Knockout Mouse (2 page)

He nodded and stared at the inner workings as if perusing ancient technology in a museum. His eyebrows and lips had a kind of pleasing asymmetry. His nose took a small bend. Ron was the nerd half of the team, I decided. Probably the one who came up with whatever brilliant idea was behind BioVerge in the
first place. Then Gregory moved in, fancied it up, got himself a big office, and would make a killing on the IPO. Ron would be out of a job within months.

After another minute, I put the hair dryer and gas can away. Ron was right, the jeep shouldn’t be in a moisture pout in this weather. It was awfully delicate and temperamental for such a brute piece of machinery.

I turned the ignition. The engine erupted into its bone-rattling growl. Ron retreated a couple of steps. He flinched when I let the steel hood come down with a bang.

“Congratulations,” he said.

“Thanks,” I said, getting back behind the wheel. “See you later.”

“Wait a minute—”

I threw the Scout into reverse and started to back out. But I had to jam on the brakes. Others were pulling out too, people who could actually go home, or to their cocktail meetings, at six o’clock. I saw by their dress they were marketing and management types. I also knew that back inside those buildings, the coders were just popping their first cans of Jolt, getting ready for a long night.

As I began to back out again, there was a banging on the side of my car. I slammed on the brakes once more. It was Gregory, still holding the open cell phone. He motioned for me to roll down my window.

“We’ve got to talk,” he said. “Give me Rita’s number.”

“I already said I’ll give her your card. That’s enough.”

The eyes narrowed. The lips pressed into a disapproving line. “Bill, I need a meeting tomorrow.”

“Talk to Rita.” I rolled up my window, but Gregory curled his fingers around the top and held it.

“Work with us. It’ll be rewarding for you. Very rewarding.”

How many times had I heard that promise in the last three years?

“I also know some things about Kumar that you need to know. Don’t blow it, Bill.” His tone was somewhere between that of a threat and a personal business advisor who would be very upset if I made the wrong decision. For a twenty-something with soft cheeks, he did a great job of impersonating a seasoned Bigfucker.

I gunned the engine. “I’m going now.” How I loved its rumble.

“You’re on my dashboard,” Gregory said, looking me in the eye with calm certainty. “We’ll see each other again.”

He clamped the phone back to his ear and walked away.

I knew the limits of my vehicle,
so normally I didn’t drive like everyone else trying to get across the valley, racing to be first in line at the next stoplight, roaring up through the gears, darting into open lanes. But this evening was different. I was annoyed by Gregory and his games, and even more annoyed at myself for letting them go on for so long when I was already late to my girlfriend’s dinner party. Swerving into the right lane, I gave an apologetic wave to a driver I’d just cut off, let out a long breath, and tried to slow myself down. Traffic was in its usual six o’clock clot. The freeway would have been worse.

Jenny’s apartment was at the end of a curving subdivision road. The enclave of three- and four-story redwood-shingled garden apartments, dotted with eucalyptus trees, reached for a feeling of rustic community and fell short. It wasn’t bad, though, once you figured out where in the parking maze you were allowed to put your car. Silicon Valley housing could get a lot worse. The back side of the apartments looked out over a fenced wafer fab, a windowless block the size of a football field encasing a single room. Chips were made in that room, a place so clean that the human workers had to dress like aliens in space suits.

I buttoned my shirt back on, topped it with a jacket, and rang Jenny’s doorbell.

As she opened the door, Jenny’s pearl-blue gaze fell to my right hand. In it was a camera case, but not the bottle I’d promised to bring. “I’ll go get some wine right now,” I said. “Red okay? Something with a cork, right?”

She radiated one of her sunbeam smiles and pulled me inside. Her sleeveless blouse clung in all the right places. “Don’t worry, Fay brought extra.” She took me close and gave me a soft kiss that tasted like peppermint.

I set down the camera case and started to put my arms around her for another kiss, but stopped. “Let me wash my hands. The Scout got ornery. That’s why I’m late.”

Her hands went to her hips. “The Scout.” She left it at that, shaking her head. I followed her down the hall. The overly plush carpet bounced under my feet.

“You look nice tonight,” she said over her shoulder. She said this any time I put on a jacket.

Wes Garzen, my closest friend, sat on the living room couch. He was staring at his red wine as if afraid it was about to jump out of the glass onto the cream-colored fabric. I knew the feeling. The carpet and curtains were cream, too. The manager wouldn’t let Jenny change them, so she went and got sofas to match.

“You’re here early,” I said on my way to the bathroom. Wes’s head jerked at the sound of my voice. “You must be excited about meeting Jenny’s friend.”

Wes lifted a brow. “Friends,” he corrected.

When I came back into the living room, I asked if he wanted a beer.

“Sure, if you’ve got one.”

I went up two steps into a small dining room with a table and matching chairs Jenny had inherited from her grandmother. Flowers, candles, and a bowl of very realistic pears sat on a sideboard, along with several bottles of wine. Above the sideboard was a semi-abstract scene of a house and picket fence Jenny had painted.

Across from the painting was the door to the kitchen. I stuck my head through and said, “Ready for duty.”

Jenny leaned slowly into me over the counter, a smudge of olive oil rimming her upper lip. She opened her mouth and gave me a long tongue-filled kiss. Dinner parties made her that way.

“We’ve got everything under control,” she said, straightening and nodding to Fay, her friend and cohost.

“You sure you got all that oil off, Bill?” Fay remarked, turning to greet me. I smiled and opened the refrigerator, in search of an ice-cold can. Fay Ming was a graphic designer. A cascade of silky, jet black hair fell halfway down her back. She and Jenny were a knockout pair when they went to client meetings for Jenny’s Web design business.

Hunt as I might, there were no ice-cold cans to be found in the fridge. Apparently I’d finished them off. Oh well, I thought on my way back to the sideboard in the dining room, Wes would have to stick to wine. And Jenny would be pleased to see me pouring a glass for myself. It was supposed to be that kind of party.

Jenny came out of the kitchen with a plate of cheese and crackers and slid into a dining room chair. I never got tired of watching her do that, especially when she was wearing Capri pants. She was lithe but strong, with delicate cheekbones, a little exclamation point of a nose, and a mouth perpetually puckering in amusement. She brightened any room, a talent I’d learned not
to take for granted. I could see the effect on Wes, who peered in from the living room.

Cutting a sliver of Cambozola, Jenny asked about my meeting. I joined her at the table and said Kumar was fine. His company had had a very good year and wanted to show it off in twenty minutes of cinematic glory. The weird part of the day was at the end, with the Scout and Gregory Alton.

“Alton wants you to shoot a film for him? That’s great!” Jenny said, a lilt in her voice. “See? All you have to do is put yourself out there. The work will come.”

“It wasn’t Rita and me, Jen. It was the fact we were working for Kumar.”

“Maybe he’s looking for a spy,” Wes said, now hovering near the steps. “Or it might be even simpler. If Gregory and Kumar are competitors, Gregory probably wants you just because Kumar got you.”

“Enough to pay double?” I said.

“That’s the mentality,” Wes said. “It’s all about getting the other guy’s toys. If you happen to spill a little data about Kumar on the way, so much the better.” Wes was CTO of a startup that had defied the tech crash. He was flourishing.

“It scares me how well you understand these people, Wes.”

“It still sounds like a good opportunity,” Jenny said.

“Maybe I didn’t make it clear how irritating Gregory was. Rita would never work with him.”

Jenny’s eyes gleamed. “That’s perfect. Jump on it yourself, Bill. Make the leap to producer-director.”

“I wouldn’t cut Rita out like that.”

Jenny gave me a smile that could charm a crocodile. “That’s what I like about you, Bill. You’re such a gentleman. Why don’t you check with Rita, though. If she doesn’t want the job, you can take it.”

I returned her smile, but shook my head. “Gregory’s a Bigfucker on training wheels.”

Jenny’s expression flattened into a mock pout. “Poor Bill. You’re just mad you didn’t get to go for your walk today. But we all have to work with people we don’t like,” she said sweetly. “Especially to get our first break.”

I tried to think of a polite way to say, Never in a million years. Jenny was trying to help; I just wasn’t sure whom. Her Web design business was taking off when we met seven months before, and the crash had dimmed none of her aggressiveness and enthusiasm. I saw, in those first few weeks, that my knowledge of the tech world turned her on, and I proceeded to make the mistake of talking about it like an old pro. I wasn’t really, few were, but three years of being sucked into the Internet vortex and then spit out did leave me feeling
old
, even if I was only in my mid-thirties. As Jenny and I got to know each other, I tried to back off of my old pro status and explain how the dot-con had lured me away from the thing I’d actually meant do with my life: make films. I didn’t yet know what was next for me, I was only resolved that it have little to do with the tech industry. She pretended to accept my resolution, all the while slipping me hints on how and why I should break it.

The shine faded from her eyes when I didn’t answer. As I opened my mouth, the doorbell rang. Jenny put the lilt back in her voice. “Can you get that? I need to set the table.”

I did a double take when I opened the front door. A small woman with long, dark ringletted hair looked up at me uncertainly. She didn’t recognize me, but I’d seen her not long ago from behind a viewfinder. She was the one I’d caught on tape by accident in the parking lot. The one who had been so quick to hide from the lens.

“Is this Jenny Ingersoll’s house?” she asked in a small, liquid voice.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m Bill Damen, her doorman.”

A slender row of fingers took my hand. “Sheila Harros.” She handed me a paper bag. “These are tomatoes. For the appetizer.”

“Thanks. I think we met about an hour ago.”

She stopped in the middle of unwrapping a fine-woven scarf, threaded with glittering red and gold, from around her neck. “No, I don’t believe so.”

“In the BioVerge parking lot. Gregory Alton was there. I was behind a video camera.”

Her eye twitched at Gregory’s name, but she shook her head coolly. “You must have seen someone else.”

It would have been easy to settle the matter. The camera was sitting right here. I knew I’d see the same scarf, the same dark curls framing a light olive face, the same almond brown eyes under long lashes. But my role here was not to make Jenny’s guests feel uncomfortable.

She shrugged out of a linen jacket and came with me into the living room. As I opened the bedroom door, a meow came from inside. Jenny’s cat Maggie poked her head through the crack.

“Oh!” Sheila said. “Please don’t put my coat in there. I’m terribly allergic to cats.”

“Sorry. I guess that’s why closets were invented. Have a seat. I’ll tell Jenny you’re here.”

Instead of sitting down, Sheila scanned Jenny’s bookshelf. She clasped her hands behind her back, as if to resist some temptation. I turned for another look before I left the living room. In trim black pants and a subtle lapis blouse, she had an elegance to her. But she undermined it in small ways—her averted eyes, her nervous fingers. Maybe she was just tense around strangers.

Wes was in the kitchen with Jenny and Fay. I announced Sheila’s arrival. Jenny sidled over and whispered conspiratori-ally, “Go talk to her, Wes.”

Wes looked to me for a first impression. I hesitated. We’d known each other since college, but I’d gotten out of the business of setting him up with dates, at least not with women I wanted to remain friends with. Jenny had been glad to take over the job. He was quite the commodity: six foot one, dark hair sweeping across his forehead, sharp handsome features. He’d already cashed in his first set of options and had plenty still accumulating. Jenny was full of ideas for his social life.

I gave him a thumbs up, then tilted my thumb a bit. There was something unsettled about Sheila. Actually, she was probably more my type than Wes’s.

“Who else is coming?” he asked.

I elbowed him. “Don’t be greedy.”

“Marion,” Jenny said. “But you can’t go out with both of them. They work together.”

I poured Sheila a glass of wine. Wes grabbed it. “Allow me.”

Wes always surprised me when he went into operator mode. In college, he’d been a stringy-haired physics major who’d had a hard time making eye contact with anyone, including me. And although his confidence had grown with success, he still would end a conversation abruptly if he started to feel nervous. He was a geek at heart, but some chemical kicked in around women.

I drifted into the dining room for a look. Sheila was telling Wes she got her doctorate in molecular biology. Wes gulped his wine.

The doorbell rang again. This time Fay got it. More people poured in. I put my facial muscles where they belonged, shook hands, and let names slip through my ears. Most of the guests
were friends of Jenny and Fay, clients and potential clients. They were generally younger than me and sported the hip-nerd look: the correct era of retro haircut, the correct length sideburns, the occasional piercing. The more slickly dressed ones were probably lawyers or MBAs. A couple in shorts and sandals were likely engineers.