Regina looks doubtful. "Maybe. Something doesn't seem right about that, though."
"Yeah, it's not a perfect theory. I can't see a successful businessman like Mr. Tanger handing over an office to someone who performs unethical human experimentation with dangerous technology as a hobby. Aside from being immoral, it doesn't seem like a good risk."
"He could have just rented him space, I suppose. Without knowing what he's doing, I mean. It's a big building. He can't possibly know all of the tenants."
"Sure, that makes sense! Ichabot is probably in one of the other offices, and using the proximity to get to Mr. Tanger! If he can –"
"Wait, Ichabot?" Regina interrupts.
"I can't keep calling him 'the broomstick man.' It takes too long to say. And the first gangly, spindly guy I thought of was from Sleepy Hollow, Ichabod Crane." Regina is looking at me skeptically, but I press on. "But since he works with the nanomachines, 'bod' becomes 'bot.' Ichabot Crane. Ichabot Drone?"
"Okay, stop, stop!" laughs Regina. "This is getting worse as it goes."
- Chapter Ten -
At home, I sous-chef while Regina makes dinner. I texted Brian earlier and invited him to a meeting of the minds, so he shows up while we're in the kitchen.
"Whoa, hey, what is that?" he asks as Regina pulls a casserole dish out of the oven.
"Baked chicken breasts," she says.
"No, the big hot square thing it was in. Is that an oven? I didn't know Dan had any sort of food preparation devices in his house!"
I throw a dish towel at him. "Whatever. I cook breakfast all the time."
"Dude, scrambling eggs is not cooking. It's breaking something and then not cleaning it up, which is definitely more your skill set."
"Hey, you don't want to come over for pizza, I won't invite you next time."
"Whoa, be cool! I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Brian says, his hands up in mock surrender. "It's just, like, I didn't even know you owned salad tongs, you know?"
Honestly, this is also a surprise to me; I don't know where Regina found them. But I'm not about to admit that right now.
Brian sees the plates on the table, and his eyebrows rise. Before he can say anything, I warn him, "Make one joke about how you didn't know this table was for eating at, and I will uninvite you from this dinner."
Brian grins. "Can I ask what the occasion is, at least?"
"I wanted to do something nice," says Regina. "I just felt really gross after today, and this seemed like a good way to erase it."
"Yeah? What'd you two find?"
"Dinner first, discussion of Ichabot second," I say.
"Hey, is that broomstick guy? I like the name! Ooh, what about Ichabot Drone?" says Brian. I shoot Regina a triumphant look, and she rolls her eyes.
"You two are the absolute worst together. Sit down to eat, and you can congratulate each other on how hilarious you are after."
"Mr. King," I say, pulling out a chair for Brian and gesturing to the seat.
"Mr. Everton," he responds, pulling out a chair on the other side for me.
Regina huffs, sits down in one of the remaining chairs and begins serving the food. "Any time you clowns want to join me, feel free."
The dinner is excellent. Despite Brian's mockery, I'm fully capable of cooking basic meals, but my idea of seasoning is to apply garlic and black pepper to disguise the burned bits. Regina, on the other hand, clearly understands things like proportions and cooking time much better than I do. Even the salad is better than I make, and that's just cutting things up and putting them in a bowl.
"Regina, this is fantastic," says Brian, and she smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear. I'm bad at subtext, but I've seen enough romantic comedies to recognize that particular motion. I've never been the third wheel at a dinner before! I feel like it's a milestone of some sort.
We're clearing the dishes after dinner when Brian says, "Okay, so: Ichabot."
"Yeah! So check this out," I say, and give him the quick rundown of the visit, starting with the cold shoulder on the phone and ending with the bum's rush out. I show him my arm, which does in fact have bruises, and Regina fills him in on the similarity of feeling towards me, the nano-generated hatred.
"It pervades everything there," I tell him, "like it's in the framework of the building itself. We think maybe he's got a lab in there."
Regina nods, and Brian looks at both of us like we're crazy. "What? Dude. It's clearly Tanger."
"No way!" Regina protests, and I add, "Mr. Tanger is a respected businessman! He wouldn't be tied up in something like this."
Brian starts ticking points off on his fingers. "One. Tanger's secretary goes from normal to sub-zero the instant she hears your name. Two. Everyone in his waiting room hates you the instant they know who you are. Three. The people at your construction site – which Tanger just visited – are behaving the same way. This is all clearly Tanger. He's spreading it somehow."
"He's a pillar of the community!" I say, and Regina nods vehemently.
Brian stares at us in frustration, and then his face displays slowly dawning realization. "Ah. Okay, so I have an idea. What did you know about Tanger yesterday?"
"He keeps me employed," I say.
"He's rebuilding the police station basically at cost," says Regina.
"No value judgments, guys. Just what did you actually know about him?"
"I, ah – not much, I guess. He owns the company his dad started," I say.
"And Regina?"
"Well – honestly, nothing. I mean, I'd seen the name Tanger Construction around the city, I guess, but I couldn't've even told you that Mr. Tanger ran it. What does this have to do with anything, though?"
Brian sighs. "What, really? Okay, so you agree that somehow, people are getting ideas about Dan that are not correct, right? Like they're just picking them up from somewhere, like they were left laying around?"
We both nod, and Brian continues, "So now you both went to Tanger's office, a guy who you did not meet and know nothing about, and you've come back convinced that he is a top-notch dude, beyond reproach."
"Well, yeah! He's a...great..." I trail off as Brian's point finally sinks in. I don't know anything about this guy. All I know is that he hangs out with a guy who runs deadly experiments on strangers, which doesn't really recommend him highly.
"Well, but wait," I say. "Mr. Steele knows him. He's worked with him for years, and he said that Mr. Tanger was great, a great man."
"Would this be the Mr. Steele that was recently in close proximity to Tanger, showing him around the construction site where everyone now suddenly hates you?" Brian asks.
"Oh. Oh, man," I say. It all makes sense. If Tanger has the ability to leave his ideas coating an area like a poison, and he was on site a couple of weekends ago, then that explains why everyone hated me for no reason when we came back to work on Monday. And it makes sense that guys like Christopher and Mr. Steele, who know me, were able to shake it off, since it didn't fit with the existing facts they had. But all of the guys I hadn't really interacted with didn't have any reason to question this new idea, so they've all internalized it.
"So you're saying that we think Mr. Tanger is great because he wants us to think that?" asks Regina.
"Yeah, exactly!" says Brian. "I bet you if I'd been there today, I'd agree with you, too."
"Well, there's an easy way to find out if you're right. Let's see what we can find out about him. It can't be that hard to see what his company's been up to, whether he's a good guy in public or not, at least."
"No research tonight," says Regina. "I just got rid of the gross feeling of someone tampering with my mind, and I'm not up for finding out that they did it in more than one way yet. It's not hurting anything if I keep thinking good thoughts about Mr. Tanger tonight. We can pop the bubble tomorrow."
"Cool by me," says Brian. "Movies?"
We all retire to the couch downstairs and settle into Netflix. We've finished one movie and are twenty minutes or so into the next one, a
zom-rom-com, when I announce, "All right, I've gotta hit the hay. Up with the sun for work tomorrow, and all that."
Brian starts to stand up from the couch. "Yeah, I should probably get going."
I push him back down. "Don't be ridiculous! You're not working my hours. Anyway, you picked this movie. Stick around and watch it."
"Subtle," says Regina, but she's smiling.
"Yeah, whatever. I'm off to bed! See you folks tomorrow for some exciting online research."
I traipse upstairs and close myself in my room, then settle down to read. I think I played the role of third wheel with some definite aplomb. And while I may not have been subtle at the end there, I feel like there's been enough subtlety and subterfuge in my life lately. It's nice to be blatant once in a while.
- Chapter Eleven -
The next morning on the way to work, I ask Regina, "So how's Briii-an?", and she smiles.
"He's fine, thank you for asking. And thank you for the ham-handed setup last night, too."
"What? He was planning on leaving, and you were probably going to let him. Dudes aren't that good at taking hints."
"Yeah, I've noticed."
"Well, it may be a stereotype, but it's true."
"For some more than others, certainly. Honestly, I was starting to think that you and Brian had a thing going and just didn't want to do anything in front of me."
"What? Ha! No. Not that kind of friends. He's all yours."
"You suuure? I mean, you've definitely got dibs."
"Thank you, but no. He's not my type."
"So what is your type, anyway, Dan?"
"I don't know. Relationships always seem like a lot of work, like I'm putting a lot more in than I'm getting out. I've never really been a people person, though, so that makes sense. Basically any change to my lifestyle to accommodate someone else is going to get on my nerves."
Regina laughs, and I say, "What?"
"I'm living in your house, Dan."
"Yeah, but that's different! You were totally screwed, and it was my fault. So I was fixing it. That's just basic humanity. Anyway, the only change you've made me make is to not take the bus to work anymore, and that is an absolutely awesome thing. I'll take a change like that any day."
"So as long as I chauffeur you around and don't get in your way, I can stick around?"
"I mean, it sounds harsh when you put it like that, but yeah, basically," I joke. "Otherwise, bam! Right back on the street."
Regina laughs. "Well, at least I'm not magnetic anymore, so I'll call that a win."
She drops me off at work, and I clock in for another day of hard labor. The morning goes in a pretty standard manner. I banter with Christopher and the other guys I know, and get suspicious glares from the guys who I hadn't really met before they caught bad opinions of me.
Even in my head, I have a hard time thinking of it as "Mr. Tanger's bad opinion of me," even though Brian's almost certainly right about the source. But he just seems like such a genuinely great guy that I can't imagine him trying to turn people against me. Logic helps some; when I stop and consider that I've never met the guy, or remember that I used to think of him dismissively or not at all, it's easy to see that this admiration for him isn't mine. And of course, there's the fact that he hates me and probably wants me to die. But it still doesn't feel like he's a bad guy.
After lunchtime, Mr. Steele comes out of his office with a sizable roll of vinyl over his shoulder. He dumps it onto a wheelbarrow and whistles everyone over.
"Everyone clear to take about a twenty-minute break from what you were doing? Good. We're putting these signs up on the fence surrounding the site. Put one every fifty feet or so, and zip-tie them top and bottom so that the wind doesn't tear 'em off."
He pulls a sign free from the roll and holds it up. It's about six feet wide, maybe half that tall, and under a line of red stars carries a very simple message in blue text:
EVAN TANGER
FOR MAYOR
"What do you think?" says Mr. Steele proudly. "In a year, we're going to be working for the guy running the city!"
An excited cheer goes up from the group as we close in to take the signs. I'm smiling broadly. Tanger as mayor! It'll be nice to have someone who can get stuff done, someone who's used to completing actual work while dealing with bureaucracy. He's going to be great for the city, assuming I can get his nanos shut down. And if I can't – honestly, maybe I ought to look at getting out of here. It's not fair to make him look bad just because someone else inflicted a science experiment on him.
There's an almost festive atmosphere at work for the rest of the day. Conversations center around the possible projects this will mean for us, the minor prestige of knowing the mayor, and other trivial but fun speculation in that vein. So it seems serendipitous when Brian texts me to talk about Mr. Tanger, too.
been looking up stuff about T online.
No charity, no fundraisers, nothing like that.
nothing much bad about the dude, but nothing to justify him as great.
I text back, "He's running for mayor! I think that's pretty great."
Dude. Seriously?
I bet everyone else there also thinks it's great.
He's not wrong, but I don't get what he's driving at for a moment. Then it hits me – Brian thinks I'm being manipulated again. And sure, the signs did just show up from somewhere, but what are the odds that an important man like Mr. Tanger was running his own errands?
I shake my head briefly, as if that will resolve the conflicting ideas. I could chase my thoughts around in circles all day like this. Or I could just go ask, and save myself a lot of mental calisthenics. It seems like the better option.
"Mr. Steele?" I say, leaning in his doorway. Steele looks up from his desk, and his face momentarily twitches in a quick look of disgust, like he's just swallowed a bug. It's gone almost immediately, though, and he says, "What is it?"
"Mr. Tanger's running for mayor!" I say.
He laughs. "Pretty great, right? He could really do some good there."
"Absolutely! Hey, are we the only site that got the banners, because of the police station? Or what?"
"No, he's announcing his candidacy today, and he told me that he was taking banners to all of the sites. Getting name visiblity, right?"
"Right, yeah. So he was actually here? He didn't want to say anything to us?"
"I asked him if he would, actually. He told me that he had a lot of sites to get to today, though, which makes sense."
"Yeah, absolutely. All right, thanks! I was just curious."
So. He was here, and Brian is right; I can't trust my thoughts. He probably didn't want to talk to us because he couldn't trust himself to keep control of his disgust around me, which means that just by being here, I kept everyone else from getting a chance to talk to the next mayor. I feel pretty lousy about that.
But do I? Or am I just feeling someone else's idea that I should feel lousy about myself? This is a mess. I have enough trouble understanding my motivations without someone dropping off ideas that aren't mine in my head. To put it out of my mind, I throw myself into my work, and by the end of the day I'm dripping with sweat and too tired for complex thought.
My phone buzzes when I'm clocking out. It's Regina, letting me know that she's a few minutes late. I text back, "What do you think about Tanger for mayor?"
Fine, I guess.
Who's the current mayo?
*mayor. Current mayo is Hellman's.
Clearly, she is very invested in local politics.
Regina arrives, and I climb into the car. She greets me with, "I like the banners! So does this make you like a mayor's assistant now?"
I laugh. "I mean, if he wins, maybe. You seem a lot more gung ho about this than a few minutes ago."
"Yeah, I was thinking about it on the way over. A guy from a construction company is a pretty great choice, actually. He's closer to the average joe than your standard politician, and he's used to getting actual work done in
the face of bureaucracy."
I start to nod, but falter. I agree with her completely – but that's exactly the problem. I agree with her too completely. I had that exact same thought, in almost exactly those same words. And since Regina didn't seem to feel that way until she got here, where Mr. Tanger had just been earlier, it probably means that it's not either of our thoughts at all.
Regina sees my hesitation and says, "No? You don't think he'd do well?"
"I don't know what I think," I say honestly.
- - -
I'm pretty beat when I get home, so I change out of my work clothes, pour myself a glass of Coke and flop down on the couch to watch something mindless on Netflix. The plan is that the caffeine will keep me awake until dinnertime, but in fact it barely keeps me awake through the opening credits.
I'm awakened by a hand on my shoulder. I open my eyes to see Officer Peterson leaning over me.
"What...?" I half-ask, rubbing my eyes.
"You're under arrest, Mr. Everton," he says, which wakes me right up.
"What? For what?"
"General bad taste," he says, reaching around behind his head and pulling. His face stretches horribly and starts to peel away, leaving Brian holding a mask and running his free hand through his hair. He laughs at my confusion.
"Dude, you should see your face right now."
"That is no way to wake someone up, man! Where did you get that mask, anyway?"
"From the trash in your bathroom – which, by the way, is deeply creepy. I walk in there to use the toilet and see a discarded human face staring up at me from the trashcan. That's some serious horror movie stuff right there. Also, what were you doing when you were wearing this thing? It smells seriously rank inside."
"Yeah, well, maybe don't pull things out of the trash to put on your face." My heartbeat is slowly returning to normal. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
The Experiment (Book 3): Infectious Thinking Page 7
