By the time I finish, I'm stuffed. Ordinarily after a meal like that, I would go rest on the couch and not do anything for the next couple of hours, then later feel badly about my life choices. Today, however, I have a totally different plan – I intend to go rest on the couch and not do anything for the next couple of hours, but I will then feel good about my life choices. It's a bold new technique, made possible by nanomachinery!
First, though, I have a short phone call to make. I hit redial on my phone, and a woman's voice answers, "Tanger Construction, how may I direct your call?"
"This is Dan Everton. Tell Tanger that he's going to want to be looking out his window to the east in, oh, a little under an hour. Maybe a little more. Should be quite a sight to see, anyway, and I'd hate for him to have to catch it on the news later."
I hang up before she can say anything. I don't think they can trace cell phone calls to a location, but if they can, shorter phone calls are better. Unless the movies have been totally lying to me about how call-tracing works, of course. Which is a distinct possibility, now that I think about it.
As an afterthought, I pry open the back of my phone and pop out the battery. I know they can't track the phone if the battery isn't in it. At least, I'm pretty sure that's true. Honestly, when we get into spy stuff like this, I'm basically making it all up based on James Bond and things I read on the internet.
Lethargic though I am, I'm not tired enough to sleep, so I simply lie down on the couch and focus on my breathing, holding an image in my mind of the suit I need to grow. I feel my skin start prickling almost immediately. As with my other powers, the more I've used this one, the faster and more effective it's become. I wonder if that's because as I practice, I get better with the nuances? Or whether the nanos ramp up as they're used more, becoming more efficient?
I'm losing focus. Calm breath in, hold, calm breath out, hold. Feel the air moving. Participate in the moment. Empty my mind. Be present.
Some time later, I hear a key in the lock and I open my eyes to see Brian and Regina entering the apartment. Brian visibly jumps as he comes in, then collects himself.
"Man, it is super weird to walk in to see a total stranger sitting on my couch. I mean, usually it's just me here anyway, you know? So it's already weird to have someone here, and then you don't even look like anyone I know. Hey, you are Dan, right?"
I laugh. "Chill, dude. It's me. You're a little bit nervous about this, huh?"
"It's not topping my list of greatest excitements, no. You're banking a lot on things going right."
"Me? Man, nothing goes right for me unless I make it go right. If I've learned nothing else from all of this, I've learned that. I'm in the driver's seat here," I tell him.
"Yeah, but I'm in the passenger's seat, and I'm not a hundred percent sure you're good to drive," says Brian. "And I've seen how that ends up plenty of times."
"If you've got a better plan, hit me with it."
He hesitates. "No. No, your plan's good. I just – it's a lot of risk, you know?"
"I know," I say solemnly. "And I really appreciate that you're willing to take it for me."
"Yeah, man."
There's a pause where all three of us just look at each other.
"So," Regina says. "Nothing going on until nightfall, right? What do we do for the next several hours?"
"I've gotta call Tanger one more time to keep him riled up, but other than that, whatever you want," I say.
"I've got cards," says Brian. "Pinochle?"
"Dude, what are you, 80? Do you have a stick and hoop we can roll, too?"
"You don't have to play if you don't want to, Rubbermaid," says Brian. "I'm open to other suggestions – IF they're not just blatant mockery."
I close my mouth, having been about to suggest Canasta. We settle on hearts, which at least all of us already know the rules to, although after an hour or so of that Brian does get out the pinochle deck and teach us that game, as well. Reluctantly, I have to admit that it's actually a lot of fun, and it's a good distraction from what's coming up.
Eventually, though, we've played all the card games we can stand. I've called Tanger to taunt him with more imaginary threats, we've eaten dinner, and we're all pretending to watch a movie while we each take turns checking the sky or our phones to see if it's late enough yet. The credits roll on the movie at almost 8:30 PM, and Brian looks over at me.
"Time, you think?" he asks.
"Time," I agree. "Suit up! Let's go break some stuff."
- Chapter Nineteen -
"You want to park right outside, or around the block, or what?" asks Brian as we approach our destination.
I shrug. "Maybe a couple of blocks away? Seems less likely to draw attention than a random car parked out front."
He laughs nervously. "Dude. We are about to draw all kinds of attention."
"Yeah, but then we can run away from it, circle around to the car, and drive calmly away from a totally separate location! Much less suspicious than peeling out directly from the scene."
It's hard to tell behind the mask, but I think Brian's still not convinced about his part in all of this. "Hey, if you're worried about this, I can still do this part alone," I tell him.
"Are you kidding? If I'm in this, I'm not missing the fun part. It's all or nothing here."
"Well, moment of truth. Time to park if you're in, or drop me off if you're bailing." I hope Brian's not bailing. He's integral to my plan right now. I can probably make it work without him, and I'm definitely going to try if I have to, but I'm really going to be flying by the seat of my pants. And that is not a superpower I have.
Brian hesitates for just long enough that I start to mentally scramble for a new plan, then says, "No, let's do this."
He parks the car and we walk the last block in silence, listening to the sounds of the city around us. Then we turn the corner and see the skeletal frame of a building rising up in the moonlight, sectioned away from the rest of the city by a chainlink fence. The fence is covered in countless identical banners: EVAN TANGER FOR MAYOR. The roofs of trucks and earthmovers peek out over the top of the fence.
So much for my day off; I'm back at work. More or less, anyway. I don't think that Mr. Steele is going to appreciate the extra effort I'm about to put in.
"Need a boost?" I ask Brian, but he's already climbing up, fingers grabbing the links and bulky boots trying to wedge in for a toe hold. When it's clear he's going to make it, I clamber up a nearby section and drop to the ground inside the construction site.
Our first stop is the foreman's trailer. The door's locked, but that's a problem easily fixed with a piece of rebar and a bit of effort. It's a cheap trailer, and the lock is really more of a way of expressing intent than an actual attempt to stop a break-in.
When the door pops open, though, Brian and I exchange a look. This is the actual point of no return. We've damaged property now. It's minor, sure, but it's symbolic, like the mayor digging the first shovelful of dirt at a ground-breaking ceremony. This isn't particularly bad, but it's about to get a lot worse.
Still, with barely a pause, we step into the trailer. I flick on the lights and head for the desk, where I figure Mr. Steele probably keeps the keys. After checking a couple of drawers, I find what I'm looking for: a cardboard box with a dozen identical keys in it. I snag one and wave it at Brian. Steele's ID badge is in here, too, and I grab it as well.
"All right, got it! Let's go," I half-whisper. Brian gives me a thumbs-up, apparently also reluctant to talk. I'm not sure why we feel like we should be sneaking here, since we're about to make a whole lot of noise, but it seems wrong to be talking at a normal volume after breaking in. More spy movie problems, maybe.
Back outside, we head toward one of the bulldozers and climb inside. It's a tight fit for two people, but I can see the excited smile on Brian's face even with the mask, and I'm not going to take this part away from him. I know how I felt when Mr. Steele first showed me how to work the bulldozer, and the sheer joy
that came from fulfilling a dream deferred since childhood.
I feel a twinge of guilt for what I'm about to do, but I shove it down and fire up the earthmover. "You ready for this?" I ask Brian over the noise of the engine. He's wedged uncomfortably in the doorway, but his grin says it all as he nods.
The bulldozer roars forward and I guide it skillfully around the yard, swerving past piles of material as I go. My initial plan had been to damage some of the building's support beams, but now that I'm actually here, I can't bring myself to do that. I know how much work it took to put those up. I should, since I did some of it personally. I think of how the other guys on the site would feel tomorrow morning, coming in to see the building wrecked. This is between me and Tanger. I don't need to ruin their weeks over it.
With that thought, I turn the bulldozer away from the building and head for the edge of the lot. Still picking up speed, we slam into the fence with a mighty clash. Sections of chainlink fall away beneath the bulldozer's treads. Brian flinches, then laughs uproariously.
"This is amazing!" he shouts. "It's everything I ever wanted it to be."
"Yeah, this is the best!" I agree, mangling section after section of fence. Torn "EVAN TANGER FOR MAYOR" banners flop in my wake like stranded fish. I reach the corner and turn, continuing my rampage.
"Are we going to do the whole thing?"
"Yeah, might as well! It'll look bad, and we can do it quickly with basically no damage to the 'dozer. Then it's on to step 2!"
A few minutes later, the entire fence lies in ruins. I idle the bulldozer near where we started. "Here, get out and take some pictures," I tell Brian. "Make sure you get a good closeup of one of the shredded banners in there. That ought to rile him up."
Brian opens the door and steps out, and I rev the engine and circle back into the site. I plow through a pile of bricks and drive them haphazardly toward one of the corner supports of the building, scattering bricks to the sides as I go. I slow the earthmover to a crawl as I approach, and finally bring it to a stop just a bit ahead of the beam. With the bricks strewn about, I'm hoping it'll look to the untrained eye like damage has been done, without actually banging up the building at all.
Brian jogs over and snaps a picture of my handiwork. "Time to run?" he asks.
"Oh yeah," I say. "Well past."
Suiting action to words, we run. Once we've rounded the corner, by unspoken agreement we slow to a quick walk, the better to avoid attention. We reach the car without any problems, and although Brian is jittery enough to drop the keys twice before getting it started, soon enough we're on the road and heading away from the scene of the crime.
"Okay, let me see your phone," I say to Brian, who dutifully hands it over. I check back in my received calls and punch a number I find there into Brian's phone. I text over the pictures Brian has taken, then dial the number. It rings a couple of times before a sleep-heavy, irritated voice answers.
"Hello? Who is this?"
"Mr. Tanger? This is Foreman Steele. We have a problem," I say, making my voice gruff.
"Who? Foreman who?"
I don't know Steele's first name! Why don't I learn anyone's name? Panicked, I fumble for the ID badge I took from the office, playing for time as I try to hold it up to the ambient city light. "Um, from the new police building project in mid-city? Leslie Steele?"
His name is Leslie? Boy, does that not match.
"Oh, Les," says Tanger, sounding marginally more awake. "What's going on? What problem?"
"Someone's broken into the construction site and smashed it all up. They rode one of the earthmovers all over everything, knocked a bunch of stuff down. The project's going to be set back weeks, maybe more."
"What?! When did this happen?" He sounds awake now, for sure.
"I just got word of it and went down there to check it out. I sent you some pictures."
"Hang on." There's a pause, and when Tanger comes back I can hear him grinding his teeth together before he speaks. It's only a single word, but it's laced with so much venom that it's practically a deadly weapon. "Everton."
"What?"
"Everton did this. Get to my office now. Bring his information. I'm going to kill him."
"Literally?" I ask, but Tanger has already hung up.
I grin at Brian. "Well, he's definitely riled up! Great pictures, by the way."
"Thank you! We're on to his office, then?"
"Yup! I told you he'd want to do this there," I say, gloating only slightly.
"I won't say this often, man, so I want you to treasure these words: you were right, Dan."
"Oh, sweet vindication! I told you I was in the driver's seat on this one."
"So far," says Brian, abruptly serious again. "Don't get cocky, you know? We're getting into the dangerous bit now."
I double-check my phone. "Everything's set here. Just keep your cool and we'll be fine."
"I hope so, man. I hope so."
- Chapter Twenty -
Picture this scene:
It's nighttime. Tanger's penthouse office is lit up, but the lights of the city are still visible through the large plate-glass windows, laid out in a glittering expanse far below. A security guard settles himself behind the guard desk, flipping idly through a magazine, while a stocky but powerfully-built man swipes his badge against the lock leading out of the elevator lobby and into the waiting room.
The lock beeps and the door clicks open, and the man swings it wide, propping it open as if in expectation of more arrivals. He heads inside and takes a seat, fiddling nervously with his phone. The security guard turns another page in the magazine.
Perhaps ten minutes later, the elevator doors ding open and the security guard looks up from the magazine as two large men in suits emerge, followed immediately by a third, slightly smaller man. "I need to see your – oh, it's you, Mr. Tanger."
Tanger grunts unintelligibly, dismissing the man as he storms by into the office. "Daniels, Hernandez – what we discussed," he snaps, and the two large men peel off to begin a casual, unhurried search of the waiting room. Tanger, meanwhile, continues to stride straight toward the stocky man who is rising rapidly from his seat, almost dropping his phone.
"Les!" barks Tanger, his strident tone matching his flushed cheeks.
"Mr. Tanger! I got here as fast as I could."
"Les, we've got a problem. A big problem! This Everton –" he practically spits the word "– is a wrecker and a vandal. He's been hiding under our noses and laughing at us. Earning money from us! And now look what he's done to your site. How much damage did you say?"
"A few weeks' worth to reset it, probably. Less if we put the men on overtime. The schedule –"
"Yes, the schedule," interrupts Tanger. "We – I – made promises that it is important to my reputation as a businessman and mayoral candidate to uphold, and Everton is attempting to interfere with those. I will not let him wreck what I am building! Figuratively or literally."
"Shouldn't we get the police?"
"The police?" Tanger's frenzied scowl suddenly smooths out, and he places a hand on the stocky man's shoulder in a companionable way. "Les, tell me this. I'll let you answer your own question in a minute, but tell me this. How do you feel about what Everton has done to what you've built?"
"I'm furious, obviously."
"Yes, obviously. I feel the same, as you have doubtless noticed. Now, the penalty for vandalism is a fine. Do you think a fine is sufficient punishment in this case?" Tanger's hand still clasps the other man's shoulder, keeping him close as if imparting a confidence to him.
"No. No, I don't," he says slowly, as if the idea is just forming in his mind.
"Right. Neither do I," says Tanger almost soothingly. "But that's what the police would do. They would fine him, and let him go. And meanwhile, good men like us would suffer, having to break our backs to fix the damage he's caused, and he would be free to do it again.
"And that's a best-case scenario, even assuming that they actually manage to pin it o
n him. Far too often, I'm sorry to say, the police let criminals like this slip through their grasp for lack of evidence. It's one of the things I aim to improve when I'm in charge: better tools for policing.
"But for now, we can agree that the police are not the right route to deal with Mr. Everton?" Tanger continues smoothly. His conversational companion nods.
"Very good. So if the police can't help...." Tanger trails off, waiting expectantly.
The man glances around at Daniels and Hernandez, who have almost completed their sweep of the room. "Then we take care of him ourselves. However we have to."
"Yes, exactly," purrs Tanger. "I knew we'd see eye-to-eye on this. Do you have his information? His address?"
The stocky man holds out his phone to Tanger, who takes it and glances at the screen. "Perfect, thank you," he says, before suddenly smashing his fist into the phone screen, smashing it. He punches it three times in rapid succession, blood flying from his knuckles on the recoil, before turning on his shocked companion and launching a wild swing into his jaw.
The man staggers backwards, holding his face, as Hernandez and Daniels close in from either side and take him by the arms. Tanger, meanwhile, has lost all semblance of calm and is screaming so hard that flecks of spit are foaming at the corners of his mouth.
"You thought this would fool me? This cheap disguise, this stupid trick, here in my office? In my sanctuary? You thought I couldn't feel your filth crawling on my skin even in the elevator? You thought I wouldn't know the voice of one of my foremen, his mannerisms? I'm a people person, you slime! This is what I do!"
Veins are popping out on Tanger's crimson face, and the man cowers back against the firm holds of Hernandez and Daniels. "Mr. Tanger, I –"
"Don't you 'Mr. Tanger' me! You're already a dead man. I don't want to hear my name polluted by your mouth! You damaged my product and tried to ruin my name. I will inflict pain on you like you can't even imagine!" He punches the other man viciously in the stomach, leaving a bloody knuckleprint on his shirt.
The Experiment (Book 3): Infectious Thinking Page 12
