[Steven Lyle Jordan]

4: Back to work

By the time I got back to the apartment, Pete was back, hanging on the balcony with a beer in his hand. He turned when he heard me come in. "Hey, bro! Where you been all day?"

"Me?" I closed the door, stopped in the kitchen for a beer, and joined him on the balcony. "You're the one who was out most of the day! I just went out to hit—" I started to say "Starbucks," then thought I'd duck that one for now "—the store, then Gail came by, and we hung out here until I took her to the airport."

Pete nodded. "I thought the place had a familiar smell to it. Where's Gail going?"

"San Francisco," I replied, sitting down and pointedly deciding to ignore the "smell" crack. (Oh, that was probably not the best way to put that...) "A business meeting."

Pete nodded again. "Never liked it when they sent her on those business meetings. I always felt like... well." He took a pull on his beer. "Listen, I'm going to take Riley out tonight for dinner, and we may end up back here afterward. You know, depending on how things go."

"Good for you," I said.

"Can you make yourself scarce, if we do come back here? I'll call you if we're on the way."

"No problem," I replied. "I'll either hide in my room, or go find some all-night action somewhere." I said that, knowing that I hadn't even stopped to try to find any kind of "all-night action" since I'd come to San Diego. I'm an IT guy. An IT guy's idea of all-night action was usually a session of WoW with a few friends spread across a few dozen time zones. And in fact, meeting Gail had turned out to be all the all-night action I ever needed. I realized I might really miss her tonight. All the same, I said, "Good luck, bro. Hope you get everything... fixed up."

"I'm surprised you didn't say 'straightened out'," Pete grinned.

Boy, even the comments I didn't internally verbalize were leaking now. I really need to get that checked.

After we'd hung out and talked for awhile, I went back to my alcove, while Pete got himself duded up for a night on the town. I was fresh enough to dive back into my research, though I still didn't really know where to go next. But I had a feeling I was getting close to some answers. I sure hoped I was getting somewhere: So far this particular episode (uh... of my life, of course... heh...) was running pretty weak.

About two hours came and went, during which Pete left, a pizza I'd ordered arrived, and I got pretty much nowhere with my server logs strategy. One of the logs chased me back into the e-mail database, trying to find a correlation between them, and before I knew it, I was poring through the e-mails yet again, and wishing I could think of somewhere else to waste my time.

Then I got a surprise, which I'd almost missed: An e-mail from two weeks back, mentioning that a certain Mel Cooley, a senior account executive of BM, was going to be in Los Angeles in a day, on business. I say "a certain Mel Cooley," because I didn't want this Mel Cooley to be confused with the selfsame Mel Cooley who was a fictional executive on a certain old sitcom... and because this particular Mel Cooley just happened to be involved in the "Merc" thing, whatever it was.

If this had been television, my eyes would've been twinkling right then. I instantly imagined finding this Mel Cooley and finding a way to get the details out of him. I might be able to do it clandestinely, too, since I was pretty sure I hadn't met this guy. Even better... I had a car! So I could drive to L.A. overnight, and be there to grill the guy over lunch! Yes! The plot thickens! The game's afoot! And it only took four chapters!

Hurriedly I started packing up my gear and loading it into my gear bag, stopping only to gnaw on another slice of pizza, before I closed the box. Then I went into my room to collect a few articles of clothing for the trip. I wanted to take the most professional-looking clothes I had with me, which actually didn't amount to anything professional-looking at all; in fact, my "professional" clothes essentially included a pair of long jeans and polo shirt that I'd worn when I came to San Diego. I quickly ran into Pete's room, to see if he had maybe a sportcoat I could take with me. To my delight (and surprise), I found one that didn't clash with the jeans and shirt, and brought it back to my bag. I finished my packing, and returned to the Borg alcove, now looking noticeably un-Borg-like with most of my gear packed up. I started to sweep up the gear bag and pizza box... and stopped, deciding to leave a note for Pete. It took me a minute to find something to write on, finally finding a subscription coupon from one of his magazines with enough whitespace for a note. I jotted down:

Gone to L.A. for a few days.
Hope things went well!
They might with me, too.
M.D.

I left the note on the dining room table, which Pete was sure to notice was visible again, and resumed collecting my stuff. With the overnight bag, gear bag, and pizza box, I looked like I was ready for a road trip. And to be sure, I was ready... the possibility of getting closer to this mystery had me wired, and I felt like I could've run to L.A. on pure adrenaline alone. I left the apartment, turning off all the lights and locking the door on the way out, and made my way down to the parking garage, and Gail's car. I put the overnight bag in the trunk, my gearbag on the floor of the passenger's side, and the pizza box on the passenger's seat. A second later, I removed the pizza box from the passenger seat, went back to the trunk, and dug around until I found a small plastic bag to place between the seat and the box. Hey, this is a nice car, okay?

Once set, I drove out of the parking garage, ready to head for the highway... with one detour. I drove the three blocks to the Starbucks, and for the first time, drove up to the drive-in window around the side.

"Grande double-shot skim milk espresso with room, in a personal cup," I told the microphone. "And step on it!"

The speaker said, "We don't have your personal cup in here."

"Oh... right," I said sheepishly. "Let me pull up and give it to you..."