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Message-ID: <41858asstr$1050307806@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Vulgar Argot" <VulgarArgotREMOVEALL@CAPSinsidejoke.tv>
Subject: {ASSM} Marigold, Part 10
Date: Mon, 14 Apr 2003 04:10:06 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

by Vulgar Argot
(rom, nosex)

Author's note: Don't miss the tags, folks. If you're not reading Marigold
for the story, you can skip this section. There's no sex in this
section--not even any particularly heavy touching.)

When Thule pulled up in front of Dawn's house the next morning, she was
waiting outside. Dressed in tight blue jeans and a pastel pink tank top,
Thule had to admit that she cut a fetching figure. He wondered idly if
Marigold hadn't had Dawn specifically in mind when she'd asked if it were
okay to flirt with women. He shrugged, discarding the thought. If that were
the case, so far Marigold had been nothing but circumspect about it.

"Holy shit," Dawn leaned in over the front seat as soon as she bounced into
the back, "What did you do to all of your beautiful hair?"

Thule laughed, "Let me answer that question indirectly. This morning, I
slept forty-five minutes later than I did yesterday."

Dawn wrinkled her nose in amusement, "Now that you mention it, I don't miss
having all that hair either." She primped her own pixie cut a little.

"I thought that you were very pretty when your hair was longer," said Thule,
"but I always want women to have long hair."

Dawn pouted, "You don't think I'm pretty now?"

Thule glanced at her, "Can I establish something, please?"

Dawn blinked at him, "Yes?"

"You're a lesbian, correct?" asked Thule, "You have no interest in men?"

Dawn seemed to puzzle over the question, "I think so. Yeah."

"You are," asked Thule, "or you think so?"

"I don't know," admitted Dawn, "It's all pretty theoretical at this point
anyway."

"In that case," said Thule deadpan, "No. I do not think you are pretty now.
I think you are plain and unattractive. I find all women but one plain and
unattractive. The one woman I do find attractive is pretty close to more
than I can handle."

Dawn laughed, "You're funny. Can I rub your head for luck?"

Thule pretended to scowl, "Once, for a short duration. Ugly girls are not
permitted to touch my head for more than thirty seconds."

Dawn said, "Wait. I'm ugly now? I thought I was only plain."

"Hideous," elaborated Thule, "You'd better make it twenty seconds, max."

Dawn reached up and rubbed the top of Thule's head vigorously for a few
seconds. It was an odd sensation. At a quarter inch cut all around, it was
the shortest Thule's hair had ever been cut. He had to fight all of his
traditional mannerisms which included touching his own hair. It just wasn't
there.

When he went to the door to get Marigold, Jonas answered the door. Rather
than greeting Thule, he called up the stairs, "Delilah, your chariot
awaits."

Marigold came down, looking puzzled. When she saw Thule, she gave a little
squeak of surprise, "What did you do?"

"I slept an extra forty five minutes today," said Thule, "I stepped out of
the shower and it was dry."

"But," Marigold pouted, "I liked your hair."

They were walking down the front path now. Thule said, "I thought it made me
look like a dreg."

Marigold opened the car door, "It made you look like you. Now, you look like
a stranger."

Thule opened the door to his own side and slid into his seat, "Well, I guess
you can pretend you're with another man, then. Maybe it will make you feel
all dirty, like you're cheating on me."

"I can hope," said Marigold.

Dawn waved from the back seat, "Hi. Third party here."

"Whoops," said Marigold giggling, "You were so quiet, I forgot you were
here."

Dawn laughed, "You're talking about the hair, right?" When Marigold nodded,
she went on, "He let me rub it once for luck, but only once because I'm
horrendous to look at."

"I believe," said Thule, "that I said hideous. Marigold, on the other hand,
can rub it for as long as she likes."

Dawn leaned over the seat again to pout at Marigold, "You don't think I'm
hideous to look at, do you?"

Marigold laughed, "Nah. I'm sure that you're at least moderately
attractive." Then, she reached back and ruffled Dawn's hair. Thule glanced
across the seat at Marigold. The longer they spent together, the more she
surprised him. Before all this had started, he never would have guessed her
capable of cracking a joke. Of course, he also thought at the time that his
biggest concern with Marigold was that he would push her too far and she
would try to kill herself, not that she would like her punishment and chase
him around trying to get him to put a ring on her finger. Lost in thought,
Thule did not hear most of the rest of the conversation. It wasn't until he
was pulling into his parking space in the senior lot and Marigold reached up
and rubbed his freshly-shorn head that he realized his name had come up once
or twice.

"Wow," said Marigold, "I think it's working. All this time, I've been
studying for tests and all I needed to do was rub your shaved head. Where
have you been for the last four years?"

Thule grinned evilly, "Biding my time and plotting against you, of course."

As they walked to homeroom, Marigold wrapped herself under Thule's arm. To
all the world, they looked like an ordinary couple. Even Thule could imagine
that they were, which was sort of his hope for this week.

To his surprise and, for the first time in weeks, Thule had a completely
ordinary schoolday. He went to class, had lunch with his friends, even had
time to get over to the computer lab during study hall and get some
programming done. Because they were both working towards maximizing their
grades, Marigold was there by his side practically the whole time, smiling,
laughing, talking, a light touch here, a stolen moment there. Thule allowed
himself to daydream that it could always be like this. At that moment, he
would have given a great deal to be a normal student at a normal high school
with Marigold. That part still wouldn't be normal, of course, but
"normalized" might be all right.

He drove home with his window open, enjoying the feel of sun on his skin and
wind in his face. In the back seat, Dawn chattered about her newest love
interest, apparently having given up hope on Oxana to a cheerleader who
returned her interest. Dawn wouldn't name the girl because she wasn't out
about her sexuality. Thule listened with half an ear. Later tonight, he
would have to go into the belly of the beast, but for now, he could just
revel in the waning days of his senior year.

After he dropped Dawn off, Marigold asked casually, "Which cheerleader do
you think she could be talking about?"

Thule shrugged, "I don't know. I thought all the cheerleaders at this school
were man-eating harpies. I guess one's a woman eater. It's good that they're
getting some variety in their diet."

"I don't know," opined Marigold, "Brianne rules that squad with an iron
fist. You can get thrown out for wearing last year's fashion or the wrong
color of lip gloss."

Thule shrugged, "I guess that explains why she's so deep in the closet. You
should find out who it is if you can. She could be an ally on the inside."

Marigold's eyes brightened, "Does that mean you're going to let me help you
in your one-man crusade?"

Thule sighed, "Little Flower, I really don't think you know what you're
asking for. My hands are going to be very dirty after this. I..."

"I know," said Marigold, "You keep warning me that your hands are going to
be dirty and I might hate you at the end of this. Thule, do you think you're
justified in what you're doing?"

Thule sighed, pulling into the driveway, then sat in the car, thinking hard.
Finally, he said, "It's been so long since I asked myself that question. I'm
feeling some doubt that I'm the right person to do this, but somebody
should. Randy Vandevoort's got a younger brother in the ninth grade who's
already on the road to pulling the same crap Randy does. Brianne's
graduating, but she's already grooming June Kane to take her place.
Nothing's going to change if I don't change it."

"So," asked Marigold, "are you justified?"

"Yes," said Thule quietly.

"Then, I'm by your side." Marigold leaned across the seat and kissed him
full on the mouth. The kiss was more tender than sexual. Thule broke it
before that changed.

"Come inside," he said quietly, "there's something I want to show you. Then,
you can decide if you're by my side, want to keep your hands clean, or...or
just want to walk away from me."

Marigold looked like she wanted to reassure Thule, but he got out of the car
and headed into the house. She followed him to his room. Inside, he opened
up the double closet at the foot of his bed and pulled out a green army
duffel bag. He laid it on the bed and unzipped it, "This is the kit I bring
with me when I'm working on gathering information. Look inside of it."

Marigold sat down trepidatiously, pulling the bag open. Out came a half
dozen cameras, some small enough to be unseen in plain sight, one with the
kind of huge telephoto lens that paparazzi used to get pictures of
celebrities from a half mile away. Then came a shotgun microphone. After
that was a length of waterproof rope.

Thule could tell when Marigold's hand found the gun. Her eyes widenend and
she hesitated in drawing it out. When she did, she eyed it with dread.

"Thule," she asked in a whisper, "You're not planning on going all
Columbine, are you?"

Thule smiled gently, "No. I don't want to hurt anyone unnecessarily. I carry
that for defense sometimes. As far as I know, Randy and Brianne have never
killed anybody. They deserve a lot, but they don't deserve to die. Besides,
you'd want some sort of automatic weapon to 'go Columbine.' A single-shot
handgun would be horribly inefficient."

Marigold nodded. She began pulling things out of the bag again. The
ammunition, clips, survival, and Swiss Army knives occasioned no comment.
After that, everything she pulled out seemed innocuous--tools and boots and
the like.

"Well," Marigold said, taking a deep breath, "It's not much worse..."

Thule knew he could stop there. He wanted so badly to stop there. Marigold
had absorbed so much these last few days and was ready to commit to be a
part of not only Thule's dark plan, but his life as well. He wanted to let
her absorb it, get used to the idea. He'd never even used what was in the
small, black satchel and might not yet. But, she wouldn't understand if she
didn't see it. Besides, Thule felt like he needed a sanity check. The only
person he'd ever revealed the extent of his plans to was Maya, who could
hardly qualify as a sanity check. If he lost Marigold over this, he would
know he'd gone too far into the darkness.

"You missed something," he said. Undoing an internal zipper, he pulled out
the innocuous looking black satchel and laid it out. Half a dozen little
vials and pill bottles laid against the black felt that lined the inside of
the satchel.

He held up the first bottle, "Chloroform, in case I need to detain someone
or move them quietly without a fight."

On the next, "Nondilute LSD, enough to contaminate a small reservoir. That
is not my intent. Even diluted to the one hundredth part, it creates a state
of suggestability similar to hypnosis."

Seeing that Marigold was not showing revulsion, he decided to skip over the
next two and get straight to the last bottle. He held it up and let Marigold
read the label.

"Rohypnol," she read, "Thule, are you planning to rape somebody?"

Thule shook his head, "No. I know this is popularly known as the date rape
drug, but I've got it as a substitute for sodium pentathol."

"Truth serum?" Marigold asked.

"Also a popular appelation," Thule said, falling into didactic mode as he
often did when nervous, "Mostly, sodium pentathol just lowers inhibition,
like alcohol. Unfortunately, sodium pentathol only comes in gas and
intravenus form. I don't know how to work a needle well enough not to leave
obvious marks or risk hurting someone with an overdose. Rohypnol lowers
inhibition. If you question someone who's taken it, they'll generally tell
you the truth. If you try to fuck them, they'll generally let you. If you
try to play tennis with them, they'll generally try to play along, although
it badly impairs motor skills, so they won't be any good. Its use often
leads to memory loss, particularly when mixed with alcohol. You wake up
feeling like you've got a really bad hangover and can't remember much of
what happened, which makes it a favorite of rapists. Half the time, their
victims don't remember they've been attacked. Most of the rest of the time,
they think they just drank too much and blame themselves."

Marigold nodded, her face serious, "And these last two?"

Thule pointed, "That one's an ipecac I can administer if I give someone an
overdose or they have a bad reaction to one of the other chemicals and they
need to bring it up quickly. And that," pointing, "is a diuretic mixed with
food dye to make it look like you're peeing blood."

Marigold picked it up, "What good is it for, other than pranks?"

Thule shrugged, "It's a utility tool like the Swiss Army Knife. If I want to
get someone out of my way, it works fast and has no lasting side effects.
It's strictly for causing panic."

"Well," opined Marigold, "that's all excessively icky. Where did you get all
of this stuff?"

"It's all commercially available," said Thule, "The gun is licensed and
registered. None of the surveillance equiptment is contraband. The
chloroform came from a veterinary supply store."

"And the Rohypnol?" Marigold asked.

Thule started sliding the bottles back into their places. He didn't look
Marigold in the eyes, but spoke quickly, almost mumbling, "Freshman year,
after we won our first big track meet, Randy Vandevoort held a big party at
his house. At the beginning of the party, he got all the freshmen from the
team together and offered us these with very strict instructions on who they
were supposed to be used on. When we found an appropriate girl, we were to
come back to him, make sure she wasn't 'protected' and get a pill."

He started packing up the bag, "I waited until the party was in full swing,
then stole the bottle out of Randy's pocket and left. I quit the team the
next day. I was going to go to the police, but the chief of police is a
Vandevoort, the sheriff is a Vandevoort. I dug a little deeper and found out
that these parties had been going on for years. Ivan Vandevoort views the
whole town as some kind of medievel fiefdom and he's more or less right."

Marigold opened her mouth to speak, but Thule had a faraway look in his eyes
and kept talking, "I knew what was going on, but I didn't do anything to
stop it. I kept Maya away from them as much as I could, but..." He trailed
off. Marigold put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Because I quit the team," he went on, "I fell far enough out of favor that
Maya became fair game. Randy even intimated once that he went after her
specifically to make sure that I understand who was boss."

"Thule," Marigold asked, "how could all of this have happened under my nose
and I never even noticed it?"

Thule zipped up the bag and pushed it back into the closet, "People don't
see what they don't want to see. I've talked to dozens of people who have
part of the picture. A few have a sense of how big it might really be. I
know it sounds crazy and paranoid..."

Marigold shook her head, "Not to me. Well, maybe a little bit. It's not
contradicted by any of the paltry facts I do have at my disposal. But..."

Thule waited patiently for her question. Finally, she continued, "I don't
understand how so many girls could have been raped and the silence
maintained."

"Mostly," said Thule, "they prey on the quasi-willing, girls who aren't
quite popular, but want to be. The Rohypnol helps. Going to the local police
gets you nowhere. Fear of what the Vandevoorts can do contributes. And they
buy off the rest."

"There hasn't been anyone who refused to be bought off?" Marigold asked.

"I looked," said Thule, "I looked hard. When you've built an empire like the
Vandevoorts, I can't imagine that you'd just give up because someone
cooperated. But, if there are any bodies buried around here, they're buried
so deeply that I can't find them."

Thule stopped talking when he realized Marigold was crying. He waited for
her to speak, but she didn't seem inclined to. Uncertain, he offered her his
open arms and she fell into them. He pet her hair, shushing her as she
gripped him hard by the arms.

"Oh, Thule," she whispered, "I'm so afraid for you."

Thule laughed, relieved that Marigold wasn't crying because she realized she
had to leave him. He kissed the top of her head. She tilted back to be
kissed on the mouth. Her hands caressed the top of Thule's head as he kissed
her. Thule pulled Marigold into his lap and she wrapped her legs around his
waist and her breathing quickened.

"Please don't tempt me," Thule said, "I've really got to get changed, get
you home, and get to town and I'm already way off balance as it is."

Marigold gave a moan of protest, but slid off of Thule's lap and lay down,
pouting on his bed. She asked, "When are you going to be done today?"

"I told you," said Thule, stripping out of his school clothes, "I don't
know. The meeting is kind of informal." He threw on a white dress shirt and
began buttoning, "It could be very short if the deal obviously stinks. If we
have to get into detail, it could go well into the night."

"What's this meeting about?" Marigold asked.

"I didn't tell you," Thule said.

"No," said Marigold, "you didn't."

"I know," said Thule, cinching up his belt, "That wasn't a question. I
didn't tell you. You don't need to know. If you're determined to help me,
I'll let you, mostly because I suspect that I won't have much of a choice
and I can watch you more closely if I say yes. But, I make it a rule to
never tell anyone more than they need to know. That includes you. I will not
put you in unnecessary danger if I can help it."

"So," asked Marigold, "this meeting is dangerous, then?" She stood up and
came over to him.

"No," said Thule, "In and of itself, this meeting is far safer than going to
school every day is." He pulled the knot up on his tie, "How do I look?"

Marigold reached up and straightened his collar, "Frighteningly
professional. Promise me that, one day, you'll fuck me in this suit."

"Don't be ridiculous," said Thule, "this suit is much too big for you."

"Promise me," said Marigold more seriously.

Thule wrapped an arm around her waist, drawing her to him. He purred
wickedly, "I promise, one day, that I will take you to work with me, bend
you over my desk, and take your hot, little ass while wearing my best suit."

Marigold's knees buckled and she held on to Thule for balance. When her eyes
opened and she was able to find her balance again, she laughed, "You seem to
have a thing for desks. You really should keep a supply of pillows or towels
on hand so that I'm not always bruising my hips on them."

Thule kissed her and, amazingly, felt his resolve slipping. He broke the
kiss, "God," he said, "I wish I could just keep you here and never stop
fucking you."

Marigold laughed, "One day," she said wistfully.

"Actually," said Thule, leading her out to the car, "I'm pretty sure that I
would have to stop at some point before the day was over, but I'd be willing
to try."

Thule was amazed to find himself genuinely enjoying the ride to drop
Marigold off. His mood in anticipation of the meeting had been one of grim
determination. The conversation with Marigold had left him emotionally
drained. But, a short ride with Marigold where they discussed nothing of
real importance had immediately raised his spirits. When he kissed Marigold
good night, it was possible for a few seconds to completely forget
everything but the kiss. As he drove away, he actually caught himself
whistling.

He let himself enjoy the moment for a few minutes before clamping down on
his own ebullience. He was glad not to be going into this with a pervading
sense of doom, but it wouldn't do any good to go in feeling happy-go-lucky
either. He glanced in the rear-view mirror to check for any obvious
dishevelment and gave a brief "ah" of surprise as he failed to recognize
himself with short hair.

Thule had met Ivan Vandevoort on two previous occasions at school functions.
Both times, the man had come off as affable and charming, but clearly a
phony. Thule didn't know whether or not this was caused by the distorted
lens of his own prejudice. Both times, the interaction had been superficial
and limited. This would be the first real conversation.

To look at the downtown area, it would be easy to think that Jonas, not
Ivan, ran most of the town. The Vandevoort name showed up on a few trucks
and businesses while there was the Jonas Tarr library, the Tarr wing of the
hospital, and even the high school was called Nathanial Tarr Memorial High
School after Jonas's grandfather, although everyone called it Mannsborough
High. Thule knew from his research that Jonas's name was spread across a
couple of dozen hospitals, libraries, drug treatment centers, and the like
up and down the East Coast. It was fortunate that Thule already knew where
"the Tarr building" was downtown or he would have had a half dozen "Tarr
buildings" to choose from.

The Tarr Building was a fifteen story office structure near the post office.
The only taller building in town was the thirty-one story Vandevoort Tower,
so it was easy to spot. When Thule showed up at the front desk, an
efficient-looking receptionist handed him a visitor's pass and suggested he
go straight to the security office and get a more permanent ID.

Thule smiled, "Would you ask Mr. Tarr if he thinks I have time to do that? I
wouldn't want to delay our meeting."

The receptionist smiled back, "Actually, it was Mr. Tarr's suggestion that
you do so. Security is on this floor, straight back past the elevators. The
door is kind of non-descript, but it's right next to the only ficus plant on
this floor."

As Thule headed to the security office, he wondered how many new visitors
would know how to identify a ficus tree or if this was, in fact, some subtle
form of hazing. He found the office easily enough, pressing the buzzer with
the word "SECURITY" over it. Next to the door was a pygmy rubber tree,
phylum ficus, of course. The security office turned out to be two desks and
a camera in a windowless room. The security officer took Thule's critical
information, even humoring him by putting Bartholemew "Thule" Roemer on his
permanent ID. As soon as he'd had his picture taken, Thule watched the
security guard slap the ID together and laminate it, handing it to Thule
with the laminate still hot to the touch.

"Mr. Tarr's expecting you," said the guard, "You can go right up to the
fifteen floor. The receptionist there will show you to his office."

In the elevator on the way up, Thule debated with himself how easy it would
be to counterfeit the permanent security badges. They were all of a uniform
salmon color with a light moire pattern under the printing, the text done on
a manual typewriter, the photo of standard passport size. It depended, he
decided, on how many people actually worked here and if there was a
significant portion that only appeared occasionally. As the elevator door
opened, he discarded the line of thought. It had only been an intellectual
exercise anyway.

The executive receptionist turned out to be a pretty, Polynesian girl,
probably not much older than Thule. She led him back through the office
hallways, passing him off to Jonas's personal secretary, a stout, matronly
woman in her mid-fifties, who called Jonas on the intercom. Jonas himself
emerged from the office to greet Thule and lead him into the inner sanctum.

Jonas's office was much larger than Thule had expected. Jonas drove a
sensible, blocky Volvo, lived in a house not much bigger than Thule's, and
wore suits that had probably come off the rack at Burlington Coat Factory.
His office, however, was slightly larger than the entire IT department at
the lab where Thule worked, which housed about a dozen people comfortably.
Two walls were made mostly of glass, looking out over enough of Mannsborough
to take in downtown, the high school, and just barely see where Marigold's
house was, but not his own. Thule realized now that the building was on top
of a gradual rise that meant that the whole town sloped gradually away from
it.

"Thule," Jonas said, "Come on in. Have a seat. I had a desk set up for you
in here so that you wouldn't be bored while waiting for Ivan to get here. He
loves to make me wait for him."

"Thank you," said Thule, sitting at the proferred desk. The computer, he
noted with a quick glance, was a few years old, barely enough to run office
applications and e-mail. He turned to face Jonas, "Do you have a few moments
to answer a couple of questions?"

"Yeah," said Jonas. The only computer on his desk was a Bloomberg terminal.
Thule wondered how he survived.

"I want to make sure I understand the corporate structure of Tarr Services
Group," said Thule, "I'm not sure how credibly I can play my role if I don't
know what you do."

Jonas laughed, "You gathered all the information you did and don't know what
we do?"

Thule shrugged, "I understand that you're primarily an asset management
company that helps clients gather venture capital for their various
endeavors, but you also seem to own a number of unrelated companies that
make up three-quarters of your revenue stream. In fact, your interest in the
cotton market appears to make more money than the TSG branch."

"Blame that one on my Grandpa Nate," said Jonas, "In fact, you can blame the
odd corporate structure on Nate, too. He founded the core business in 1906.
During the depression, when a lot of companies we had paper on failed, old
Nate would call in his position and, in many cases, rather than sell off the
company's tangible assets as his peers in the business did, he would put in
new management, streamline the company, and get it back up and running. The
cotton thing was purchased from the Egyptian government during one of its
cyclical dire financial emergencies for about three times what anybody else
thought it was worth. Along with a company that deals with the cotton on the
other end in New Orleans, it brings in about thirty percent of our revenue.
Of course, it also costs a pretty penny and a few more of my hairs every
year in monitoring regional stability. I wouldn't worry about that too much,
though. When I was crown prince, I didn't understand most of it."

Thule raised an eyebrow, "Crown prince?"

Jonas laughed, seemingly a little embarassed, "Sorry. I was getting into the
place in my head I need to use when dealing with Ivan. When we were both
working for our fathers, he called us the crown princes. Now, he calls his
son Randy the crown prince. He eats that shit up. I'm assuming that part of
the reason he called today's meeting is that he wants to feel me out as to
the idea of Randy and Marigold marrying now that Elliot is out of the
picture. It strikes me as an ideal time to introduce my own new crown
prince."

"Strictly speaking," said Thule, typing in a few keys on the keyboard, "I
would be an heir apparent until Marigold and I married."

"Good point," said Jonas, "If you hadn't corrected me on it, Ivan certainly
would have. So, what role am I grooming you for? It would probably make you
more appealing to him if you we trying to do as little as possible."

"Yeah," said Thule, "but not plausible. Anyone that knows me knows that I
would never be able to do that for more than a week or so."

"Okay," said Jonas, "you could be in my IT department."

"No offense," said Thule, "but I'd rather not take responsibility for the IT
here. I saw computers on the way in that qualified as museum pieces. And, I
can't even get a web browser set up because this machine was set up with an
IP conflict."

"Oh," said Jonas, "that's bad, is it?" Thule nodded. "Well," said Jonas,
"maybe not directly responsible for IT. How about if you were a project
manager?"

Thule clutched his chest with both hands, "You sure know how to wound a guy.
Besides, that would mean that I had people reporting to me, which would be
hard to maintain without my actually doing any work."

"I repeat my offer," said Jonas, "if you actually want to work here..."

"Thank you," said Thule, "but there's at least a passing chance that I may
survive the summer and still be in Mannsborough. In that case, I'd hate to
have my career future rely on whether or not I can stay in the good graces
of Marigold's stepfather." Jonas started to protest, but Thule waved the
protest away, "Maybe I could be an assistant to whoever handles IT
recruiting here."

Jonas frowned, "That would work if we had someone to handle IT recruiting
here. Right now, it goes to anyone in HR, like every other job at the
company."

Thule smiled, "I think I found my role, then. I can be coming up through HR
with a focus on IT."

Jonas nodded, "Is that prestigious enough for the heir apparent? How would
you betray me from there?"

Thule laid out a quick plan for using such a position to gain control of the
company from within. Jonas listened, nodding with admiration. He asked,
"Have you been thinking about this for a while?"

Thule paused, surprised, "No. I'm making it up as I go along. Besides, it
wouldn't actually work within any reasonable time frame. It's naive and
avaricious, which is exactly what Ivan will want to see."

                              -=-

During the next twenty minutes, Thule and Jonas finalized their plan for the
meeting. While they talked, Thule let his fingers troubleshoot the IP
problem with the computer on his desk. He found the process oddly soothing.

Jonas said, "Ivan likes to pretend that we're still the best of friends, but
knows we're not. He's got some Mephistophlean need to try to get me to do
business with him. I think it's automatic now. Plus, it gives him a chance
to try to get my goat. I imagine that he'll try to get yours too and, if I
know the man at all, he'll start off by going after Marigold. He's been
trying to get my goat over Holly for more than a decade. Just brace yourself
for it and recognize what it's worth. If you let him get you off balance,
he'll sense it and use it."

Thule nodded. He was glad for the warning. Then, he went back to work on the
computer, hooking up the docking cradle for Jonas's new PDA on his own
machine. He'd just gotten the synchronization software installed when the
front desk receptionist buzzed back to let Jonas know that Ivan Vandevoort
was there to see him.

"Here we go," said Jonas and off they went.

Thule was just getting his game face on when Jonas said, "You're ending an
era here, you know?"

Thule looked over, "How so?"

"The little pad and pencil are sort of a trademark of mine," Jonas answered,
"Everybody in the company knows about them. That new PDA is going to mean
they'll have to find something else to joke about around here."

Thule said, "I wouldn't throw away the little pad just yet. I still do most
of my jotting longhand. For that sort of thing, powering up a PDA and
fiddling with a stylus are just too much work."

Jonas asked, "Do you really think there's something wrong with my IT
department?"

Thule shrugged, "I spoke out of turn."

"Possibly," said Jonas, "but I'd like to hear your perspective."

Thule shrugged more emphatically, "Jonas, I've worked in one office ever.
"I've been there about two years, part time. I've found a lot of things
there irksome. But, the most annoying thing I've found is people who start
there and, within a day or two, want to tell you how to do everything that
you've been doing there for years better."

"Acknowledged," said Jonas, "you don't want to be a know-it-all. But,
something seems to have created a strong impression and I'd like to know
what it is--unless you were trying to get into some sort of intellectual
pissing match over high tech."

Thule sighed, "Clearly, whatever you're doing is working. But, I noticed
that you're still running an operating system that's seven years old and
three iterations out of date. But, that makes sense because most of your
computers are about ten years old. Some of your mission-critical systems are
wheezing along on computers that are older than I am.  Your office network
is mostly peer-to-peer. Most alarmingly, your badge system is completely
done manually. I doubt there's even a way to check the legitimacy of a badge
if you can't get into the security office."

Jonas said, "The computers are so old because we've been able to do our jobs
with them and don't see a need for the capital expenditure of keeping them
current. I didn't understand the network comment at all. As for the security
issue, I'll look into it."

"That's why I said that I spoke out of turn," said Thule, "I mainly see
things from a technology perspective. I'd rather have someone else to whom I
can leave little details like whether the company will be around tomorrow or
not. Still..."

Jonas didn't interrupt him. They were outside of the conference room now.
Through the glass wall, Thule could see Ivan Vandevoort talking to a young,
blonde woman in a navy blue business suit. He could open the door now and
end the conversation, but Jonas genuinely seemed to be waiting for an
answer. So, he pressed on, "Ever since my eighteenth birthday, I've met with
at least one little start-up every week, trying to sell my software. We're
talking five-man, ten-man companies going head-to-head with companies that
have a thousand times as many employees. The only reason they can compete is
because they are incredibly mobile, don't have a lot of overhead, and do
have a great grasp of the technology. When I did my final project for
business and technology, I focused on a conglomerate named Edmonton Business
Group and how they saved money and increased the productivity of their IT
department by pooling about eighty percent of their IT into its own
corporation and having the other subsidiaries buy their solutions from that
corporation. Now, the technology group is one of the biggest money makers
they have, like your cotton."

Jonas reached into his pocket and brought out the little pad and pencil,
"Edmonton Business Group," he muttered, "Do you still have a copy of your
report that I can see?"

Thule nodded, "Sure. I can e-mail you a copy if you like."

"Erm," said Jonas, "I'd better send a messenger."

                                -=-

Inside, Ivan rose to greet them. Jonas introduced Thule as, "My new
technology man, Bartholemew. I'm helping him get a feel for the business."
Then, he indicated his assistant, "and you know Inge."

Ivan did not bother to introduce his assistant, "Ah, this must be the new
crown prince, then."

"Actually," said Jonas, "more of an heir apparent at this point. Marigold
and Elliot only broke up a week ago. It's a little soon to be asking for the
crown back."

Ivan grinned, his teeth sparkling white, "How is Marigold? She's got to be
around eighteen now."

Jonas said, "She turned eighteen two weeks ago."

"If she's anything like her mother, she must be developing into a fine piece
of ass by now," said Ivan in a voice that would not be incongruous
announcing a slight increase or decrease in a stock price, "You should bring
her around some time, let me get a look at her."

Thule didn't know what he'd expected when Jonas warned him about Ivan's
attacks, but it certainly hadn't been anything so blatant as that. He
actually did get angry for a second, but then noticed something so
interesting that he forgot about his anger instantly. Drawing out his Palm
Pilot, he made a note of it.

"What happened to Elliot?" asked Ivan, "I liked him."

Thule smiled, "He probably liked you more than you realize. But, Marigold
was looking for someone who didn't suck so much dick."

Ivan didn't speak, growing white-faced with rage. His assistant covered her
mouth with a curled hand, unable to hide the laughter in her eyes. Jonas
erupted into a fit of coughing and needed to have Inge fetch him a glass of
water. Thule made another note in his Palm Pilot.

Ivan regained his composure first, "I like this new one, Jonas. He's got
spirit." But, even as he said it, his eyes bored angry holes in Thule's
skull. Thule wondered if he'd gone too far and blown the whole charade.

"So," said Jonas, recovering his breath, "you had a proposal in mind?"

"Yes," said Ivan, indicating his assistant, who stood up and began handing
out a thick photocopied report, "If you'd told me that the boy was going to
be here, I would have brought more copies."

"Actually," said his assistant, placing a report in front of Thule, "I
brought plenty of copies."

Thule winced a little for her, but recognized by the tone of her voice that
she'd done it deliberately. Then, he tried to focus his attention on the
business plan. He understood loosely that Ivan had found a company that he
considered in danger of insolvency and was recommending a buyout with Jonas
arranging the funding. After that, it was nothing but printouts of
spreadsheets and dense text packed with terms Thule had never heard. By the
end, he found himself answering e-mail on his Palm Pilot in spite of the
fact that Jonas managed to mention him by name about a half-dozen times in
forty-five minutes as if Thule were his exciting new hobby. Ever time he
did, Thule made another note to remember what had been said to Ivan about
him.

Jonas finally stood, stretched his legs, and said, "I'll have my M & A guys
take a look at the numbers. We may be able to do business." He reached out
and shook hands with Ivan, "Bartholemew here is going to be much more
involved in the business this summer. I believe he and your son Randy go to
school together."

Thule nodded. Ivan took the bait, "Oh, yeah? I'll let Randy know. Maybe the
two of them can work on something together over the summer. It's about time
Randy got some real-world business experience."

Afterwards, Jonas turned to Thule, "You took an enormous risk in there, but
I think it paid off. You definitely got his attention."

"Good," said Thule, "although I hope it was the sort of attention I was
looking for. If he decides to make my life miserable..."

"I wouldn't worry about that," said Jonas, "If he seeks revenge, it will be
publicly, so he can regain the face you cost him in there. More likely, he
sees you as a kindred spirit. You knew just which button to push and pushed
it. How did you know he was so homophobic?"

Thule shrugged, "Lucky guess. I wouldn't be surprised if he's dabbled. He
behaves like he has something to prove. Did you know he was fucking his
assistant?"

"I'm not surprised," said Jonas, "Ivan's fucking a lot of people."

"Yes," said Thule, "but this one he's actually having sex with."

"That was what I meant," said Jonas, "Why do you say so, though?"

"I caught a glimpse of body language from outside of the conference room
that made me suspicious. Then, when he made his crude comment about
Marigold, I saw the look on her face. It was jealousy. Besides, she must
feel pretty invulnerable to have pulled that stunt with the reports."

Jonas chuckled, "Have you ever considered playing poker to pay your way
through college?"

"I've considered damned near everything to pay my way through college," said
Thule ruefully.

Jonas nodded. He seemed about to say something, but Thule cut him off, "I'm
going to get that PDA set up and enter the information you need. Would
Sunday be too soon for me to make sure you have it committed to memory?"

"Actually," said Jonas, smiling wryly, "Sunday sounds perfect. Once I told
Marigold I approved of you, she started lobbying to have you over for
dinner. She's going to cook." He burst into laughter, "Don't look so
trapped. She's a good cook."

"That's good to know," Thule said uneasily as they passed through the door
into Jonas's office, "but it was more about the official 'meeting the
parents' dinner."

"Don't worry about her mother," said Jonas, laughing, "she always disliked
Elliot and wished Marigold would find someone else."

"Okay," said Thule noncommittally as he started downloading the encryption
tools for Jonas's PDA.

He and Jonas worked silently for a few minutes. Finally, Jonas said, "You
weren't talking about her mother, were you?"

Thule didn't look up, "Everyone has different personae for different
situations. I always respected you in Bible study. I actually like you when
you're focused on business." He trailed off.

"I am your girlfriend's father," said Jonas, "shouldn't you be sucking up to
me, just a little?"

Thule didn't want to answer the implied question. He saw that Jonas was
giving him a way out of discussing a difficult topic. He knew he should take
it. Instead, he said, "I always respected you in Bible study, but I found
your interpretation....overly literal and rather humorless."

Jonas stood up, stretched his legs and walked over to the corner of the
office where he could look out the window and see his house. He stood there,
just looking, long enough for Thule to wonder for the third time today if
he'd just badly damaged his own plans.

When Jonas spoke, he didn't turn around. Instead, he said, "When you're an
addict, you can take damned near any facts and use them as a justification
to feed your addiction. Facts, reasoned facts are slippery things. We rarely
know them in absolute. The only absolute I had in my life was heroin. I
replaced it with religion, but I needed religion to be absolute."

Neither of them spoke. Thule waited patiently for Jonas to continue.
Finally, the older man said, "Marigold's mother started drinking after we
got married. I drove her to it. I had a ton of money and not an ounce of
sense. When I...found Jesus, it worked so well for my addiction that I
thought it would be perfect for Holly. And Marigold was getting into all
sorts of trouble with that friend of hers, Marla or something..."

"Maya," said Thule.

"Right," said Jonas, "Maya. Marigold was troubled over her father's death
and getting ready to screw up her life. I didn't know what to do. When
religion is your absolute, when you don't know what to do, you look in the
Bible. What I found there worked like a charm. She buckled down, got her
grades up, became valedictorian, didn't get pregnant, didn't fall in with a
bad crowd in a town where good crowds are the worst crowd of all. I have
nothing to apologize for in the way I deal with my family." The words came
out defiantly.

"So," asked Thule, "why tell me all this?"

"I don't know," said Jonas, "I'm not very good at justifying myself. I
almost never feel the need to do it. I've made my mistakes..."

It was at that moment that Thule's cell phone started ringing.

"And that," said Jonas, "will be Ivan. How did he get your cell phone
number?"

Thule pulled out his phone and glanced at it, "He didn't. I've got the phone
at home call-forwarded to here." He answered the phone, "Hello, Thule
speaking."

"Mr. Roemer," said Ivan Vandevoort, "I didn't expect you to be home yet."

"I'm not," said Thule, "I'm still at the office."

"This is Ivan Van..."

"I recognize your voice, Mr. Vandevoort," said Thule, "what can I do for you
this evening?"

"I know that you're helping Jonas get his hands on some good IT people. I
had an applicant here that isn't quite up to our standards, but I know that
Tarr's IT needs aren't so...vigorous."

"Thank you," said Thule, his voice prickly, "but I really don't think we
need your castoffs."

"No," said Ivan soothingly, sounding hurt, "you misunderstand me. I just
thought I could help out my old friend, Jonas."

"Don't try to play me for a chump, Mr. Vandevoort," Thule said sharply, "You
want me to insert a man of your choosing into Tarr, where he will have
access to to their computer networks and, by extension, all of their
corporate data. Cut to the chase. What is it worth to you?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Roemer," said Ivan stuffily, "you have misunderstood me very
badly. I wish you good day."

"Whoever they are," said Thule, "make sure they're qualified or I'll send
them running back to your office with my bootmark on their ass. I've got
bigger plans than your penny ante corporate espionage bullshit and I don't
need your guy making me look stupid." Before Ivan could answer, Thule
clicked his phone shut. Then, he started to shake.

"Did he commit to anything over the phone?" asked Jonas.

"No," said Thule, "he's too smart for that. I'll give him fifteen minutes,
then head down to the parking lot. That should be plenty of time for him to
get a courier down there to meet me."

Jonas nodded. He impressed Thule by not asking if he thought Ivan had really
fallen for it.

"What do you want me to do?" asked Thule.

"If his man is at least moderately qualified, hire him," said Jonas, "He's
got spies in my company already. If he wants another one, it's just as well
I know who it is. How much information could he really get out of our
beer-to-beer network anyway?"

"That's peer-to-peer," said Thule, "and, unless you have a rigorous security
policy, quite a lot, actually. How many people work here?"

"At headquarters?" asked Jonas, "about thirty-two hundred."

"With that many people," opined Thule, "you've probably got at least a
thousand major security holes."

"You're being paranoid," said Jonas.

"Yes," said Thule, shutting down his computer, "I am. It's a survival trait.
Listen, I've got fifteen minutes before I head down to the parking lot. Let
me show you something."

In five minutes, he'd found a domain administrator account with the password
"sex." In ten, he'd gotten access to the mail server. By the time he was
ready to leave, he'd picked a half dozen messages of the correct size to
have attachments and copied them to his desktop."

He showed Jonas, asking, "Do any of those look like sensitive data."

Jonas pointed at one, "That's one I helped add some numbers to. It's very
sensitive."

Thule double clicked it and got a password box. Jonas said, "A-ha!"

Thule laughed. He couldn't help himself. With a couple of keystrokes, he was
downloading the application he needed. Two minutes later, he had the
password and opened the spreadsheet. Looking up, he saw that Jonas's face
had gone ashen.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Thule said, standing up, "A lot of places
have little to no security on their internal system. Externally, your
network is much more secure. But, I'm only a hobbyist and it took me ten
minutes out of the fifteen to get the access you would probably be handing
this person on day one. I'm paranoid because there are bad people out there
and, without much effort, they can find out far more than you want them to
know."

Jonas didn't speak. So, Thule said, "I should really get going. I'd like to
finish betraying you before it gets too dark out--and I need to catch up on
my sleep. I'll give a copy of that report to you when I pick up Marigold
tomorrow." He got up.

"Thule," Jonas said finally, sounding like he was in shock, "all of my
secrets are out in the open."

Thule looked around, "Well, yes. But, you've gotten this far with them out
there. A little bit more time shouldn't matter one way or the other."

Jonas shivered, "Thanks," he said more normally, "that puts it in a little
bit more perspective. I just suddenly felt like there was an abyss opening
at my feet. Are you sure you won't come work for me, for real?"

Thule shook his head, "One day a week, for appearances. It's no mistake I
work for the only significant company in town not owned by you or Ivan.
Besides, my knowledge is really very specialized. If you like, I can find
you a security expert. I know a few."

Jonas nodded, "Okay. Thank you. Should I do anything in the meantime? I want
to tell everyone to turn their computers off and not turn them on again
until they're secured."

Thule grinned, "I wouldn't. It's just as well if as few people as possible
know you're about to crack down before you do."

Jonas grinned too, a little less than certain, "All right," he said, "you go
ahead. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Down in the parking lot, Jonas saw no courier. He got in his car, fiddled
around with the radio, read a little, filed the notes in his Palm. After
twenty minutes, he decided that no courier was coming, started his car, and
headed for home.

As Thule pulled out of the parking lot, a black towncar on the side of the
road pulled away from the curb and fell in behind him. He breathed a sigh of
relief. He was starting to worry that he'd read the situation completely
wrong. After letting himself be trailed for about five minutes, he pulled
into the parking lot of a convenience store, went in and bought himself a
pack of cigarettes.

When Thule came out, a tall thug dressed with the same haircut Thule had,
dressed all in black, and wearing dark aviator sunglasses was leaning
against his car, smoking.

Thule unwrapped his pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and stuck it in his
mouth. Then, he walked up to the thug, "Give me a light and your pitch," he
said.

The thug laid down a thick, manilla envelope, fumbled through his pockets,
and produced a lighter, "No pitch. I'm just here to deliver something." He
handed Thule the envelope.

Thule took a drag and opened the envelope, "Don't you think sunglasses are a
little conspicuous at six o'clock at night?"

The thug shrugged, "I'm diabetic," he tapped one lense of the glasses, "very
photosensitive."

Thule looked inside the envelope. There was a thick, white envelope and a
resume inside. He slid the resume out, "You know how much is in there?"

The thug nodded, "Twenty five gee."

One of the things Thule had never really gotten about the whole mess he was
involved in was how the Vandevoorts could pay a woman enough money that she
would let them get away with rape. He began to understand now. It wasn't a
number. It was a palpable weight in his hand and a huge weight off his mind.
It was tuition for the first year at Harvard.

He looked down at the resume, determined to follow the script he'd set up
for himself, even though it was killing him to do so. He looked up at the
thug, "Are you authorized to take a message back?"

The thug nodded, "Yup. I'm a regular Mercury. Don't you see the little wings
on my shoes?"

"Well, Mercury," said Thule, "Tell your boss that he's out of his fucking
mind if he thinks twenty-five kay is going to get him a sysadmin. We don't
need a sysadmin and it'd be worth a hell of a lot more than that to plant
one." Mustering all of his willpower, he jammed the resume back into the
envelope, "Take this back."

"That, I am not authorized to do," said Mercury, "If you want to give it
back, talk to the boss." Then, he smiled somewhat menacingly, got into his
car, and left.

                              -=-

When Thule got home, he could already feel his eyelids drooping. Going into
his bedroom, he shrugged out of his suit, stripping down to his boxers.
Then, he noticed that he had an invitation to video chat with Marigold and
it was less than twenty minutes old. Clicking on the invitation, he was
treated to a view of Marigold sitting at her desk, doing homework. In the
chat window, she typed, "Thule, how R U?"

He typed back, "Have you been using the public chat rooms?"

Marigold: "Yes. Y?"

Thule: "Don't use SMS Speak. It makes you sould like a L33T H4XX0R D00D."

Marigold: "A what?"

Thule: "Don't worry about it. When communicating with me, you are to type
like you would in a report for school. Phonetic shortcuts make you look like
you don't know what you're talking about."

Marigold: "Yes, Thule. May I use smileys?"

Thule: In _extreme_ moderation.

Marigold: (:

Marigold: How did it go?

Thule: Fine. I accomplished what I needed to.

Marigold: You sound tired.

Thule puzzled over how he could sound tired in ASCII, then typed, "I am
tired. I need to get some sleep."

Marigold nodded into the web cam, leaned forward, and kissed it. Thule
closed the window.

                       -=-

Thule needed to do one more thing before he went to sleep. Climbing into the
attic, he unpiled all of the boxes that were accumulated in the northwest
corner of the room until he got down to the bottom layer, a neat palette of
sixteen boxes in a four-by-four grid. He opened one, three boxes in and
three boxes over, by pulling the tape off. Then, he pulled out an old tent
and an emergency blanket. Underneath the blanket was a fireproof box in
which he kept copies of all his evidence against the Vandevoorts on a dozen
DVDs. He unlocked the box, added the cash, and locked it back up. Then, he
taped the box he'd opened closed again.

Then, he tore the tape off of all of the other boxes on the palette and
retaped them so that they would look uniformly used. He surveyed his
handiwork. Satisfied, he piled all of the other boxes back on top of the
row. One day, he'd figure out how to redistribute the dust so that it didn't
look like he'd disturbed anything. But, for tonight, this would have to do.

Downstairs, he took a quick shower, cleaning all of the grit and grime off
of his body. Towelling off, he was grateful to realize that his hair dried
almost as soon as he got out of the shower. Throwing on only a fresh pair of
boxers, he had barely laid his head on the pillow before he was asleep.

                    -=-

When the doorbell rang, Thule jumped. He would like to pretend that he
jumped out of bed and rolled across the floor to the closet, but the reality
of it was a little less coordinated, even if the result was the same.
Crouched in front of the closet door, he glanced up at the clock, which read
1:45 AM.

Dragging the duffel bag part-way out of the closet, he reached in and, by
feel, found the pistol and loaded in a clip. Crawling across the floor, he
looked out the window, but whoever was at the front door was too close to it
for him to get a look at them. There was no car in the driveway.

Gathering his robe from the floor, he shrugged into it. As he crab-walked
across the floor, the doorbell rang again. Out of the doorway of his
bedroom, he could see out the picture window in the living room who was
standing there.

He scowled, stood up, strolled across the living room, and opened the front
door, "Do you know what time it is? You scared the shit out of me."

Maya glanced meaningfully at the gun at Thule's side, "Is that any way to
greet me, lover?"

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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