by Max Barry
He picked a note off the table. It was the message that man had left, Buy Mitsui. Hack hadn’t been going to return his call, but with Thomas pulling out…he could do with the extra help. This was Nike, after all. Hack didn’t want to make anymore big mistakes.
He met Claire downtown for lunch, and they sat on the same side of a booth in a Johnny Rockets. Sears only gave Claire twenty minutes for lunch, so these meetings were always a bit rushed. Given Hack’s financial situation since losing his job, they were an extravagance. But it was worth it to see Claire. Apart from sticking it to Nike, seeing Claire was the only thing Hack wanted to do.
“Thomas pulled out. Can you believe that?”
Claire didn’t say anything.
“What?”
“Don’t get upset…”
“About what?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t do the Nike Town.”
He felt stunned. Claire, too? “No. Claire, no, we’re doing it. It’s important to me.”
She was quiet. Hack sucked at his milkshake. “Hack, I don’t think this is making you a good person.”
He was bewildered. “What do you mean?”
“You used to be… nicer. More generous.”
“When I was nicer, everyone screwed me,” he said, and even he recognized the echo of Violet in his words. He reached for Claire’s hands. “Look, the Nike Town is the end of it. But I have to do Nike.”
She nodded.
“I promise,” Hack said. “Claire, I promise.”
She smiled a little, and he felt better. “I have to go.”
“Okay.” He stood to let her exit. “It was nice to see you.”
Claire left. Hack sat back in the booth and picked at his food. What did she mean, he wasn’t a good person? Hack was taking charge of his life. He was dynamic and effective. Hack was a great person.
He walked to the bus stop. The bench was plastered with an advertisement for Nike Plutoniums: they were the latest product line, due out in three years’ time. Hack snorted. The day before, he had seen Nike Mercurys selling for $99.95 in a bargain bin.
The bus arrived and he climbed onboard. “Eighty-five cents, buddy,” the driver said.
Hack dug in his pockets. The result was not promising. He shouldn’t have had that sundae, he realized. “I’ve only got fifty cents.”
“We take cards.”
“They charge me transaction fees,” Hack said. “Come on, it’s only thirty-five cents’ difference.”
“You pay the fare or you catch a different bus,” the driver said. “What’s the matter, don’t you have a job?”
“Fine.” Hack handed over his card. He sat at the back of the bus and stewed. Transportation was a basic necessity: it should be free.
Maybe at the Nike Town, Hack could swipe some shoes. That wouldn’t be stealing, because Nike had underpaid him for years. They owed him a lot more than a few pairs of sneakers. Yes, he thought. He would do that.
The phone was ringing as he opened the door. “Hello?”
“Don’t hang up.”
“Violet?”
“I have a question. I need to know where the Government took you when they arrested you.”
“Why do you want to know that?”
“It’s very important, Hack. Where does Jennifer Government work?”
“It was downtown. On Spring Street. How come?”
“Thanks,” Violet said, and something in her voice scared Hack a little. “I won’t keep you from Claire. Goodbye.”
“Wait,” he said. “How do you know Jennifer Government?” But the line was dead. She was already gone.
68 Violet
Violet’s nose was running and she didn’t have a tissue. She wiped it on her sleeve, but it kept dripping. The Government receptionist looked up, and Violet tried to smile at him. It came out feeling too manic, too desperate. She had to stay cool.
“Jennifer Government isn’t available,” the receptionist said. He was wearing a yellow tie. A security guard was sitting beside him. Violet could see his holster. “But you can leave the package here. I’ll see she gets it.”
“No can do,” she said. “Only Jennifer can sign for it.”
“She’s out of the country.”
“Oh,” Violet said, and wiped her nose. She was wearing a thick, furry jacket with a SPEEDY COURIERS patch, and it was inflaming her allergies. “Then I should deliver this to her home. What’s the address?”
“I can’t give you a home address.”
“But…” She wiped her nose. “Is there someone in Human Resources I can talk to about it?”
“I can get someone for you. But they won’t give you a home address.”
Violet felt her right hand start to shake. She shoved it into her pocket. “I really have to deliver this package.”
“O—kay,” the receptionist said. He called someone, and after a few minutes a woman in a blue cardigan entered. “Courier?”
“Here,” Violet said. “I have to talk to you. In private.”
“Ah, all right. Follow me.” She led Violet down a long, dilapidated corridor and into an office. Violet couldn’t believe this place; it looked like the set for an old TV cop show. “Have a seat.”
“Thanks. I have a package to deliver to Jennifer Government and I need her home address.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t give out that information.”
“Are you sure?” Violet said. The woman’s computer was right there; it was very frustrating. “It’s a really important package.”
“I’m sure.”
Violet glanced at the woman’s nameplate. It said: Wendy, Human Resources. “Well, okay. Mind if I use the bathroom before I go?”
“Sure. Last door on your right before reception.”
She found it and pushed open the bathroom door. Inside, she removed her jacket, turned it inside out, and put it back on. Then she went back out and knocked on a random office door.
“Come in.”
She entered. A man with bushy eyebrows was sitting behind a crowded desk. His office had a poster of a rainforest on the wall and no window. “Hi, I’m with I.T. I’m here about your computer.”
“The e-mail problem?”
“N—yes.”
“At last. I’ve been complaining for weeks.”
“Sorry, we’ve been really backed up.” He stood and Violet took his seat. She felt her nerves calm in front of the screen, its radiation like a warm bath. It took her five seconds to determine that this man wasn’t in Human Resources, and another ten to find Wendy’s computer on the network. She pulled a disk out of her pocket and pushed it into the drive slot.
“What’s that?”
“New drivers,” Violet said. It was a six hundred thousand word dictionary, and it cracked Wendy’s password (humanitarian) in about two seconds. She pulled up the HR database and typed in: JENNIFER.
“That’s not even my e-mail. The problem is when I—” “Hmm,” she said, standing. “I’m going to need to reload the operating system. I’ll be back with a CD.”
“You didn’t even look at my e-mail. You didn’t see the problem!”
“I’ll be two minutes,” Violet said, and left. She walked back to reception, forcing herself to keep looking straight ahead. She had one hand on the door when the receptionist said: “Hey.”
She stopped.
“Why is your jacket inside out?”
“It was itching me,” Violet said. She pushed her way outside. Jennifer’s address was burned into her brain.
Back at the apartment, she dumped the jacket and went into the kitchen. Her laptop was already set up on the bench. Now for the easy part. If Jennifer Government was overseas, her daughter might not be staying at home. But she’d be at school, and Violet could find out where. Some people took care to not let their personal details leak onto the net, but not Government people: they didn’t believe in privacy. She sniffed for JENNIFER + GOVERNMENT + KATE + NORTH MELBOURNE + SCHOOL and got eight hundred hits.
Almos
t all were schools: class projects, promotional sites, class lists. She cut the list to two based on geography, then clicked on the first. It was titled, “Mattel Primary School (North Melbourne, Australian Territories): Class 3A,” and offered a group photograph, class plans and achievements for the year, plus links to each kid’s individual page. Violet didn’t understand why schools still did this. It was like an invitation to pedophiles.
She scanned the list. There was a Kate Mattel (Starbucks—General Motors) and a Kate Mattel (Government). Violet clicked.
Kate had done a lot of work. There was a long story, a couple of scanned drawings, and a little animation of a running dog. Violet was impressed. At the bottom, Kate had written: “I am Kate Mattel and I live in North Melbourne with my mom, Jennifer. She is a Government agent. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. When I grow up I want to be a vet.”
Violet wrote down the school’s address and shut down her notebook. She checked her watch. It might not be too late to get to Mattel Primary School before they finished for the day. She bit her fingernails, thinking.
She took her fingers out of her mouth and looked at them. The nails were broken and ragged. There was blood and torn skin under them. She leaned over and spat, but the taste wouldn’t get out of her mouth. She didn’t know why that courier girl had put up such a fight. Violet had only wanted her stupid jacket. People always had to make things difficult for Violet. They always had to screw her over.
She spat again and again. When she was done there was a sticky, red pool on the kitchen floor. Violet stared at it. Now she would have to clean that up.
69 Buy
Hack called Buy a few minutes before three. Hack was surprisingly trusting: Buy didn’t have to use any of the cover stories he’d invented. “Just turn up at the Chadstone Nike Town this Friday at six,” Hack said. “You can help me with the cans.”
“Okay,” Buy said. “Will do.” He hung up and looked at his notepad. Nike Town. He felt nauseous even looking at the words.
It would be better to get it over with. He checked the time and called John Nike in L.A., whose phone diverted to an assistant. “John asked me to get some information for him,” Buy said, and recited the details. “It’s important. Please make sure he gets it.”
“I will do that, sir,” the assistant said. Buy hung up. Next he called Kato Mitsui. Kato was very pleased to hear from him.
“But this is most wonderful, Buy. You have done work of great quality. I will proceed to make contact with John Nike immediately! This is a path to happiness.”
“Well, I hope so,” Buy said.
“I foresee great things for you, my friend. I will be in touch.”
“Thanks,” he said. He put down the phone, feeling pleased. He hadn’t had a workday this good since the incident.
He waited in his Jeep until children began streaming out of the gates. Kate ran over and climbed into the passenger seat. “Hi there,” Buy said.
“Buy! Guess what happened in school today?”
“You learned about quadratic equations?” He pulled away from the curb. “Or was it a new Barbie?”
“There is a new Barbie! How did you know that? But that’s not the thing. They’re having a Parent Day.”
“A what?”
“Your mom or dad talks to the class about what they do. It’s next…week, I think. I have a note.”
“Hopefully your mom will be back by then. I’m sure she will.”
“Yeah,” Kate said. “I hope so. If she’s not, will you go?”
He looked at her, surprised. “What?”
“You can…you know, go for me. Is that all right?”
“Of course,” Buy said. He felt his throat tighten. “I would love to.”
They were sitting down to dinner when the phone rang. Kate leapt up; Buy winced. She had answered too many calls that weren’t from Jennifer. “Hurry back,” he told her. He spread a napkin on his lap and picked up his fork.
“Mommy!” Kate said. “Mommy, Mommy!”
He started. Kate was in the kitchen, the phone pressed to her ear, her smile enormous. Relief drenched him. Thank God, Buy thought.
He put down his fork and listened to Kate talk about things people had said, movies she had seen, meals Buy had cooked. When she was done, she skipped into the dining room and handed him the phone. “It’s Mom!”
“Thank you,” he said. “You are an excellent girl. Now eat your dinner.” He raised the phone. “Hello?”
“Hiya.” Her voice was surprisingly clear; it was as if she were right next to him. “How’s my baby-sitter?”
He felt a big, stupid smile break across his face. “I’m so pleased to hear from you. I was worried.”
“Oh, right, the shitfight in London. I just got into L.A.”
“L.A.? Why?”
“I’m arresting a perp tomorrow. Someone I’ve been after for a long time. Almost there, Buy. Then I’m coming home. How are you?”
“I’m…” he said, and realized the answer was: happy. “Things are good. Everything is good.”
“How’s work?”
“Interesting. Suddenly I’m working with bigwigs from all these different companies… I think I like it.”
“Great, Buy! That’s really great.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I can’t wait to see you, though.”
“Yeah,” Jennifer said, and he got the impression there was someone else in the room with her. “Ditto.”
“So you’ll be home soon?”
“Before you know it.”
“Excellent,” he said. “That is excellent.”
“I gotta go,” Jennifer said. He could hear her smiling. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“Okay. Miss you.”
“Same here,” she said. He put down the phone.
“That was Mommy!” Kate said.
“Yes,” Buy said. They were both grinning like idiots. “It was.”
They were early the next morning, so Buy parked and walked Kate to the school gate. A notice was posted about the upcoming Parent Day, and Buy paused to read it. A young woman, a girl, really, stood by the gate. She smiled at him. Buy smiled back. “Hi,” she said. “Going to Parent Day?”
“Ah, yes, I think so.”
“Me, too.” Buy was surprised. She didn’t look old enough to have a kid in school. “I’m a veterinarian.”
“Oh!” Kate said. “I want to be a vet!”
“No kidding!” the girl said. She squatted to Kate’s level. “How about that!”
“Do you give the animals special medicine?”
“I sure do. I make everything better.”
“Off you go, Kate,” Buy told her. “Straight to class.”
“Aw,” Kate said. They watched her go.
“Cute,” the girl said. Her eyes were still on Kate. “She’s, what, seven?”
“Eight.”
“Such a great age,” the girl said. “I wish we could all stay like that. So we wouldn’t have to find out what assholes people are.”
“Uh…yeah,” Buy said.
“I used to think I was cynical about people. But then I realized you can’t be too cynical. People will do anything to get ahead. They’ll do terrible things.”
He looked at her. “That is true.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Buy.”
She smiled. “Violet.” They shook hands. “I guess we have a bit in common.”
“I guess we do,” Buy said, and laughed.
70 John
John woke to a dark hotel room. It was five A.M. and the phone was ringing. He fumbled for it in the darkness. If this was that asshole stockbroker from Australia again, John was going to kill him. “John Nike.”
“Hello, John.”
“Who is this?”
“Don’t be coy, John. You know who I am.”
No wonder it took him a few moments: the man sounded as if he were talking through a mouthful of gravel. But then, what had he expected? It was a miracle he was alive at all.
&
nbsp; “John?” he said. “Is that you, buddy?”
By the time he got to work, John was feeling pretty goddamn good, and there wasn’t anything a woman in an ankle-length skirt and brown glasses could do about it. He walked deliberately fast, forcing her to hurry alongside him. As he crossed the lobby, he saw people’s heads turning. Look, it’s John! There’s John Nike!
“If you’ll just look at the report,” the Johnson & Johnson Liaison said. “Please, John, look at it. Public opinion is against any aggressive move. Firmly against it.”
They reached the elevator. He pushed for up. “That’s because our advertising hasn’t kicked in yet.”
“No, John, it’s not. People don’t want us to use military force against either the Government or our competitors. They say we must not attack.”
“Who said I was going to attack anybody?” John said, thinking: The Pepsi kid!
A young woman with long legs and a US Alliance nametag ran up and asked him to sign her arm. He did, flashing her a grin. Her face lit up with adoration. The woman with brown glasses followed him into the elevator. She was unstoppable.
“John, if you continue down this path, there will be resignations. Nobody wants this to turn into a military conflict.”
“You know what?” John said. The doors opened on his floor. “It’s too late. Let them resign. I have the NRA and I’m going to use it however I damn well see fit.”
“But—”
“All right,” he said. “This is the part where I go into my office and you fuck off.” He closed the glass door. His P.A. handed him a sheaf of messages.
“I’ll be taking this up with Alfonse!” the woman shouted. He could hardly hear her through the glass.
“Good morning, John,” the P.A. said.
“Yes,” he said. “It is, isn’t it?” He read the messages on his way to his desk. The top one was from someone called Buy Mitsui. John had a vague recollection of some junior executive calling to offer help, but that described about twenty people John had dealt with recently. Ever since his career-saving speech, every shiny-shoed Liaison in the Alliance had fallen over themselves to build favor with him.
