it. I think she'll go along with it." He grabs my hand and shakes it. "If she does, then we have an agreement. Do you wish to tell Gretchen?" "It would be better if it came from you, you'll get more credit in her eyes." "Good idea." He shakes his finger at me. "The report did not do you justice; you are a very smart girl." "Wikipedia probably needs to ease off you too." "Who writes for this Wikipedia?" "Anybody can, they just have to submit it to the editors." "I may read it myself, there may need to be some corrections." He stands up and buttons his jacket. "I am afraid that I have been a poor host tonight but it has been worth it. Henry will see you out. I look forward to speaking with you in the future; you are very mature for your age." "When you lose a parent when you're young, you learn a lot about life very quickly. It changes you. I lost my father, Gretchen lost her mother, and you lost both your parents and a wife. No one can experience those kinds of losses and remain a child." "Quite true, quite true." He bowed slightly toward me. "Good night, Patricia." "Good night, Mr. Hobbes." As he left the room, Henry came in. Hobbes spoke to him. "Henry, please show Ms. Conner the way out and make sure to treat her well. We shall be seeing more of her in the future ... I hope." "Uuhhh yes ... sir. Absolutely, Mr. Hobbes." I fought the urge to smirk at Henry. I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. As we retraced our path through the house back to the front door, I kept my eyes locked straight forward, wearing my best poker face. Henry glanced back at me several times, but he was smart enough not to say anything until he could figure out what had just happened and where I would fit into his future. My stuff was waiting for me as I walked out the gate. Almost immediately, Mom drove up in our car. I tossed my stuff into the back seat and climbed into the passenger side front. "Well?" she asked. "Just drive" I replied, slumping in my seat. She pulled away from the curb, saying nothing. After a few blocks, I reached out with my left hand, placing it on top of her right hand, squeezing it gently. "We're in." CHAPTER TWENTY SIX "He wants to see us, both of us." Patricia frowns and shakes her head. "No way, Mom. We're almost inside and it's stupid to take that kind of risk. We should keep to the dead drops." "Daniel is insistent. We might as well pick the time and the place to prevent him from just showing up." "He wouldn't do that, he's not that dumb." "He considers this to be his operation, that we work for him." "Huh. Maybe he should be in here instead of me." Patricia has been very reluctant to talk about Daniel for some time. While they weren't exactly friends at the start, there seemed to be professional respect. Ever since the transfer, she has become increasingly agitated when ever his name is mentioned "Don't be that way, Patricia. No one is questioning what you've accomplished. Daniel is technically in charge. This is a Department of Justice operation and he's their representative." "Okay, fine. Then you're my representative, you talk with him." "What is going on here, Patricia? Daniel's not being unreasonable. He has people to answer to. He's entitled to know what is going on. Yes, he can be kept informed by written notes but the occasional meeting is not out of line. Why are you objecting to this?" She slumps back in her seat. "I don't know. Every time I think about him, I just ... get upset. I can't tell you why because I don't KNOW why." "Could you be ..." "Be what?" "They say that there is a fine line between hate and love." "EEEEEEWWWWW GROOOOSSSSS! Don't even think that Mother! How could you think that!? What have I EVER done to make you THINK that!?" "Nothing, but I was just ..." "Don't ever say that again! And if you EVER say something like that to Lipscomb ... I'll ... I'll ..." "Understood, Patricia. So when do you want to meet with Daniel?" She gives me a sideways glance, head cocked to the side. "You're pretty darn mean, you know that? You win. We'll see him ..." She reaches into her bag and takes out her PDA. It's an old Palm Pilot that she got off Craig's List. She says that it's old technology but works just fine. "... Wednesday, at Dr. Matthews. I've got a check-up scheduled. He can sneak in the back." She closes the cover on the PDA. "If he can't make it, then I guess we won't be meeting." "I'll let him know." * * * *** * * * *** * * * Lipscomb called me, he wanted to schedule an appointment to meet for an "examination" on Wednesday. We used the code in case someone was bugging my phone. I think the security precautions are excessive. Even if someone is watching Patricia and Jessica, why would they watch everyone they have contact with? Regardless, I schedule him for the half hour before Patricia. I am looking forward to seeing her. These monthly exams are really much too infrequent but Lipscomb felt that anything more often would raise suspicion. Security again! I wish they would leave Patricia and I alone so that I could complete my research as quickly as possible. Lipscomb arrives right on time, but enters through the back entrance. If someone had heard our phone conversation, would they not have expected him to come through the front door? I will never understand these undercover techniques. "Hello, Daniel. Would you care for a cup of coffee?" "Thank you Thomas. Black. Have you heard from Peter or Jessica?" "No, I assume they will be here on time, as scheduled. They have always arrived promptly in the past. Are you concerned about something?" "I am concerned that this is taking so long. Harris should have been able to accomplish much more by now. I'm beginning to think that he's having too much fun posing as a young girl." "Why would you think that? He seemed quite reluctant to sublimate his personality at the beginning. He has adapted very well to the situation but never expressed any happiness about it. Most men would not desire to spend time as a girl." "I think that because I was in that body, I experienced the physical possibilities, the potential. Also, he doesn't have much to return to." "What do you mean?" "His original body. It's in very bad shape. Why would you want to return to that when you can have a young, vigorous, sexy body?" "Of the wrong sex, Daniel." "A minor issue, Thomas." "A minor issue? I would think that would be the major issue. Besides, I have been able to do some repairs to Peter's original body." "Repairs? What are you talking about?" "Mostly to his arthritic joints and damaged lungs." He looks up at me through furrowed eyebrows. "I don't remember Peter authorizing these 'repairs'. Did I miss something?" "No, no, you didn't. It's just that I've had the time and the body is just laying there. You know what they say about idle hands." "I know what lawyers say about unauthorized medical treatments. It's called malpractice plus assault and battery." "How could he object to improving the quality of his life once he returns to that body?" "Thomas, it was cutting corners that brought you to my attention. In this case, Peter is still around to object. Very loudly and very violently. I'd suggest that you stop making any unauthorized repairs, don't even mention what you've already done. Maybe it can all be explained away as part of the process, an unanticipated side effect. Thankfully, the release he signed covers something like that. It doesn't cover intentional torts. I don't want to give him any excuse to bring this operation to a premature end. Do you understand me?" "Yes, I understand, but I can't believe that he would have a problem with what I've done." "From here on out, Thomas, do nothing without my prior approval. I'm afraid that your judgment can not be trusted." MY judgment? He's the one with the problem, not me! Those filthy subroutines. He talks of anger; perhaps I should share with Peter what's buried deep within the silicon portion of his brain. I'm sure he would forget about any possible objections to a new and improved body. Unfortunately, I remain under Lipscomb's thumb. "Certainly Daniel ... what ever you say. I have no desire to upset the apple cart at this late stage of the game." "Good. I'm glad we understand each other." He glances at his watch. "Where the hell are they?" "Patience Daniel, they won't be long." * * * *** * * * *** Patricia is reluctant to even come into Thomas' lab. She's been here often and there's been no real problem before, but today, she is intentionally lagging behind. I try to lighten her mood. "Come on, slowpoke, let's go. We finally have good news to deliver. We should be celebrating!" "We celebrate when we're done and not before. Every step brings us closer to both success and failure. No one has ever gotten this close to Hobbes before. Technically, I'm not even inside yet. He could always change his mind. Every time we make progress, we gotta be that much more cautious, more careful. A single mistake and we're goners. That's why this meeting is so stupid." "Stop moping about it. We go in, Thomas gives you the usual check-up, which you will pass with flying colors, Daniel will congratulate you for your brilliance and we go home." "Humph" she snorts. Patricia can be moody, particularly at the lower Blue settings but she's at Fifty Blue right now, Thomas likes her to spend at least the hour before tests at that level. When we walk in, Thomas and Daniel are sitting in the waiting room. Daniel stands and smiles. "Well here you are, finally. How are you beautiful ladies today?" "Stuff it" Patricia mumbles. "What was that, Peter?" "Nothing Lipscomb ... nothing at all." "I would like to do the tests first, if you don't mind Daniel" said Thomas. "Patricia needs to be in a relaxed state and your presence sometimes ... upsets her." "Whatever you say Thomas, you're the Doctor." He chortles like it was some kind of joke. I don't get it; neither does Thomas from the look on his face. "Yes, I am ... come along Patricia. You two can wait out here, please." Patricia follows Thomas through the doors into the lab. Just as she's about to close them, she steps back, turns her head and looks at me. "You can tell him, if you want." Then she shuts the door. Daniel looks at me with interest. "Tell me what?" I sit down and settle back in the chair. "Patricia is in." "Finally! It's about time!" "'Finally'"!? Not 'thank you' or 'good job' or how about 'tremendous news'?" "Don't get me wrong, Jessica. I'm certainly appreciative of all your efforts. It just seems that you have taken your own sweet time getting to this point. How hard could it have been?" God, what a buffoon! No wonder Patricia dislikes him. I should kick him in the shins ... or perhaps higher. "Daniel, you have no idea what Patricia has gone through to reach this point. What she, what I have had to endure. I truly believe that no one else on the face of the earth could do what she has done. No one." "I know Peter is qualified. That's why I hired him. I'm just saying he could have been faster. Sometimes, I think he enjoys being a girl just a little too much ... if you know what I mean." "Stuff it, Daniel!" * * * *** * * * *** * * * The test results were all fine, no obvious changes from the prior exam, allowing for Patricia's slightly agitated state. Lipscomb does that to people. I wanted to speak with her privately after the tests were done. "How are you feeling, overall?" "Fine. No physical problems." "How do you feel mentally? Any breaks in consciousness, black-outs, lost minutes or hours?" "No. Nothing like that. Should there be?" "No. It would just be evidence of a separation of the two parts of the brain. Where one side might take over and the other side be unaware." "Do you expect that to happen? Should I be worried?" "Not at all. I am just covering all possibilities." "Thank heaven." She picks up her bag and starts to rummage through it. "You shouldn't worry me like that, Dr. Matthews." She removes a small flat plastic case from her purse, flips it open, and brings it close to her face. There appears to be a mirror in the upper half of the case because Patricia is looking closely at it while tilting her head left and right. She reaches back into the purse and removes a metallic tube, about the size of my small finger. She pulls off the top and twists it, exposing a red, colored center, which she carefully applies to her lips while viewing herself in the small mirror. I believe it is lipstick. I glance at the controller on my desk. It is set on Blue Fifty. "What are you doing, Patricia?" "Oh ... sorry, nervous habit." She closes the case and caps the tube, dropping them both in her bag. "They don't let us wear much in the way of makeup at school so I wait until I'm out to fix my face up right. I don't use a lot, but a little can go a long way, don't you agree?" She coquettishly cocks her head slightly to the side and down, smiling impishly, and looking up at me through her long, dark lashes. "Yes ... I see. Ahh, you are a very attractive ... girl, Patricia." She wrinkles her nose at me. "Thanks. I try." "It shows. How are your nightmares? Still there?" She closes her eyes and sighs. "Oh yes, practically every night. What's weird is that I'm always Peter, never Patricia. That is if I'm anyone in particular." "What do you mean?" "You know, dreams can get really strange sometimes. Stuff can be happening to you and you not know who you are at the time. It's all abstract and weird." "I see. Well, unfortunately, I'm not a psychiatrist so the dream interpretation will have to be done by someone else." "Have you thought of a way to stop them?" "I think it's impossible, or at least unhealthy, to chemically stop you from dreaming. Dreams fill an important role in the sleep cycle. I can understand that a continuing stream of bad dreams would be upsetting, but they are likely playing a vital role in stress relief, which you have been under for some time." "I know. I've been reading up on the subject. Actually, I've been reading a lot of subjects. It's amazing! I can read practically anything and, if I understand it, the information is instantly accessible. If I'm not quite sure what it means, the information is, like, filed away but it comes back later when I've had time to think about it or get additional information that makes the original understandable. It doesn't matter what subject, it's all there. Computers, Philosophy, Politics, Economics, all kinds of stuff. Any way I could keep all this info when I go back to the old body?" "Probably not, though some of it may be retained." "I really wish I had this brain when I was in school." "The brain comes with the body." "Well, that would certainly have made high school more interesting." "In what way?" She smiles at me. "Isn't it obvious?" "I was under the impression that you were socially active when you were Peter Harris. I assume that was also true when you were younger. I can tell that you were quite handsome as a youth." "Aren't you nice." "It has nothing with being nice, simply stating facts. As Patricia, you would likely have also been socially active. You are physically quite attractive." She blushes and looks away. "I'm sure you had a lot to do with that." "No, I made no cosmetic alterations." "Not even my ... breasts?" "No changes at all. I was not interested in physical appearance, I was only interested in your brain. In all other respects, you are, as they say, all natural." "That's nice to know. Still, the female experience is completely different from the male experience." "I look forward to the details when this job is done." "I've managed to get invited to the Hobbes home, so it may not be too long before the job is done, though I don't want to get anybody's hopes up." "I understand. Jessica seems to have a great deal of confidence in your abilities so I will trust her judgment." "Thank you, Dr. Matthews." "Could you send Jessica in here, I'll just need a few minutes alone with her." "Certainly, be happy to." She stands up, smoothing her dress as she stands, walks to the door, pauses a moment, gives me a little finger wave and leaves. Jessica enters less than a minute later. "Patricia said you wanted to see me?" "Have a seat." She sits down across the desk from me. "Is there a problem?" "Have you been increasing the time that Patricia spends at the Blue Fifty setting, as we discussed?" She frowns. "Not as much as you suggested. She's been pushing so hard. Our home was bugged for several weeks and we thought the safest thing was to stay in character all the time. I have tried to increase the time recently." "It may already be too late." She looks concerned. "What do you mean?" "I just had a conversation with Patricia with the setting on Blue Fifty. I honestly can say that I never heard Peter's voice once in the conversation." "I'm sure she was just keeping in character." "Perhaps, but you see her every day and the changes are slow and subtle. I see her much less frequently and the changes are more obvious to me. There is no reason to assume the changes are permanent, but right now, I suspect, that Peter is highly integrated with the Construct. It may take substantial time for him to return to normal once he is removed." "But you can remove him, right?" "Yes. The integration is all in the functioning of the Cerebral Balancer. The basic brain patterns remain separated and can be removed, but that doesn't mean the two sections remain unchanged. Clearly, Peter has been affected by the time he has spent in the Construct." "Didn't you anticipate that?" "To a degree. Patricia is a prototype. She was never designed to be ... on line, if you will, for this continuous length of time. My original plan was for there to be a series of shorter but gradually lengthening trials, to carefully monitor the entire process to observe any changes. I have not been permitted to observe Patricia as I would prefer, Daniel claims it would interfere with his objectives. I assumed that there would be some changes in both portions of the brain as the Balancer exerted its influence but there could be more than I had anticipated. It is impossible to tell without bringing Patricia in for at least three weeks of extensive testing, which Daniel forbids." Jessica looked more concerned than before. "Is Patricia in any danger?" "You mean in more danger than she currently is?" "Good point. But, yes, is she in medical danger?" How do I answer that? Daniel will be very upset if I say anything that would cause Peter to back out now. Anything I tell Jessica will eventually get to Peter, they are too close for her to keep secrets from him without good cause. Perhaps I can give her good cause. "No, I don't believe so, but keeping her stress levels down would be good. The less she has to worry about, the better. Also, the more time at Blue Fifty, the better." She starts to laugh. I don't think I said anything funny. She continues to laugh for several seconds. "I'm sorry, but do you know how impossible that is? I'm stressed like I've never been in my entire life and I've done practically nothing compared to what Patricia has been through. And the really hard part is just starting." "You may be surprised. Peter Harris spent a large portion of his life undercover. It was his natural environment. He has more resources available now than he ever had before. If we just let him do his job, without adding any health concerns, everything should be fine. Besides, you want to get Mr. Hobbes, don't you?" She hesitates for a moment. "Of course I do, more than anything. I've given up everything in my life to make sure he pays." "Then it would seem the only way that is going to happen is for Patricia to continue working, correct?" She stares at me a moment. "It would seem so ... Thomas. Are we done?" "I think so. I'll see both of you at the next appointment." She nodded at me and left. * * * *** * * * *** * * * Would I sacrifice Patricia to get Hobbes? That was the choice Thomas just gave me. There's no proof of any actual harm to her, he says that she's probably safe and he'll be able to remove Peter when the job is done. But there's also the possibility of problems. Should I tell her about it? If I do, it could make things worse but it might also save her life. There's no concrete proof of anything, just a whole bunch of maybes. How am I helping Patricia by dumping all of that in her lap? When I enter the waiting room, she and Daniel are glaring at each other. They both turn to me as I enter. "This ... JERK seems to think I've been goofing off, wasting his time and money while living the life of luxury as a teen age girl." "What did you say to her, Daniel?" "It's not my money, it's the government's money. I didn't say you were 'goofing off', I just questioned how aggressively you were pursuing our objectives." Patricia turns back towards Daniel. "And how aggressive do you think I need to be? I'm practically standing on his doorstep." "Don't throw a hissy fit, Peter. I'm just pointing out that we do not have an unlimited amount of time." Hissy fit? What is wrong with this fucking idiot? "So far, my superiors have been patient, but that may change. If we can't produce results, they may pull our funding." "Destroying your big plans for a promising political future, right Lipscomb?" "Yes Peter, but it would also make all your efforts to date a waste. Plus, it would ruin Jessica's plans for vengeance, right Jessica?" Why does he need to bring me into this fight? I look back and forth between them, considering my answer. "Shut up Daniel. Patricia made it clear from the start that we were going to do this on her schedule, not yours. Her job is to get in to Hobbes house and find what she can. Everything we've done from the beginning was done to get where we are today ... on the verge of success. I couldn't have done it and neither could you. Your job is to keep your bosses off our backs. If you're unhappy, maybe you can find someone else in your office who'd like to replace you." I walk over to Patricia and hug her shoulder. "Thanks, Mom" she whispers. "You're welcome, honey" I whisper back. Daniel is carefully watching us. "I am not here to cause problems" he says. Patricia snorts at that. "I just wanted to make sure we are all on the same page of the playbook, given that we are so close to success. I didn't want the ball to be fumbled at this late date." Men and their sports metaphors. "I certainly did not mean to criticize ... Patricia's choices or methods. In fact, I'd like to congratulate her on her success to date." The man is a born politician. "However, speed is also important. The longer you are undercover, the greater the chance of discovery. I am only interested in your health and safety." God! Can that man throw the bull? Patricia pulls away from my hold on her shoulders. "Just because I get inside the house doesn't mean I'm going to get much information, at least at the beginning. I haven't seen much of the house yet, but what I have seen says this isn't going to be easy. Security is everywhere. They got enough cameras to equip a Best Buy or three. The place is lousy with guards, most of who don't exactly like me. I can't start snooping around right away, I gotta build up some goodwill first. That way, if I get caught doing something I shouldn't be, I've got some brownie points to protect me. Undercover operations move at their own pace and in their own time. You take advantage of opportunities as they come, sometimes, if you're lucky, you can create opportunities without raising suspicion, but you've got to be either really lucky or really good." She smiles up at him. "You're really lucky that I'm really good." Daniel sighs. "Alright, I'll try to be more patient, but I want to be kept appraised. When you get something, no matter how insignificant, I want to be informed. Do you understand?" Patricia nods her head in agreement. "Whenever I get something that is pertinent, we'll let you know ... in the normal course of business. We can't have regular face to face meetings, too many chances of discovery. Mom will handle all communication, just as we discussed in the beginning. Do you understand?" Daniel smiles tightly ... actually; it's more of a sneer. "Yes, I understand. Let's hope everything goes smoothly and you can quickly return to your old body." He stands and walks back through the doors back towards the lab. He's either heading for the back door or he's going to see Thomas again. Either way, I think we're done for today. Patricia grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder. "Let's get out of here before he comes back. What did Dr. Matthews want to see you about?" "Ahhh, nothing. He just wanted to make sure you were telling him everything that was going on, didn't accidentally leave anything out." "So, no problems?" I smile at her. "No, nothing at all. You're right, let's go home." I'm sure she'll be safe; Thomas can't prove anything is actually wrong with her. Until there's more evidence, there's no reason to tell her about potentially non-existent problems. Who would that help? CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN As I zip down the street on my bike, it's shifting around underneath me. The bike isn't balanced because I didn't tightly tie down my overnight bag. Every time I take a turn, the bag flops around. I'd like to stop and tighten the straps but I don't want to be late the first weekend at Gretchen's. Her father told her of our deal on Monday evening. She practically mugged me the next morning at school, darn near broke my ribs hugging me so hard. She was laughing and talking so fast, I was sure she'd hyperventilate. It took me several minutes to calm her down enough so that she started making sense. She had hardly slept that night, making plans for all the things we'd do when I came to see her this weekend. She was really keyed up. Every time we had time together that day, she had added more things for us to do. I finally had to tell her to get a grip, we'll have plenty of time, this is just the first of several weekends to come, no need to try to do everything possible the first weekend. I'll come over, we'll hang out, it'll be cool. She was all apologetic about being so hyper. I've never seen a person so desperate for human contact in my life. For the rest of the week, I tried to keep her from going overboard, without a lot of success. Eventually, we agreed that I'd get there by 5:00 pm on Friday, in plenty of time for supper at 6:00. She made a point that her father didn't like people being late. And now I'm just barely on schedule. Mom just wouldn't let me go. I tried to tell her that I had to get on the road but she kept thinking of things I needed to take with me. I know she's worried, so am I, but I'm not going to do anything but try to be a good guest this time, and probably every time for the next few weeks, if I'm given the chance. Luckily, two of the last three lights were green and the third was yellow. As I pull onto Gretchen's street, I glance at my watch. It's 4:58. I gun the engine and zoom up to her driveway, skidding to a stop at her front gate. I kill the engine and push the intercom button. The two cameras mounted on the top of the brick pillars that support the gate swivel around to point at me. I want to smile and wave but that may be pushing it. The intercom crackles to life. ?Yes?? I push the reply button. ?Patricia Conner to see Gretchen Hobbes.? One of the cameras swings up and scans the area while the other one stays focused on me. I hear a loud clunk as the gate unlocks and a whirring sound as it starts to swing open. ?Come in? hisses the intercom. ?Thank you,? I reply. Starting my engine, I slip into gear and roll past the gate. No need to make a big entrance this time. As I pull up to the parking spots near the front steps, Gretchen comes running out and down the steps, grabbing my arm even before I come to a stop. I reach up and pull off my helmet. ?Hey, Gretch.? ?God Patty! I can?t believe you?re finally here!? ?It has been a bit of a fight.? ?I don?t know how you talked my father into changing his mind. He NEVER changes his mind.? ?I just presented him with facts he may not have been aware of. It takes a big person to reconsider his position.? ?Whatever. Just as long as it worked. Come on in, you can change in my room.? I was wearing jeans and polo shirt along with my black leather jacket. The jacket is hot as heck, except when I?m moving on the bike. I wear it to protect against a fall, same with the jeans. I guess I could wear leather pants but that?s a bit much. Gretchen told me that they dress for meals, not formal or anything but nice. Naturally, she wears her school uniform for breakfast during weekdays and sometimes for supper too, but it?s the weekend, so apparently jeans and a polo aren?t good enough. She lets go of my arm as I dismount and then unstrap my bag, slinging it over my shoulder, but she immediately grabs it again, looping her left around my right as soon as its free, practically pulling me up the steps and through the front doors. Where we come to a halt. ?Gonna have to check that bag ? and you.? It?s Henry. He probably asked for this duty. I slide my bag off my left shoulder, dropping it to the floor beside me. ?No problem.? ?Yes problem!? cried Gretchen. ?She?s my guest, my friend! There?s no reason for her to be searched.? ?It?s okay, Gretchen? I say. ?It?s NOT okay!? I gently pull my arm from hers. ?No, I want it this way. If anything happens, if anything goes wrong, I want it clear that it?s not my fault. I also want to be searched when I leave.? ?That?s not fair!? ?Fair or not, it?s smart. I want the protection. Look Gretch, it?s a small price to pay to get to see you. I?m okay with it, really.? I hand the bag to Henry. He runs it through the detector. Several things pop up on the screen but I?d put them all in a smaller bag inside the big bag, making the search easier. Henry unzipped my bag, pulled out the smaller bag and opened it. The big thing in there was my lap top. ?You?re gonna have to get this approved before you use it.? ?I expected that, no problem.? ?See Tippett, he?s the tech guru.? ?I will, after Mr. Hobbes says it?s okay.? ?Yeah ? good idea, kid.? He takes the detection wand and passes it over me again, a little quicker than before, probably because Gretchen is watching him like a hawk. There?s that barely perceptible warble again as he passes the crown of my head. I wonder what an x-ray of my head would look like. He sticks the wand back into the drawer. ?You?re clean, kid. Go on in.? ?Thanks.? I grab my bag, Gretchen takes my right arm again and we?re off, taking the set of stairs on the left. As we climb, I look around. This is a big place. I studied the building plans that were filed with the county when it was built but you don?t really get a feel for how big it actually is until you see it for yourself. When we get to the landing, Gretchen pulls me to the right, down a large hallway, past several closed doors before we reach the door at the end of the hall, which she throws open with a grand gesture. ?TA-DA!? I step in, looking around. It?s pink, reeeaaalllyy pink. The walls, the ceiling, the furniture, the linen ? everything is one shade or another of pink. My eyes actually hurt just looking at it. I?ve got some pink in my bedroom at home, just so it looks right, you understand. But this ? this is like fairytale stuff. ?Nice, very nice? I say. ?I think I?m catching a theme here, right?? ?I know, it?s awful, isn?t it?? ?Yeah, kinda.? ?Pleeeaaasssee, there?s no kinda about it. Father thinks that this is what a girl?s bedroom should look like so this is what I got.? ?Like when you were five, right?? ?Eight. That?s when he bought the house and had it redecorated. It was somebody famous at the time, I don?t remember who. They asked me what my favorite color was.? ?I?ll take a wild shot in the dark ? Pink?? ?Nope, green.? ?And this is what you got?? ?Yep. Anytime something is added or replaced, it?s the same damn color.? She walks into the middle of the large room and slowly spins, her arms outstretched. ?This entire room is a monument to how much control I have over my whole life.? She drops her arms. ?I am so out of here when I graduate next year.? ?Where you going?? ?Don?t know, don?t care, away is all that matters.? ?How?s your dad gonna feel about that?? She smiles. ?Don?t know, don?t care.? Man, it?s worse than I thought. ?Well, that?s more than a year from now, who knows, things might get better.? ?After nine years of the same crap, you don?t hold out much hope for the tenth year. My father never changes his mind.? ?And yet, here I am, standing in front of you. He changed his mind about me.? She strolls over and sits on her enormous pink canopied bed, with the pink pillows and pink coverlet with the pink ruffles. ?One miracle just shows how hopeless everything else is. I?m glad he did change his mind though, so glad. I had them put you in my room. There?s lots of others, bedrooms I mean, but I wanted to share with you ? if that?s, you know, okay? If not, you can ?? ?It?s fine, Gretch. You could put a whole Girl Scout troop in here.? ?Were you a Girl Scout?? ?For awhile. I never could get into the whole thing.? ?I wanted to, but Father said no, toooo risky. Everything is toooo risky, shopping at the Mall, going out to movies, eating at a restaurant, dating ? everything.? He really has her locked up here. Apparently, the guards are around as much to keep her in as to keep people like me out. I drop my bag on the floor and unzip it. ?How formal is dinner? I didn?t bring a whole lot of stuff and if there?s one thing I?m sure of, it?s that you and I aren?t the same size.? ?A nice skirt and top will be okay. Besides, you?ve got more fashion sense than I do. You should see the clothes I?ve got to chose from.? She hops off the bed and walks over to a large double door, opening it. It?s not a walk in closet, more like a drive in closet. Row upon row of hanging clothes, an entire wall of shelves. Built in shoe rack that looks like it could hold at least a hundred pairs. The whole thing is bigger than my bedroom at home. ?Where?d all this stuff come from?? ?Bought by different nannies over the years. Gifts from Father. I can?t even fit into three quarters of the stuff, it?s that old. The rest is ? ugly. Sometimes, I?d rather wear those stupid school uniforms ? not the one you fixed, that one?s great ? I mean, I like wearing it, it?s not stupid ?? ?It?s okay, I understand what you mean. After we eat, you can show me around the place, then we can come back here and we can go through your closet.? She clasps her hands together, drawing her elbows tight against her body. ?Really?! I was so hoping we could do that! You can show me what I?ve got that?ll work, maybe find some stuff that can be fixed to be more fashionable, not that it matters, I?m never going to get to go anywhere anyway.? ?One step at a time Gretch.? I take a pinstriped blouse and navy skirt out of my bag. I don?t need to change underwear, it?s white cotton and clean this morning. Reaching down to unfasten my jeans, I feel a little self conscious about undressing in front of Gretchen. It?s not like I haven?t done it before. There?s been lots of times at Phys Ed. This time, however, it?s just us, alone together, in a sickenly pink room with a bed the size of trampoline. In all the time since the transfer, I haven?t been undressed in front of just one person, except for Mom and Dr. Matthews. I think Gretchen notices my discomfort. ?Do you want to, like, change in the bathroom, cause it?s right over there and ?? ?No, I?m fine, not a prob.? I quickly strip out of my jeans, kicking off my shoes as I do, then pull the polo over my head. Without pausing, I whip the blouse on, step into and pull the skirt up over my hips, button the blouse, tuck it into the waistband of the skirt and button it shut. I glance over at Gretchen as I hold onto one of the bed posts and step back into my shoes. She is watching me with wide open eyes and slowed breathing, mouth slightly open. ?How do I look?? ?Great! Wonderful! Perfect! Good enough to eat ? with. You know, my Father. Eat with my Father ? us, all of us. Eat together. Right?? She shrugs and grins. ?I?m a little nervous. I?ve never had anybody over before and I?m not sure what I should say or do.? I finish with my shoes. ?You?ll be fine; it?s new for all of us. Let?s go downstairs.? I reach out and take her arm this time. She giggles brightly as we walk out the door and back down the hallway. I count the rooms this time, comparing the number to the ones in the recorded plans. The numbers match up. I want to learn the layout of this place as soon as possible, I want it burned into my memory. I want to know it, the house and the grounds, so well that you could drop me blindfolded anywhere inside the walls and I could find my way out in ten minutes or less. We?ll start that process after dinner. When we enter the dining room, no one else is there. The large oak table is set for three. I assume the big chair at the head of the table is for Mr. Hobbes. Ours are smaller chairs ? still good sized, solid, but smaller. It?s still fifteen minutes to dinner time. ?Let?s go see the kitchen? I say. Opening a door on the back wall to the right of the big chair, ?is it this way?? ?Yes, but we probably shouldn?t bother the cook right now, he?s likely very busy.? ?I?ll just stick my head in and introduce myself, real quick.? I scoot through the door and hustle down the short hallway, carefully pushing the next door open. It?s a very big kitchen, looks like at least three standard ovens, probably electric, one convection oven, a warming oven, and a professional six burner gas stove top. The kitchen island appears to have a large dark marble top, perfect for pastries. There?s also an industrial standing mixer, double size refrigerator and possibly a walk in freezer. I could have a lot of fun with this place. There?s just one guy working, dressed in the classic whites of a professional cook, and he?s moving fast, jumping from one pot to the next, stirring and blending, first with a wooden spoon, then a wire whisk. I don?t want to startle him, so I close the door a little too loudly, causing him to look up at me, a frown clearly on his face. I walk towards him. ?Sorry to bother you, I can see you?re busy, I just wanted to say hello.? I reach out with my right hand as soon as I?m close enough. ?I?m Patricia Conner, a friend of Gretchen?s. I?m gonna be here a couple of days, just visiting, and I was wondering if I could talk with you after the meal? Just for a few minutes.? I leave my hand out there, waiting for him to take it. He doesn?t react at first, maybe he doesn?t speak English. I?m just about to start all over again in Spanish when he slowly wipes his large hand on a towel hanging from his waistband and engulfs mine with his, shaking it gently. ?I am Raul, the chef. Happy to meet you. What you doing back here in kitchen?? ?I just wanted to meet you and see this beautiful kitchen. It?s so well equipped. I?ve only got three working burners at home and the oven is tiny, it barely holds a twenty pound turkey.? He keeps a grip on my hand. ?So, you cook?? ?Yes, quite a lot, though not as much as you do ? I think that pan is about to boil over.? He releases my hand and hurries back to the stove, quickly stirring the boil down. He keeps stirring but looks back at me over his shoulder ?What you want of Raul?? ?I just wanted to talk