Spitfire and Messerschmitt

Chapter 26 :: Fireworks Avoided

Early the next morning Wanda came into my room after she'd put in the pool chemicals and very thoroughly blew me awake. In a way, it turned out to be a small joke, as when I went outside there was a steady, very cool breeze from the north. The water was cold, getting out was colder, and even though I was comfortable enough swimming, I didn't linger outside, just wrapped myself in my towel and went and showered.

It was still early and I spent some time online, searching out stuff about octopi, trying to think of ways to test their intelligence and check if they really had color vision. The number of sites that wanted money for access began to be a nuisance. I spent a few minutes looking at IQ tests, but mostly they were only samples. There were a lot of books about preparing for the SATs and the like, but none that I could find about preparing yourself for an IQ test.

As I sat down to breakfast, Dad reminded me that I was expected after school again. This time, right after school. Could I get to the plant by myself?

"Yes, I can. This isn't going to take long, is it? I've lost a lot of study time this week."

"What are you studying?" Dad asked, his voice a bit sarcastic. "You and a roomful of girls?"

"No, really, we do study," Emily spoke up, protesting. "Except Mondays."

Wanda nearly choked on a slice of toast; Mom reached out and patted Emily's hand. "You are adjusting to us quite nicely, Emily!"

I was blushing and my dad was still laughing. Evidently I really was as transparent as a piece of window glass.

When we got to school, Emily and I went to the biology lab and found it already open. Ms. Weaver and Mercedes were talking so I joined them, curious. Ms. Weaver nodded to me, but Mercedes smiled, which went a long ways to improving my day.

"We were talking about IQ tests for fish," Mercedes said.

"Yeah. It's not like you can ask them who's buried in Grant's Tomb," I responded.

"It is really two separate issues. What is it that we call intelligence," Ms. Weaver said, "and is what we call intelligence something that applies to an octopus."

"Most of the experiments I've read about," Mercedes said, "seem to be about problem solving and then finding out if they've remembered the solution."

"Take a simple experiment that we did in college with lab mice. You put them in a maze with one path that leads to the cheese. You time the mouse's trip to the cheese. You do that over and over again, to see if the time stays the same or decreases or increases. Or is all over the place." She grimaced. "Which was what my group found. Then I had a bright idea and introduced the mouse to some really smelly Camembert cheese. After that, our little mouse ran the maze in great times.

"The question was, since there was only one free path, was the mouse smelling the cheese and following its nose? Or was it finally motivated enough to bother to learn the route? There were a dozen other questions about the experiment too. It's why such experiments have to be very carefully designed. You have to think of every angle, every possibility, and try to eliminate them or control for them in an experiment," the biology teacher told us.

More kids were coming in, and Mercedes and I went back to sit down. "Nice to see you looking chipper this morning," Mercedes told me.

I was pretty sure that was in reference to how Wanda had gotten me up. "I got the deposition done, then my dad took me to dinner and then to the range. He's showing me how to shoot. After school today, I'm supposed to go over to the plant and talk to a guy about a new computer. Hopefully, it won't take long."

"Oh, Shellie and I put the time we had yesterday to good use," Mercedes said with a hint of a smile. "What time do you think you'll be home?"

"By four. I told Dad I had to get some studying done."

"Four is good. We can talk to the others at lunch. I assume if we show up with Emily, we can study at your house. There are a lot fewer distractions there."

She spoke so simply, so clearly, and so obviously meaning more than the simple words. "Sure," I told her.

The morning went by very fast. When we got to English, Shellie was standing facing away from me, and when she turned around, I was stunned. So that's what Mercedes had meant! She'd braided Shellie's hair! The French braids that I liked so much!

"That looks really nice," I told Shellie. "I like the way they look."

Shellie grinned shyly. "My parents freaked, but Dad came around eventually." She shrugged. "Not that I care."

At lunch, Emily and Rob spent a few minutes talking and eating, and then they vanished, Rob's camera out. Karen decided to go with them, which left Shellie, Mercedes and me to ourselves. "I'm getting a new computer today," I told Shellie. "Can I look at more stuff on your backup?"

"Sure," Shellie told me. "I was wondering if I could give you a backup every week on Friday."

I looked at her. "No problem." I hesitated and then asked, "But that's a lot of stuff. You should just put anything changed on a disk."

Shellie smiled. "Davey, the way I work is a bit on this, a bit on that for an hour or two at a time. It can be a bit of a struggle sometimes, to understand the Japanese. Sometimes I have to ask for help, and that can take a while if I do it during the day, because they're asleep then. So I work a lot at night."

Once again I was reminded about how little I knew about how other people lived, particularly Shellie. "What do you mean, you work at night?" I asked, curious.

"I go to sleep about ten, when my parents want me to. Then I get up around one or so and work for a couple of hours. Then I take a nap around five."

I counted that up on my fingers... and I used one hand and didn't need my thumb. "That's only four hours!"

Mercedes laughed. "That's so cool I bet you get a lot done!"

"Don't you get tired?" I asked. I would. If I didn't get seven or eight hours, after a couple of days I could feel it.

"I'm used to it. It's not a big deal," Shellie said, dismissing my concern. She grinned at me. "My parents sleep like logs. They've never caught me, not even once. If they ever do, I'll just tell them I couldn't sleep."

After lunch was Colonel Terrell. It was something I noticed before, but it was even more obvious when I thought about it. He had dragged the class along with him for the first week, now towards the end of our second week of classes, everyone was used to it. He had pretty much stopped calling on Shellie and it seemed like the questions had gotten easier, too.

Not today. He pointed to Shellie. "Miss Gerrold, do you have any idea what the biggest river in the world is?"

Shellie nodded. "The Nile."

"Sir," he patiently added.

"The Nile, sirrrrrr," she really drew out the final "R" of the word.

Colonel Terrell smiled slightly. "The Germans and the Spanish roll their Rs, Miss Gerrold. The Spanish a bit more than the Germans. Do you speak Spanish, Miss Gerrold?"

"No," she replied flatly, daring him to do his worst.

It was an odd feeling. I opened my mouth to say three simple words: "Shellie speaks Japanese."

Instead of speaking, I sat frozen for a timeless instant. In my mind I said those words, and Shellie turned to look at me over her shoulder, anger and hurt in full measure. More than full measure. I saw her fold her hands on her desk, look down at them and I knew that nothing I said, nothing Colonel Terrell could ever say, would get her to speak again.

In that flash I saw Mercedes looking at me. Instead of hurt and anger, there was only loathing in her eyes. She slammed a fist into my stomach, turned on her heel and walked away, ignoring Coach Wells' entreaties for her to return.

On the way home, I saw Shellie and Mercedes walking together; Shellie's braids were gone.

Wanda appeared in my vision. "You have a cock, little brother. You know how to use it. Too bad you don't have a brain. Maybe if you did, you could learn how to use it first when you want to use your mouth."

Emily was behind Wanda, looking stricken. For a moment she met my eyes and then looked away.

The world snapped back, and I realized that Colonel Terrell was standing next to my desk. He was pointing his finger at me. "I am accustomed to getting at least a modicum of respect from you, Mr. Harper. And if nothing else, you attempt an educated guess. Do you want to join Miss Gerrold in the office?"

He'd sent Shellie to the office? I didn't want to be polite, I wanted to stand up and punch him in the nose.

Poker came to mind. That would be like betting on a hand where I'd busted a low straight and the best card in my hand was a seven.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't remember the question."

"What do you think is the biggest river in the world? Did you hear Miss Gerrold's answer?"

I remembered then. She'd said the Nile. I frowned. I'd read the book; the Nile was the biggest river in the world.

I met his eyes. I should tell my father to invite the Colonel to play poker. He was laughing at me, I could see it written there, plainly. The son-of-a-bitch had sent Shellie to the office for making fun of him, and now the lousy bastard was laughing at me!

Which meant it had to be a trick question.

"Depends on what you mean by big, sir. The Nile's the longest. The Amazon dumps a hundred times as much water into the ocean and drains twice the area, but it's not as long."

I counted in my head, reached two and smiled slightly. "Sirrrrr."

The room tittered and I smiled at him. "I'm taking Spanish last period, sirrrrr. I'm having trouble with the Rs."

He turned his back on me and went to the board and started writing river names and numbers from memory. For the rest of the period he peppered other people with questions about the sizes of the various rivers of the world.

At the end of the period Shellie hadn't come back. I dashed to PE and stopped one of the girls going into the locker rooms and asked if she could send Mercedes out. That turned out to have been a waste of time, because I saw Mercedes coming down the hall.

She looked at me, curious. She waved at the door to the girl's locker room. "Really... don't you get enough at home?"

"Shellie got kicked out of geography. Colonel Terrell sent her to the office. She didn't come back."

"I'll find out," Mercedes told me. "I have sources."

I nodded and then dashed for my own locker room, dressed out as fast as I could and scrambled for the field. I was taken aback. After a second Mercedes appeared, walking towards me. She was dressed the same way she'd been in my brief flash of whatever it had been. Only this time instead of fury and anger on her face, it was concern.

She shook her head. "Nothing yet."

"I can't get out of this thing tonight after school," I told her.

"If you're ready, Harper!" Coach Wells growled and I nodded and went to where I was supposed to be for warm ups.

They didn't want me to do any pitching practice, so instead I fielded some grounders, then went to batting practice. The first pitch was a high fastball and I really hauled off and crushed it. It flew to straight away center, and once again, bounced well past the snack bar.

Coach Wells watched the ball fly, and then turned to me. "Take a break, Harper. Go play some catch. We're going to need to put an air raid siren out there by the snack bar when you're hitting."

Everyone laughed, and I smiled thinly. So I played mindless catch with Mercedes. We traded soft tosses, both of us, I was sure, had minds far, far away.

The period ended and we went in to shower. Chuck Bradshaw chuckled when he saw me. "I don't know what sort of workout schedule you keep; I've never seen you in the weight room. But you sure have been eating your Wheaties!"

All I could do was shrug. I almost never ate breakfast cereal.

After school Mercedes dashed up to me as I stood getting things out of my locker. "They've set up a meeting tomorrow after school with Shellie and her parents and the teacher. I'll talk to her."

"Be careful," I told her. "I think she's having some problems she's not talking to us about."

"You think?" Mercedes replied sarcastically. Then she shook her head. "Sorry, I was out of line. You want to help her and so do I."

"I'll be home as fast as I can," I told her, then dashed for the circle in front of the school where parents came to pick up their kids. The sun may or may not rise in the east tomorrow, but if I wasn't out there when my father was, I would hear about it.

Sure enough, I was late. Worse, he was actually parked in one of the spaces not far from the front, which had to mean he'd been there for a while.

"Sorry," I told him as I slid into his car.

"Not to worry, I decided to play a little hooky this afternoon."

"Is there going to be a poker game Saturday?" I asked.

He looked at me without speaking for a few seconds. That made me nervous. It wasn't like Dad to not speak when he had something to say. This time it was bad news.

"They let Fesselhof out today. He was released 'without prejudice' which means they are still looking into the shooting. But the City Attorney says that he doesn't have enough evidence to indict Fesselhof, much less get a conviction."

"You knew it was going to happen." I tried not to let the accusation I felt, color my voice too much.

"I was pretty sure. You did the best you could, Davey. You told the truth, as did we all." He looked over at me. "He'll be back in school tomorrow. You will avoid him. Do not, under any circumstances, talk to him. If he tries to talk to you, turn away and call me at once. Tell the school administration. He's been warned to stay away."

I met his eyes. "After the dance the other day, he hit me in the stomach. I didn't lift a finger against him," I told Dad. "If he hits me again, if he bothers any of my friends, I will do a whole lot more than lift my finger against him."

Dad sighed and started the car. "I won't tell you not to defend yourself and your friends. Just be careful. If Fesselhof was the shooter, he is going to be feeling full of himself... he beat the rap. That could lead him to do something really stupid."

"I'll be careful. Poker?" I repeated my question.

"It's up in the air at the moment. The judge won't be there; he's up for reelection in November and this doesn't look good in some circles. Ditto the sheriff. Which leaves us a couple players short."

"Mr. d'Silva?" I asked.

Dad laughed and then spent a few seconds pulling away from the curb. It was a zoo, like it always is for the first twenty minutes after school lets out.

"No, Ruy was quite clear. Once a month, he said. Everyone likes him and he's a good player, but that's all he can afford."

"There's one of my teachers," I said. "He's Colonel Terrell, a retired Marine..."

Dad shook his head. "Not one of your teachers. If I'd have known Wanda was in one of Hannelore Kimmel's classes she wouldn't have been invited either."

"So, will there be a game?"

Dad laughed. "There's a waiting list. However, since I plan on having it at the house again, the list has shrunk a bit. We're working on it."

"Wusses," I said with a laugh. He laughed as well.

At the plant, instead of going up to the third floor, which consisted of what everyone called "mahogany row" -- the executive offices, we went to the second, down a long corridor then through a maze of rooms, including past a long set of windows with the computer center on the other side.

Then we went into an office where a young oriental man was speaking on the phone, patiently asking questions of someone on the other end. Finally he hung up and grinned at Dad. "Another happy user."

"Johnny Ito, this is my son, Davey. Davey, Johnny, my computer guy."

I held out my hand and he shook it. He wasn't, I thought, even twenty-five.

"I understand you need a new computer?" Johnny said when he dropped his hand.

I nodded. "I'd like a drive that will handle DVDs. A friend of mine is an artist and she has a lot of cool stuff on DVD."

Dad laughed. "Aha! The truth! I should have known!"

"I told you I why I wanted a DVD drive," I told him, feeling aggrieved.

Johnny Ito ignored us. "Well, I have something for you. Your father said that every kid deserves a hot rod. You, he says, aren't old enough for a street machine, so I should give you the hottest computer in town." He waved at a bench across his very cluttered office.

"Come."

I followed him and saw a prosaic PC tower with a monitor sitting there. "This is the greatest thing since forever," Johnny told me. "It's overclocked..." he launched into a technical discussion that lost me when he said the word "overclocked."

"I just want to be able to look at some stuff on some DVDs a friend gave me. She does some neat graphics, but she's doing some translation too, from Japanese to English for some cartoons."

He brightened. "Anime?"

I remembered the word and nodded.

"What is her name?" he asked.

I flashed back to geography and shook my head.

"But she's translating Japanese to English?" he pressed.

I nodded, sweating. I'd nearly screwed up once today. I couldn't believe I could do it again, with even less thought than I'd done put into it before.

"That's pretty rough. But anime is very popular in the US. Usually it takes two or three years from airing in Japan until an anime shows up here. Half the time it has English subtitles and not an English track. Really bad subtitles, usually. There are a few diehard fans who do their own work; usually it's much better. So there is another Japanese here in San Angelo. I will have to meet her."

I felt like I was a bag of MacDonald's fries, just dipped into boiling oil. "Please, sir..."

"Johnny," he reminded me. "'Sir' is your father."

"Johnny, I shouldn't have said anything. She is very private. Intensely private."

He nodded in understanding and I relaxed.

"There are some like that. Chibisama comes to mind," he said.

I could feel sweat break out on my forehead. I was close to someplace I really, really didn't want to go. "I imagine people who want to be left alone, should be," I told him, keeping my voice as level as I could. I saw his eyes on me, and then he turned to the computer.

"The CPU runs very hot. There are fans and there is a special cooling device attached to the CPU chip itself. There are audible alarms if even one of the fans slows down, much less stops. There is a control panel that shows fan speeds, and temperature from a couple of spots inside the tower. If you hear an alarm, pull the plug. Don't stop to turn off the computer, just pull the plug."

He stood and walked across the room to a shelf piled high with boxes of software. He picked and chose, and then came back. "I am not as famous as some, but because I work where I do, we get a lot of software sent for evaluation. Sometimes I have no idea what possesses the software companies."

He gave me one box. "This is Avid's DV Express. It is a basic non-linear editing program for digital video. Small digital minicameras, but they and Avid are getting very popular with independent movie makers."

I brightened. "I have a friend who's interested in making movies." I saw his eyes light up, so I continued, changing the pronouns, but still telling the truth. "He wants to make documentaries. I'll ask him about this."

Johnny nodded, then handed me the next box. "This is a copy of Final Draft. It's screenwriting software."

I took it, deciding that silence was a worthy goal. He handed me the fattest box of the lot. "This is the Adobe suite. Photoshop, and much, much more. Everything including the kitchen sink."

I thanked him, because even I had heard about Photoshop.

Johnny smiled at me. "The good news is that these are all legal copies. The bad news is, that even though these are all the current releases, the companies churn the software. So does Microsoft. It can be enormously expensive to keep current. Three, four years from now, none of these programs will work."

"Three, four years from now I'll deal with it," I told him.

Johnny laughed. "If I'm still here, come see me!"

Then he started undoing plugs and cables, putting them into a box. Then another, larger box for the tower, and an even larger box for the monitor. We left with Johnny pushing a small hand truck out to the car. We put everything into the trunk; Dad shook Johnny's hand and thanked him.

Johnny laughed. "Did I mention I have a few more mods I'd like done on the Mini?"

Dad laughed. "Whatever. Send me the bill."

Johnny gave him a thumbs up and went back into the building, pushing the empty hand truck.

We got into the car and I looked at Dad. "Thanks, I appreciate this."

"Every boy should have a street racer." He laughed. "This is as close as you'll get."

"What's a Mini?" I asked.

Dad laughed again. "I told you, this is as close to a street car as you'll get. Johnny has seen too many movies. One of them featured Mini Coopers."

I shook my head. "I've never heard of that kind of computer."

Dad thumped the steering wheel with his hand, he was laughing so hard. "What part of street racing didn't you understand, Davey? A Mini Cooper is a funky sports car. Johnny's car can, I'm reliably told, reach sixty miles an hour in less than five seconds."

I wasn't terribly impressed and Dad noticed. "When we get home, I'm giving you an assignment. Tomorrow, I'll call when you get home. I want you to tell me how fast a car that can reach sixty miles an hour in five seconds will be traveling at a quarter mile, and how many seconds it took to get there. You can assume a straight line power curve because in real life it is a curve.

"You get within ten miles an hour and five seconds of the time or you will get to help Wanda clean up after the pool party Saturday evening instead of playing poker."

That hurt, but I was up for it.

We got home and he helped me carry in the boxes; well, he carried the box of cables in anyway. I fetched the monitor myself the last trip. He went back to work and I went into the family room where everyone was sitting, studying.

I hugged Shellie and she shook her head. "Don't tell me I'm stupid."

"You're not stupid," I told her. "Suicidal."

She gave me the finger. I laughed and hugged her again.

I turned to Emily and Karen, who'd been watching. "Could you two give us a few minutes?"

They nodded and got up, headed for the kitchen and snacks.

"I really don't want to hear it," Shellie told me.

"Shellie, you're not stupid," I repeated. "I've said what I want to say."

"I'm not half done," Mercedes said. "I have dreams. I want things for all of us. I don't think you should kiss the bastard's ass, but Jesus, Shellie, you don't have to poke the asshole in the eye!"

I saw Shellie's eyes set in obstinate determination.

"Shellie," I said, trying to keep myself in control. I'd never apologized for something I didn't do before. And I wasn't planning on mentioning what happened at the plant.

She looked at me and I went on. I held up two fingers together, almost touching. "I came this close today to really screwing up. Not like you. With you. I almost told Colonel Terrell when he was talking about Spanish that you speak Japanese."

She looked at me, and then went pale.

"I didn't," I told her. "I had time, I thought about what I was about to say. I realized how you would feel. I stopped myself. Maybe you should spend a little time thinking."

"I screwed up, in other words?" Shellie asked me.

"You screwed up!" Mercedes agreed.

I looked at her, furious and Mercedes shut her mouth.

"Shellie, you've told us you have trouble with authority figures. By now, I expect Colonel Terrell has figured it out too. Is there anything else you want to say to him, beyond that?"

She looked at me, and then shook her head.

"Well, if you've gotten the message across, please, dear sweet Shellie. Back off! Ask yourself what you want to accomplish after this?"

She looked at me, then at Mercedes. Mercedes came close and hugged her, and I wrapped the two of them up in my arms.

"I'm being pretty stupid," Shellie told us, starting to cry.

"Not yet, but if you go much further it's not going to be very smart," Mercedes told her.

We hugged each other then for a few minutes, trading soft kisses.

Finally Mercedes stepped back. "Please, Shellie. Don't burn any more bridges tomorrow."

"I promise." She smiled her Shellie-smile at me, and I wanted to do a lot more than kiss her.

Instead, Shellie waved at the boxes sitting in front of my bedroom. "Is that your new computer?"

I nodded.

She started asking questions about it, none of which I could answer. "It's fast," I told her. Emily and Karen came back just then. "The computer plays DVDs." I nodded at Emily. "The computer guy gave me a program that is something called a 'non-linear editor' for DV."

Emily perked right up. "Which one?"

"Avid Express or something like that," I told her.

"Oh, cool! Rob says it isn't as good as Final Cut, but it runs on PCs, which Final Cut doesn't." She paused. "Could we use it?"

"Sure, no problem." Emily hugged me, unexpectedly hard. "Is it that good?" I asked.

Emily grinned. "Better, really. That's the one thing Rob doesn't have. He's got iMovie, but that doesn't do much."

"Well, feel free."

Mercedes laughed. "Davey will do anything to get another girl in his bedroom."

I stuck my tongue out, and Mercedes laughed harder. "My point, exactly!"

Shellie was poking around the boxes, while the rest of us went into my room. Shellie started taking apart my old computer. I couldn't believe my eyes. Shellie was personally diffident most of the time, but I'd already noticed that when she had something she wanted to do, she went and did it. I don't think it took her ten minutes to set up the new computer. She plugged in cords nearly as fast as Johnny had unplugged them.

"You know a lot about PCs," I told her.

Shellie smiled. "Survival skills."

When she finished, it worked the first time, and she took a little bow. I was impressed; more impressed when she sat down and configured the Internet connection in just a few seconds.

"Shellie, I don't know what I can do for you, but if there's anything I can do for you, let me know!" I told her.

She looked at me, then grinned and licked her lips.

"Yes!" I said, instantly echoed by Mercedes. That convulsed Karen; Emily got it a second or two later.

"Really, anything?" Shellie asked.

"You bet!" I said confidently.

"You were talking the other day about how easily the Spanish dialogs were," she told me. "What was your last one?"

I repeated the whole thing. It sounds odd when one person does all the parts, but my Spanish teacher, Mrs. Campo, took positive delight in assigning boys to girl's parts and vice-versa. You learned them all or risked a bad grade that day in class.

Shellie walked into the other room, rummaged in her backpack, and came up with a wad of paper. She handed the wad to me and then looked at Mercedes. "Would you help, too?"

Mercedes only grinned. "You know me, only too willing to add a hand to help with this or that."

Shellie blushed, Karen giggled and Emily just stood there, a small smile on her face.

"You, Mercedes, read the parts for Maia. You, Davey, you are Saburo. I'll be Chiba."

She pointed at Mercedes. "You have the first part."

Mercedes looked at the page that I was holding. After a second she read the part, then I read mine. Shellie spoke hers, but since she didn't have a copy of the script in her hand, you really couldn't call it reading. A few seconds later we finished the page.

I waved the piece of paper at her. "You wrote this."

Shellie nodded. "I wish I could animate it, but all I can do is still frames. But still, it works for comic books. It's a start."

I walked over to the box with cables, pulled the box of screenwriting program out of it and handed it to her. "A birthday present," I told her.

"It's not my birthday. It's in March."

"A belated birthday present," I told her. "It's a screenwriting program."

I might as well have been talking to myself; she was reading the junk on the box. I had a brainstorm then. Or maybe it was a brain fart; I'm not sure.

"Shellie, is there a computer program that would help with animation?"

She looked at me then shrugged. "Maya. 3DS Max. Lightwave. My parents will spend a couple of bucks on this or that. Those are thousands of dollars."

I dipped into the box again, handing her the fat box of Adobe stuff. "This is your next birthday present, in advance."

She looked at it, and then looked at me. "This is a couple of thousand dollars worth of stuff, Davey. I can't take it."

"I can't even pronounce 'photoshoppe,'" I put an extra "PE" on the end of the word, "much less know how to use it."

"Just a second," I told Shellie, after she'd come out of her shock and was stammering her thanks. I walked into the family room and dialed Dad's number.

"Yes, Davey?" he said right off the bat.

"Is Johnny Ito still in?" I asked him.

"I suspect so. Why? Are you having a problem?"

"I have a question to ask him. Could you connect me?"

Dad laughed. "Okay, I deserved that! I've told people there's no job at the plant I wouldn't do. I've never been the switchboard girl before. You do know the switchboard number, right, Davey?"

"Yes, sir. But it's not programmed into my phone."

"You do get my drift, right?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. I surely do. Charge this off to job training." Something I heard a lot from my father. He grunted and switched the call.

"Johnny, this is Davey Harper."

"Are you having a problem?" he asked.

"No, I have a favor to ask. A friend could really use an animation program. Maya or 3DS Max."

He was silent for a second, and then said something I didn't understand right away. "C-Ko?"

I thought for a second. Connect the dots, Davey, connect the dots. C. Chibisama. "Some things have to be private, you understand?" I asked him.

He was silent for a second. "Yes, I understand. Davey, do you understand that your father indulges me? I have a way with computers and networks. Robots! Ha!" he exclaimed. "Stupid things! So predictable! Your father indulges me. I have a car built with products from our Speed Line. Research, tax deductible. Do you understand that from time to time, I indulge myself to see how well we have made it?"

"Yes, I do."

"I do things that no one else your father can hire can do. Not nearly as cheaply, anyway. Four, five, maybe six people could replace me tomorrow. So, he indulges my whims."

I had no idea where this was going, so I simply said, "I wish he'd indulge me in a few of mine."

Johnny laughed. "There are some people, Davey, who are worth any indulgence. So, I will hang up now and walk up to your father's office and give him a copy of Maya Professional. I can have a copy of 3DS Max on Monday. I'll give that to him, too."

"Thanks, Johnny."

He laughed. "Did C-Ko mention cost?"

"A couple thousand dollars?"

"Five figures, for the two of them. Davey, I will never tell anyone, anyone at all. Thank you, for being allowed to indulge someone whose art is to die for."

I closed my cell phone and turned and looked at my room. The door was open and everyone was inside, talking. My eyes stopped on Shellie. To die for. To die for.

I really, really needed to look at more of her art.