He spared a quick glance for Javier, then went back to his typing. "You got it."
Javier said, "I got...what?"
"The right folder. Cookies and history. And any minute we'll be remoting into Canaan's computers like we work there ourselves."
We. Ourselves. Maybe Tim hadn't seen the kiss after all.
Maybe there was still a chance things would work out more like Javier had hoped...and the things they'd only typed about could happen in the flesh.
The key, it seemed, was getting back on track with the original plan-at least as much as it was possible to do with three extra people who couldn't be trusted blundering around.
Javier stepped up behind Tim, paused to consider whether he could handle the possibility of him flinching away, and then decided the fallout could be dealt with. He placed a hand on Tim's shoulder.
Tim didn't flinch.
"Once you get in," Javier asked, "then what?"
"I don't know. We'll see what kinds of access this guy has, and how their system is set up. If he's in HR, I should be able to use his credentials to create a new user. Figure out how to get our 'new guy' anywhere he wants to go."
Javier knew just the place to start. According to his source, fleets of Canaan Products trucks were rolling out day and night, and rolling back in just as full as they'd been when they left. A recall, the source figured, though no one had actually confirmed an official recall was happening. When the shipping manager asked about it, he was told it was a simple stock rotation. But he'd been working there long enough to know that stock never came back from vendors while it still had three months remaining on its sell-by date. "Shipping and receiving." Javier said.
The scrolling paused as Tim stopped typing and looked over his shoulder. "Really?"
The employee had leaked whatever he'd found to a Leftist group, just like he'd claimed. I took things into my own hands. Told some people who might do something about it. Then the Leftists had shown up at the job fair, right on cue. So Javier had no doubt the recall was significant. "Really."
"That doesn't seem like the department a scandal would-"
"Javier?"
Both Javier and Tim did flinch then, as Marianne stuck her head into the apartment.
"What's taking so long? They have a baby."
Javier raised his hand, palm forward, and said, "It's not a problem. I'll be right out."
Marianne went back to the fire escape, and Javier said, "Can you spare some manna for your neighbor?"
"Who?"
"In the next building...."
Tim had already glanced in the general direction of the neighboring apartments, then focused his attention again on his monitor as if he was still trying to figure out how Shipping and Receiving might be involved. "I thought I had plenty...but I don't know how long we'll need to make it last for five people."
"Even a small package. They have a baby."
Tim stared at the monitor for a moment, then blinked. "Right, yeah. Okay. How long do you think I'll need to...aw, never mind. A pound of manna won't make a difference one way or the other between five people. Grab some of the perishable stuff out of the fridge."
Javier picked up the partially thawed veg-o-mix from the arm of the recliner to put it back in the freezer. He'd expected to find ice cube trays, frozen meals, maybe some ice-dream. But Tim's freezer was stacked with boxes, plain boxes labeled protein + mineral in English, Spanish, French, and Korean. The ice cube caddy was stocked with first aid kits.
The single pocket of recognizable food was mostly plain, flash-frozen vegetables. Javier tucked the veg-o-mix into a gap among the other plastic bags and quietly closed the freezer door. He looked at Tim. Tim had leaned in so close to the monitor he could practically lick it. His eyes tracked back and forth as he watched code scroll past.
Javier took the opportunity to peek into one of the cupboards.
Completely filled, top to bottom. More plain brown boxes, these stamped in some Arabic-looking languages, and French. 5-year complete protein. No wonder Tim only had two mugs. There wasn't room for any more. Javier eased open another cupboard, this one bursting with a bank of canned manna with once-colorful labels, now faded, the text possibly in Chinese. He couldn't tell what the contents were supposed to be, even by the pictures-cubes of jiggling off-white manna, awash in a bath of syrup, with birds and lotus flowers dancing around the dripping spoonfuls.
"In the fridge," Tim prompted. "Something that looks, y'know...normal."
Javier opened the refrigerator. It, too, was loaded. The soda racks had perishable manna stuffed in the slots, verde and cheese and chili flavored. A few of the sweet varieties, mostly chocolate, were mounded in the crisper. All the ready-made meals were utilitarian: manna, vegetable, starch. The type of food you'd find in a public school or an eldercare institution.
"I think you can spare a few," Javier said.
"Did you know Nelson Oliver had a PhD?"
What did Tim care about Nelson? It must have been the kiss. He had seen it after all. Damn it. "He's not old enough," Javier replied, finally. Tim could infer whatever level of intimacy-or non-intimacy-he wanted from that statement.
"A double-masters in chemistry and microbiology, and a PhD in molecular biology."
"I thought you were working on remoting in."
"I've got a script on it-I need to find the cookie first. But all the job applications are sitting right here, in the documents folder."
Nelson Oliver, a doctor? The guy who'd been too busy cruising Javier to even spare a glance for the Canaan Products HR reps who everyone else was scrambling to impress? His shoes were cheap. And he did seem too young to have all that schooling under his belt-though maybe it accounted for the cockiness. Or he could have been lying. Everyone lied on job applications. Some more than others.
"He's thirty-five," Tim read.
Obviously, Javier hadn't gotten a very good look at Nelson. Though he wasn't sure seeing him with two eyes would have made any difference. "I suppose he could be."
"Can you imagine what he knows about manna?"
Javier wished he could tell if he was supposed to play his knowledge of Nelson up or down. There wasn't much to spin one way or the other. Confident (obnoxiously so). Determined (ditto). Older than Javier had thought by five years or so. And he had a nice mouth-though probably anyone who was a reasonable kisser would have seemed that way to Javier, who hadn't been kissed since the end of his old life. And charming, in a way, for someone they needed to send packing as soon as possible. "So...I'll give them a verde and a cheese. Okay?"
Tim tore his eyes from the screen. "The Canaan stuff. Right?"
"Right."
"Yeah, fine." Tim went back to stabbing at the keyboard.
Javier watched him for a moment, then told himself that Tim was probably perfectly aware of being watched, and turned toward the window.
"Javier?"
At the sound of his name coming from Tim's mouth, Javier's heartbeat quickened. "Yes?"
Tim didn't look up from the screen. "Keep those other guys out of my cupboards."
"Sure." His heart sank as fast as it had surged-and honestly, Javier thought, what had he expected Tim to say? I wish we were alone. Then I'd really show you how impressed I am with the way you handled the job fair. Tim trusted Javier with his secrets, much more than Javier trusted his own secrets with, well...anybody. It seemed like that should have been enough.
Though it didn't feel that way at all.
Chapter 10.
Javier handed the manna to Randy through the window, then hauled himself back out onto the fire escape. The sun had set, and the temperature was dropping fast. A small tendril of steam rose from Marianne's forgotten coffee. "How do you know they really have a baby?" Randy asked-not as if he was particularly concerned. More like he was accustomed to playing devil's advocate.
"What do you want them to do?" Marianne whispered, though Javier suspected it was unlikely the neighbors would understand her anyway, especially across the span of the building over the background noise of the rising wind. "Bring the kid outside and show it to you?"
Randy tried to hand the manna back to Javier, but Javier made no move to take it. "You throw it," he said. "I wrenched my arm in the crowd." Randy might have suspected Javier's arm had nothing to do with his unwillingness to throw something and make a fool of himself, but he didn't call Javier on it. Which went completely against the slightly-grown-frat-boy image he projected. Curious. But not unwelcome.
Randy waved the two plastic sacs above his head like he'd just scored a touchdown. "Heads up, buddy!"
The neighbor's face transformed from desperation to hope-over something as simple as manna. Not even high-grade manna. Canaan Products manna, so inexpensive to produce, it was on par with bottled water. The only real cost was the packaging, marketing and shipping. "Overhead," as Randy had so eloquently put it.
Randy tossed the packages over with ease, first verde, then cheese. The neighbor caught them and handed them through the window. "Gracias," he said, over and over, as if he wished he could think of a better word to express his thanks, but he'd have to settle for just repeating it.
"How old is their baby?" Marianne asked. "Why did you pick such spicy flavors? What if the baby can't eat the-"
"I think he knows what flavors Hispanics like," Randy said.
"You're such an assho-ohmigod."
A head emerged from the neighboring window, then a body, and the pair of arms handing it off.
A baby.
His black hair hung in baby curls on either side of his rounded cheeks, nearly down to his shoulders. Gone were the days of Javier's youth when boys wore buzz cuts, bow ties and trousers. Children were treated like miniature royalty now, little lords and ladies in curls and lace and fussy shoes with buckles and bows. The neighbor's child was about two years old; he'd begun shedding some of his baby pudge, and he moved with the confidence and coordination of a toddler who preferred to walk rather than be carried. He squirmed in his father's arms, though he was being held too tightly to get anywhere. "This is Geraldo," the neighbor called in Spanish.
Marianne had flung herself against the railing of the fire escape so eagerly Javier worried she might tip over the side. "Look at him. My God. He's so beautiful." She waved at the baby. "Hi, Geraldo! Hello! Can you wave?"
Geraldo glanced at the crazy gringa making noises at him for just a moment, then went back to squirming to be put down.
"Gracias," the neighbor called again, then turned to hand Geraldo back through the window.
Although Javier was looking directly at the two-year-old, he had a hard time making sense of the next thing he saw...and he suspected seeing it with two eyes wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference.
"Hijo de puta!" The neighbor's arm jerked back. He shook it. And then the blood flowed.
The woman inside started yelling again, panicky questions, in Spanish: What's wrong? What did you do to the baby?
"I didn't do nothing to your fucking kid."
"Your mark's on him! He's your baby."
"Crazy fucking brat bit me." He looked at his arm. Even with the width of a building between them, Javier could see he was bleeding hard.
"Is he okay?" Marianne called. She turned to Javier. "What happened?"
"The baby's fine. He bit the guy."
Randy laughed, a bit forced. "Well, that's gratitude for you."
"That's not funny." Marianne responded automatically. Most of her attention was focused on the neighbor's fire escape. The man had handed off Geraldo and climbed back inside, and was now shutting the window, cursing the whole time. The shouting clipped off when the window closed, though the rise and fall of angry voices was still audible, but muffled.
Randy picked up Marianne's mug and turned toward the window. "We might as well go back inside. The wind's got a bite to it."
And, Javier thought, it looked like the show was over.
The shivering woke Nelson.
In his woozy, post-medicated state, he drew the simplest conclusions he could draw, given his initial impressions. He was shivering? It must be cold. He was in a strange bed-and not alone? Sweet, he'd gotten lucky. Solution? Share some of that body heat. Now.
When his bedmate let out a less-than-masculine yip, Nelson realized the situation might be a bit more convoluted than he'd originally assumed.
"Stop groping me."
Nelson went still, and prompted his foggy brain to yield up an extra detail or two. He hadn't woken up with someone of the female persuasion in years-not without mild alcohol poisoning. So whatever had led him to this juncture at this particular time must have been a hell of a wild ride.
His stomach churned, and he shivered some more. But he didn't feel hungover. Not exactly. That realization was the keystone that made the structure of the day's events slip into place, and hold.
Not drinking, not at all. Another fucking migraine. He'd taken his meds in time, at least. Otherwise his head would be a blinding wall of agony. But he had the serotonin-shakes. And he wasn't alone. Marianne, the redhead from the job fair-she'd taken pity on him and brought him home? He was lucky, damn lucky, and he knew it.
Nelson tucked the corner of the blanket around his shoulder, and a few more details emerged. The T-shirt he was wearing was too big, and the neckline gaped. Not Marianne's shirt, then. She was a tiny thing. Whose? And the blanket...it smelled like a guy. Not in a funky way. Just that guys' beds didn't smell like chicks' beds.
"Marianne?" he whispered.
"Mm...what?"
"Where are we?"
"G't'shleep...tell ya in th' mrn...."
Nelson lay as still as he could and considered whether sleep might come, or not. It didn't feel like it. He had jimmy-legs, and his stomach was roiling. And although he knew full well that he wasn't shivering from the cold, he felt reluctant to leave the warmth of the bed. Whoever it belonged to.
Still, he'd need to get hydrated. For all that he was grateful that the meds had saved him from a day whimpering in agony and two days recovering, the aftereffects left something to be desired. He peeled back the covers, sternly reminding his quaking muscles that he was not actually cold, and he climbed over Marianne. The bed was smallish, a "full," but anything larger wouldn't have fit very well in the room. A quick scan of the things that could be seen by the light of the digital clock showed a few piles of books, a stick of deodorant, a box of tissues and a lamp with a tattered shade. The blinds covering the single window leaked wan streetlight. They were crooked.
Overall impression: the walls were devoid of art and photos, there was no valance over the crooked blinds, and there wasn't a single decorative item on the nightstand, not even a candle. Definitely not a girl's bedroom.
He crept to the door, fully expecting it to stick, or at least squeak, but it opened smoothly, dragging only slightly against the carpet. The next room smelled like coffee, and it seemed full of random people, until he slotted each in turn into his newly emerging memories of the end of the job fair. Randy, asleep in the recliner, half his face covered in an enormous, swollen bruise. Two guys hunched over the comput-Javier. He was there. The sexy pirate. Nelson froze for a moment and stared, and wondered at his phenomenal luck.
Javier.
Nelson savored the silhouette of the back of his head.