“Mister. My name is Mr. Carpenter.”
“Ah, Mr. Carpenter.” Ellie nodded, mimicking the false friendly body language of the man before her. “No Federales here, eh? Just working people. Feno Chemical getting down and dirty with the proletariat. Little PR stunt?”
“Hardly.”
Something about the man’s easy smile put Ellie on her guard. Maybe it was the way he tapped that envelope like it held the golden ticket or the way his coworkers tracked him from the corners of their eyes, making sure to stand just slightly behind him. This man held himself as the dominant force in the room, and Ellie understood that, although late to the party, she was being lured to conversion. She wouldn’t go easily.
“Now that the niceties are out of the way, Mr. Carpenter, why don’t you tell me what exactly it is that I can do for you?”
“Do you know what that red paint on the floor over there means, Ellie?”
A thousand inappropriate answers rushed to her tongue, but Ellie took a deep breath to contain them. “Yes sir.”
“Do you?” He held the envelope in mid-tap, feigning surprise at her answer. “Well now, that makes my job a little more complicated then. You see, that red paint is a clear indicator of where public files end and Feno Chemical confidential files begin. Everything on the red paint is to be handled by authorized Feno Chemical employees only. I don’t suppose you’ve picked up classified authorization over the past few weeks, have you, Ellie?”
“No sir. Haven’t been able to pass the written test.”
He took a sudden step toward her, and had she not been close to a small pile of file boxes, she might have jumped back. “Do you want to tell me then who has been in the classified area moving boxes around?” His voice cracked with anger, and she could see him struggling to rein it in. It was such a ridiculous thing to be furious about, Ellie almost laughed.
“I have, Mr. Carpenter. I have moved those boxes around.”
His eyes shone, as if the fact of this outrage brought tears to his eyes. “Would you care to explain to myself and my associates why?”
“Rats.”
Big Martha snorted a laugh and quickly covered it with a dry cough.
“Rats.”
“Rats, Mr. Carpenter. Big Norway rats. I’m afraid it’s a terrible problem. I saw a pair of the little bastards scampering around back there and, well, I guess I just lost my head.” Ellie sighed. “I got a broom and I charged back there with no thought to my personal safety. All I could think was what those buck-toothed little demons would do to classified Feno property.”
Mr. Carpenter went back to tapping his envelope, his eyes down, and his associates held themselves in a tense posture of anxiety and anticipation. When he looked back up, he was composed. “Do you know what this is?” He waved the envelope before him.
“A toaster?”
Mr. Carpenter laughed. “That’s funny. I’ll tell you what it’s not. It’s not a joke. You must be one hell of an employee, Ellie, because your boss was adamant about keeping us out of your desk. She physically blocked us until we had a signed warrant.”
Ellie shook her head. “Oh, you know Martha. Give her a constitution and she’s like a dog with a bone. She just won’t let it go. Imagine that.”
Mr. Carpenter looked down at the envelope like he was reading from it. “According to the search and seizure of property policy within the PennCo Containment Area, authorities cannot begin process until the owner or holder of the property is present.”
Ellie felt a cold spot form in her stomach. “Kind of makes you want to salute, doesn’t it?”
“It’s a good law.” Mr. Carpenter smiled. He would have been handsome if he weren’t scaring the crap out of her. “You know what else is a good law? The law that says that illegal drugs cannot be in restricted areas. Rumor has it you’re quite the pothead, Ellie.”
“Gee, if only there were some blood and urine samples you could check with.”
He laughed again, seeming to really enjoy himself. “Now we both know what you do in your own time is your own business. But what you do here at work? Well, that’s another kettle of fish.” He held the envelope up once more. “This warrant gives my associates permission to take your desk apart, inch by inch. I sure hope we don’t find any illegal substances.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ellie said. “What are you going to do if you find it? Arrest me? Keep me in Flowertown with no chance of parole?”
“I will put you in the detention center.” Mr. Carpenter stepped up closer to her. “It will be my pleasure. You think you’ve got it tough living in the East Fifth Towers? Try bunking with a couple dozen women in a room half the size.”
“Oh no,” Ellie said. “You mean I’d have to share a toilet with twenty people instead of eighteen? The electric only works two days a week instead of three? Oh the humanity!” She put her hands on her hips, faking more confidence than she felt. “Knock yourself out, shithead.”
Mr. Carpenter snapped his fingers at his associates, who leapt into action. They rifled through every box and tray on the top of the desk, tossing everything onto the floor as they went. Then came the drawers, which they ripped out of the desk with pleased fury. Pens, pads, clips, folders, scissors, the debris of office life went flying with each drawer. Ellie felt that cold spot within her growing. In the bottom drawer, the file drawer, in the back, was a Tinkerbell lunch box full of fresh, green buds and several pipes and packs of rolling papers. It was the biggest drawer in the desk and the most logical place to hide any sort of stash, and so, of course, the goons saved that drawer for last. The woman got the pleasure of discovery, and she slapped the metal box on the desktop with satisfaction.
“What’s this?” Mr. Carpenter asked.
“My lunch.”
“I’m hungry.” He smiled and flicked the metal latches. “Let’s see what you’ve brought.”
Ellie couldn’t bear to look and instead turned to Big Martha for a moment of consolation. Her boss shook her head, disgusted, until she looked back at the desk. Her eyes widened and once again she bit back a laugh.
“What the…” Mr. Carpenter began emptying the lunch box, pulling out handfuls of Twinkies. “What is this?” He ripped open a package and squeezed it in his fist. He held the yellow and white mess under her nose. “What the hell is this? Some kind of joke?”
“No, Mr. Carpenter. That’s a Twinkie.”
“You think this is funny?”
“No, I think it’s delicious.”
He threw the snack cake on the ground. Before he could let loose another tirade, Big Martha stepped in. Easily six feet tall, she didn’t need actual physical contact to make her presence felt.
“I’ll tell you what this is, Mr. Carpenter. This is over. You got your warrant. You did your search. You found out who moved the boxes and why. I think your visit is over.”
Mr. Carpenter spun on her, too angry to be aware of anything but his failed search. “I don’t really give a good goddamn what you think. I don’t know who tipped you off to our visit today, but you’re on my radar now, both of you.” The warning would have been slightly more ominous if he hadn’t chosen to turn sharply on his heel. In his rage he had failed to notice the smashed Twinkie beneath his feet and nearly fell on his back. Everyone in the room had the good sense not to laugh, but Big Martha and Ellie both suffered from the effort.
Swearing, Mr. Carpenter stomped out of the office, followed by his associates and a diminishing trail of cake and cream. Only when the last footstep sounded down the stairs did Big Martha and Ellie dare let out the breaths they held, which immediately led to near-hysterical laughter. They leaned against each other, laughing and gasping, both suddenly damp with delayed flop-sweat. The new girl, who had stayed well out of sight during the exchange, crouched down and began picking up the office supplies around the desk.
“What the hell are you doing?” Ellie asked.
“Cleaning up. I can’t believe the way they just—”
“Get the fuck away from me.”
The young girl clutched a stack of tabbed folders to her chest like a shield. “What?”
“You heard me.” Ellie pointed to the front of the office. “Get the fuck away from me, you little suck-up.” Her voice skipped up to a comically nasal tone. “‘It’s after one o’clock. Your meds were at eleven thirty.’”
“Well, they were!”
Big Martha laughed and shook her head. “Honey, go up front. Just go.” The girl threw down the folders, big tears in her eyes, and stomped off. They watched her go, and Ellie let out a sigh that held the last of her tension. She felt like she had been running on stilts. Big Martha stared at the mess before her.
“Twinkies? Where the hell did you get Twinkies?”
Ellie picked up the Tinkerbell box as if it were actually magic. “I have no idea.”
She didn’t see Bing again until the end of the day. Big Martha kept the new girl busy in the front of the office and left Ellie to spend the day organizing and cleaning up her ransacked desk. She wanted to leave the smashed Twinkie on the ground as a badge of victory, but both she and Martha knew the rat story would get a lot more believable if they left open treats like that around. She didn’t need three and a half hours to rearrange her paperclips and scissors, but that’s how long she took. With every paid minute spent stacking sticky notes in neat little columns, Ellie felt more vindicated. Granted, it was true she wasn’t supposed to have moved any boxes within the red-painted floor space, but really, Mr. Carpenter’s little storm trooper routine seemed a bit much.
When Bing finally peeked his head around the corner to her workspace, she sat with her chin propped up on her palms, staring at the once again organized classified space.
“You’re still here. That’s a good sign.”
“I guess you heard about all the excitement.”
“Didn’t you get my text?” Bing dropped his voice in standard Bing excitement style. “I knew it. I told you they’re filtering everything.”
Ellie pulled her phone out and checked the screen. “No texts.”
“See? See?” Bing took his usual spot on the corner of her desk. “They were looking for you and so they blocked your phone.”
“I doubt that, Bing. We just have really shitty service.” Just then, her phone chirped twice. Two messages had arrived. “Oh look, here you are. ‘U r being paged.’ That was your big warning? Thanks, man. So much for your filter theory.”
“On the contrary.” Bing folded his arms. “They were looking for you. They blocked your phone. They’re done with you, so now your texts go through. Once they’ve been cleared through their security filter.”
“Well, I can see why they’d block this text, Bing. That’s an explosive message you sent.”
“What did you want me to say? ‘Suits are imminent. Hide the weed.’”
“That would have been nice. And hey,” she leaned forward and hit his leg, “where is my weed?”
Bing laughed. “I took it. You took mine.”
“No, you threw yours at me during your hissy fit. And what’s with all the Twinkies? You know I hate them.”
“I know.” Bing kicked her chair. “That’s why I left them, to teach you a lesson.”
“You taught me a lesson, all right. Find a better place to hide my weed at work.” Ellie shook her head. “You should have seen this guy, Bing. Talk about a teeny tiny little power suck. He had every intention of dragging me out of here by my hair and throwing me in a hole. And all just because I moved some of those stupid Feno boxes.”
Bing looked over at the neatly arranged area. “How did he know you had moved them?”
“Big Martha said a messenger delivered two new boxes and, I guess when he saw our living room, ran back and tattled.” Ellie put her chin back in her palm and squinted at the boxes. “I know I’m not what you’d call a model citizen or even an especially law-abiding one, but doesn’t that seem a little excessive to you? I mean, they’re just boxes. They’re all sealed. The file cabinets are locked. If they’re that classified, why aren’t they locked up somewhere? Somewhere guarded?”
“Uh, Ellie, they are locked up somewhere. The records office is supposed to be secure. Remember that badge you’re wearing?”
“Yeah, but nobody ever looks at it. If these boxes are so freaking precious, so tip-top secret, why don’t they keep them away from stoner drones like me? For that matter, why aren’t they on a computer? Who the hell prints all their records?” Ellie rose from her chair and headed toward the red zone. “What’s in these boxes that’s so freaking important I can’t sit on them?”
“Ellie, what are you doing?” Bing jumped up and stepped behind her. “You almost got arrested for playing around with those boxes.”
“No, I almost got arrested for moving these boxes. Now I’m just looking at them.”
Bing’s eyes darted all around the area. “How do you know they haven’t installed sensors or cameras in here?”
“In an afternoon? With Big Martha watching? Are you serious?” She folded her arms and stared at Bing. “Are you telling me that you, Ian Billingsly, the King of All Conspiracies, is afraid to step onto the dreaded red zone?”
“I’m telling you that…” Bing’s mouth moved, trying to decide exactly what he was telling her. “What I’m telling you is that I don’t want to be arrested.”
“Well, neither do I, and I damn near was because of these stupid piles of cardboard.” Ellie turned back to the red zone. “I think I should at least know what nearly incarcerated me.” She hesitated before putting her foot over the red paint, the idea of sensors and cameras never having occurred to her before Bing suggested it. While it was highly unlikely Feno could have had them installed, she figured nothing was impossible. Not wanting Bing to think she took his paranoid fantasies seriously, she stomped onto the red paint and walked quickly between the columns of boxes.
“See?” She turned back to Bing. “No sirens.”
“At least none we can hear.”
“Oh shut up and help me look at these.” Bing took a deep breath and jumped onto the red paint as if it were a platform. Still no alarms sounded and nobody came running, so the two of them scanned the labels on the sides of the boxes and the cards in the pockets on the front of the filing cabinets.
“Well,” Ellie sighed, “that was a huge anticlimax. It’s nothing but codes.”
Bing squinted and read from a box at eye level. “B seven six eight Hv four to B nine seven zero Hv four. Any ideas?”
“Besides a sneaking suspicion that Feno Chemical is run by androids? No,” Ellie said. “They sure do love their alphanumeric codes though, don’t they? What’s the whole name of the stuff that spilled? HF-sixteen Lj four something something.”
Bing continued to scan the boxes while he spoke. “HF-sixteen LjR four two nine three.”
“How do you remember that?”
“How do you not?” Bing asked. “It’s the chemical compound that’s kept us prisoner in a military superstate for almost seven years.”
Ellie supposed he had a point, and he looked too tired for her to rib him about the military superstate comment. Plus, after the shakedown today, her faith in the apathy of authority had been shaken a bit. “Do you think these codes could be other chemicals?”
Bing rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. That seems kind of hard to believe.”
“Even for you?”
He laughed. “Yeah, even for me. It just doesn’t make any sense. Surely they keep their chemical records on a highly guarded computer. These really can’t be that important if they’re just boxed up like this.”
“Well, they were important enough to threaten me with jail.” Ellie fished her beeping phone from her pocket. “And they cost the life of an innocent Twinkie.” She glanced at the screen and shoved the phone back into her jeans.
“Anything interesting?” Bing asked. Ellie didn’t have many friends and therefore didn’t get many texts. “Let me guess. Action Star Guy Roma
n wants you to watch him bench press a school bus full of children.” Ellie laughed but said nothing. “You know as well as I do that nobody’s real name is Guy Roman. He’s totally making that up.”
“It’s his name, Bing. I saw his ID.”
“Oh, and the military never uses fake names.”
“Guy Roman? You think the army’s going to make up a name like that?” She headed back toward her desk and Bing followed.
“See? Even you think it’s a ridiculous name!”
“Unlike Bing.”
“Hey, that’s a nickname. Guy Roman is a porn name.”
Ellie dropped into her chair and put her feet on the desk. “Well then, I guess that suits him, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, gross.” Bing perched on a low file cabinet near the desk. “So where’s he whisking you off to tonight? The water tower? A quickie behind the barracks?”
“Why is everybody so worried about where I fuck Guy?” Her tone was nastier than she meant it to be, but the stress of the day was starting to settle on her. She softened her tone and shot a rubber band at Bing. “Why don’t you be a hero and take some soup over to Rachel? She’s only a few days from clearance and she’s as sick as a dog.”
“I bet she still looks hot.”
“Oh yeah, green is really her color. And I’m sure her breath’s a real treat.”
“I bet it smells like honeysuckle.” Bing sighed dramatically and laughed with Ellie. “I don’t think I’m going to have any luck finding any soup, though. I looked a couple days ago and even Walmart was out. Something about a breakdown on the barrier road last week. The trucks didn’t get through.”
“You managed to get Twinkies, though.”
“Well, of course.” He got to his feet and dusted off his jeans. “I’ve got my standards. I want those back too, by the way. Maybe Rachel can keep down some creamy vanilla goodness.”
Ellie groaned. “Now who’s being gross?”
“Hey hey hey!” Bing wagged his finger at her. “Keep it clean. My intentions for the lovely Rachel are pure. Nothing but good clean fun. If it happens to involve occasional nudity, well, so be it.”
Flowertown Page 4
