[Steven Lyle Jordan]

2: Connections

Once I'd gotten that recap of my present situation out of the way, I was able to get back to work. The Byers & Mig (whom I often thought of as B&M or, not-so-inappropriately, simply BM) server logs had been providing me with some clues, which I was still trying to make sense of... it may have been my need for coffee that was making it difficult to understand what I was looking at. And I repeatedly went back to the e-mail logs, hoping that someone would let something slip that would give me a vital clue as to what Merc was. As it is, my mind was constantly trying to think of synonyms, antonyms, acronyms, and any silly thing that might lead me in the right direction. But the only thing that stayed in my mind was the word "mercury," or maybe "mercurial," which made me think of fast, or chaotic, or angry. To me, that described American business in its totality, but didn't suggest anything more specific.

When, by almost eight, I seemed to have hit another brick wall, I decided to take a break. I was ready for my trademark grande double-shot skim milk espresso with room from Starbucks, but after this morning, I had serious doubts that I'd be seeing Riley coming back with a few drinks for her favorite Schitzeiss brothers. So, I had the perfect excuse to get out, stretch my legs, and grab a drink for myself. So I went back to my bedroom in order to throw on some baggies and a shirt over my shorts, slip into some walking sandals, grabbed my personalized cup on my way out, and left the apartment.

You couldn't say enough about my brother's apartment: Located on Coronado Island, with a great view of San Diego across the bay, and hot-and-cold-running honeys all over the place, it was always enjoyable just to walk around and enjoy the sights. Especially the sights that exposed a lot of flesh. And as hot as it was developing today, there was no doubt that there would be plenty of flesh to see today. I ambled down the street, only a three-block walk to the nearest Starbucks, with plenty of eye-candy between here and there to keep the walk interesting. Speaking of eyes: A few caught mine as I walked by, and after the frustrating morning I'd had so far, the attention I was getting made me glad I was a man, which perked me up a bit and instilled me with fresh confidence. I'd get this Merc thing figured out. Just you wait.

I arrived at Starbucks and headed for the counter, only then remembering that this was the same Starbucks that Riley worked at. But before I had time to consider whether it might be a better idea to go find another place to nab a drink, I heard a familiar voice say, "Grande double-shot skim milk espresso with room, in a personal cup." I looked up, and there was Riley, reaching across the bar to accept my cup and get my drink started. I smiled awkwardly and handed it over, reflecting that Riley had always been a very cool chick, and I had no reason to suspect she'd take an argument, between her and Pete, out on me.

I walked over to the cashier, and handed her my card. Then I waited. The place happened to be empty at the moment—an unusual moment for a weekday morning, but it happens—and quiet, so there was no way to get lost in the crowd or behind the noise. I just stood by, and let Riley work, not knowing what to say. When Riley had finished my drink, she came over and placed it on the receiving bar for me. "Thanks," I muttered, sliding it off the bar quietly.

"Nothing for Pete today," Riley said, breaking her usual habit of paying for a drink for one of us. She added, without rancor, "I think he'll understand."

I was sorry for Riley, and for Pete, because I thought the two of them were a good couple. Maybe a great couple. "Are you guys gonna by okay?" I asked finally.

Riley nodded. "I just need a break, that's all." Then she smiled, an embarrassed, apologetic smile if I ever saw one. "It's no big. Have a great day, Mike."

"Yeah, you too," I said, and turned away with my drink.

I left the Starbucks in the general direction of the apartment, or maybe the beach if I decided to take a detour along the way. I was still seeing the occasional approving glance as I walked along, but this time each glance only made me think of Pete and Riley, and the hope that they'd be able to patch things up. And of course, thinking of Pete's relationships naturally made me think of Gail, and how my brother could have possibly done anything to drive away a girl as incredible as her... not to mention how I could be so lucky to get her on the rebound. I had a feeling that, if those questions weren't answered soon, there'd be Hell to pay somewhere... for someone... and I was pretty sure I knew for who... uh, whom.

I finally decided to go hang on the beach for awhile, not feeling ready to resume my research, but hoping a change of scenery, and maybe even another dream, might give me new inspiration. There was an area of Centennial Park that sported a number of benches facing the beach, and I headed for that, and the expectation of a nice spot to relax and enjoy the day. Unfortunately, I was surprised when the area came within view, to discover that it had already been taken over by a fairly extensive party shooting wedding photos... at a pretty early time of the day. They must have gotten married at sunrise, I presumed... and looking at them, I was not surprised: They were all young, with that trademark brown skintone and islander features that suggested they had most of their fun during the day; and the bride and groom were so incredibly beautiful that it would be a crying shame to deny these kids as much time in the light as humanly possible.

Unfortunately, this crowd was taking up all the available space and benches... and worse, they made me think of Pete and Riley, and Gail, and me, all over again. And my thoughts weren't all that happy.

"You're looking at a wedding party. How can your thoughts not be happy?"

Thought-leakage. Thank God. That meant this story should finally be getting underway! I turned around to see Gail behind me, smiling brightly as she regarded me in a business suit and bare feet.