Cyber Kittens and Cowboys (9 page)

“We know that but she left clues for her next
getaway.” Preston repeats, uselessly to Geneva then glides into
seat.

Vehicle doors slam, nosily. Engines roar down
to traffic light, loudly. Eyeballs search open sidewalks,
carefully.

Preston stomps, hardy brakes at red light
then guns engine down 11th Avenue on color change. He’s going
straight through every traffic light, speeding to the campus.
Pamela’s on foot, tapping stacco slowly in high heels. He should
know.

Pamela enjoys, happily meeting and greeting
Preston every night at 6:30pm with his delicious dinner and her
lovely presence at his house for past wonderful and fantastic two
weeks after work. Then, she just stays overnight with him bringing
her clothes for morning work or weekend play. Preston doesn’t mind,
either.

So, he knows exactly Pamela wears pink
sleeveless top and matching skirt with long tanned legs tapping on
three inches of pink sandaled feet. Her signature dress code and
tantalizing style creates another appeal to Preston. She smells,
invitingly white roses and lavender to his nostrils. Pamela does
not, absolutely discuss tiny tidbits of professional data from
work. Her content and charming girly attitude hasn’t changed since
his intro and invite of their first date. She’s happy and carefree
and funny.

Therefore, some thing terrible has happened
today with Geneva. Knowing Geneva, in that nasty wickedly first
hand sense, Geneva has done something illegal or unethical which
has accidentally involved Pamela. Preston will find out then kick
Geneva’s ass out the solar system into the next galaxy. He sneers,
deeply.

Preston hits traffic light at 19th Street,
driving ferociously. His acute peripheral vision sights, quickly
slumped thin colorful figure in window slightly familiar to
Pamela’s form. He jerks, sideways skull to left.

“Whoa, man! Eyes on the road, Preston.”
Arthur flings, quickly left hand to wheel before car veers into
wrong lane, creating an automobile accident. “You’re speeding,
buddy. Slow down! She’s not there at computer center, remember.
We’ll find Pamela, first, Preston. I promise before Geneva can spin
her evil skull, once.”

“You read Geneva as I do.” Preston cuts
eyeballs back to road, racing down 11th Avenue to 17th Street
location of computer center snagging quick right into 10th Avenue
before turning onto 16th Avenue.

“Read about that slippery serpent in the
Bible, for the first time when I was 10, that’s Geneva’s intro to
the entire universe, right, man?”

Preston laughs, hardy. “Right, bro?” He sighs
& breathes, deeply. “Any theories about this entire stupid
situation?”

“Naw. My hints point to Geneva. She slipped
up and either told Pamela something naughty or showed Pamela
something scaring your girl into hiding.”

“Concur.” Preston nods, once, eyeballs on
city street for proper turn.

“What about that CIA reference to BOA? What
did our bedmates say?”

“Nothing as usual! So, we get to figure it
and find it before both Pamela and Geneva uncovers
something…embarrassing.” Preston concludes, finally.

Time: 11:29 am.

Preston squeaks, nosily tires into parking
lot using handicap spot, illegally just, temporarily. He jumps,
swiftly out door & marches, steady up stairs into second floor
with Arthur beside him. Geneva and Stockton follows, closely.

Student escorts, quickly Preston into
computer center and points, rudely at terminal where Pamela
previously posed, beautifully at computer operator’s glass platform
watching and assisting students needing help with
computer/educational assignments.

Preston talks, softly to campus student &
points, rudely outside door directing him as sentry. Arthur pokes,
slowly around room starting with waste basket for clues of Pamela’s
presence and her forced getaway.

Stockton occupies, swiftly that particular
chair & types, rapidly accessing the last menu from Pamela’s
searches. He overlooks some three previous websites focusing on
this one. He points, rudely at screen. “Looky here. She purchased
those sequined evening gowns and pearly shoes for… startlingly
price tag of $2,000. Wow! Guess she’s going dancing.” He chuckles,
lightly then types, rapidly. “This face page shows her
spending…Holy Cow!” He comments, excitedly. “….over $7000 on tours
in…England. Proof, she’s escaping overseas from Bama. See this,
Preston.” Stockton points, rudely at destination.

Geneva glides, smoothly next to Stockton.
“Wait, hold that screen!” She stares, studiously then pulls her
wallet from purse selecting her personal credit card. She studies
mathematical numbers, observantly. She eye burns her green credit
card. “The numbers….they match. Damn! She used my credit card, my
personal credit to pay for these items. How much is that?”

“7000 for tours plus $2000 for formal gowns
that’s 9000, Geneva.” Stockton announces, boldly as Preston snorts,
heavily behind Geneva’s shoulder leaning into the computer
screen.

Preston comments, happily. “She’s
resourceful, huh, Geneva?”

Geneva snares, viciously. “That bitch’s dead
once I find her.”

“More baddy news, Geneva. Pamela has
purchased ride from Bama straight to London, England leaving today
at 1:45am. O! She’s booked a first class seat. Bravo, girl!”
Stockton cheers, obnoxiously & snorts, lightly.

Geneva demands, once. “How much?”

Stockton expresses, mildly. “Ugh! You really
don’t want that number, Geneva.”

Geneva demands, twice. “How much?”

Stockton spits, flatly. “7,900.” Geneva
curses, strongly. Preston laughs. Hard. He waves Arthur over to see
face page on computer as Arthur whispers, softly over his cell.

Preston requests, dutifully. “Where’s Larry?
We need to stake out the airport. Pamela has booked a flight to
England.”

Arthur frowns, ugly & informs, plainly.
“Larry’s found both Western Union pick up points along with Ilenn’s
pocketbook void of checks, credit cards and cash and Lacy’s cell
phone in trash can next to entrance door at store. He’s on his way
to us. Do I veer him to Birmingham Airport instead, Preston?”

Stockton informs, academically & points,
rudely at screen. “Betta hold that command, General. Looky here,
Pamela has booked two different flights around 2pm, today from
Birmingham to either London, England or Paris, France. Wonder which
one she’s taking? I would go to Paris. It’s wintertime there, very
nice from the suffocating heat of….”

“Two separate flights?” Preston leans,
heavily into screen studying split screens created by Stockton.
“I’ll be damned.”

Geneva voices in soprano flute. “She be
damned! She’s going to rot in prison for her reminding breathing
oxygen days…”

“Geneva, she used your numbers to pay for
both these flights. Is those really your personal credit card
numbers on your personal bank accounts, ‘cause, baby ya gonna owe
someone a lot of money, chica?” Stockton chuckles, lightly. Geneva
curses, strongly.

Geneva demands, briskly. “How much?”

“Let’s see 8500 plus 9000 plus 7000…”
Stockton flips back & forth between electronic screens,
calculates mathematical numbers while Geneva curses, more
loudly.

Preston uprights & side steps from
Stockton and Geneva then orders, commandingly. “Arthur, call in
reinforcements, meet Larry downstairs, take his car, stake out
International side and parking lot with agents and cells.” He neck
snaps to Geneva who’s cursing more strongly and then back to
Arthur. “Did you find another else important around here?”

“Naw.” Arthur shakes, sideways bald
skull.

Preston nods, once & talks, directly.
“Alright! I’m going to steer Geneva back to her office, focusing on
non-eventful assignments so she doesn’t interfere with our work too
much. I’ll ride post at the security gate watching for Pamela.”

Arthur repeats, observantly. “That’s her
first check point, we should be waiting as she walks through the
rotating glass doors.”

Preston shakes, sideways skull. “Naw. She’s
bolt out and down the busy street, hiding then we’ll never find
her. Let her get through security, safely, she’ll be trapped
between our post and airport security carrying guns.”

Arthur offers, strategically. “They might
shoot.”

Preston points, rudely index finger in
Arthur’s face, blasts, wickedly. “That’s your job, Arthur. You’re
boss until I arrive. No guns! No shooting, only spying. If she
boards the plane, we can stop it there also without anyone getting
harmed or hurt, especially Pamela.”

Arthur nods, once. “Sure, boss! Anything
else?”

Preston eye burns ceiling then floor, thinks,
intellectually. “Naw. Just stay alert and safe for everyone!”

“Right, boss!” Arthur pivots, soldierly out
door. Geneva stands, swiftly placing her wallet into purse, veers,
heatedly toward Preston.

Geneva announces, wildly with hot revenge.
“I’m coming with you to the airport…this time.”

Preston holds, vertically open palms.
“Geneva, you can do whatever you want but I strongly advise not
doing that. Our people got it covered and…if non-official personnel
shows up, like you…then Pamela runs or gets freed, then my people
might think there’s something else going on here beside one rouge
Retriever.” He details, carefully.

“You’re a shit ass, Preston!” Geneva bites,
stingingly.

Preston smiles, wickedly & comments,
surly then nods, once. “Many times over.”

“Be warned, Preston. There’s nothing else
going on here…but one rouge Retriever with valuable information
that she’s sharing or selling to foreigners hence, her escape plan
overseas.” Geneva guesses, correctly based on current events
outlined on Internet strikes especially against Pamela.

“Big words from a little girl.” Preston
holds, vertically index finger hushing Geneva’s racy comments,
especially about him. “Geneva, go back to your office, monitor the
situation from there and please contact if you acquire new Intel
that finds Pamela. You don’t need me repeating my number.”

Geneva nods, once then smirks, devilishly.
“I’ll most certainly be acquiring new Intel about Pamela as I
follow her tight ass to jail.”

Preston notes, unremarkably. “So be it.” He
follows eyeballs, securely Stockton & Geneva’s wiggling her fat
ass out door. He sits, quietly at Pamela’s terminal in computer
room not for any particular reason, maybe, he hopes to collect
metaphysical vibes from her last position predicting her next move.
He prays, quickly & hopes, successfully to find her, first.

Heaven forgive her if Geneva & Pamela
crosses paths. Preston has authority and power but Pamela is
employee of the wrong division, the wrong side. She has flown the
coup from something evil he’s certain of this.

Preston leans, deeply into the comfortable
vinyl chair & taps, musically finger pads on table surface then
listens to the rhythm. He eye burns wall, ceiling, wall, floor,
cowboy boots then computer terminal screen. His active mind
focuses, clearly on familiar icons representing different computer
apps on desktop. He sees Internet app, Word app, Graphics app, Game
app. He stops, suddenly. He leans, heavily into screen &
stares, studiously at new icon. Yellow small thumbnail folder
displays singular letters: POV. He rakes, swiftly brain cells for
strange computer app, gets curious, double-clicks on icon: POV.

Folder opens, swiftly & presents, weirdly
English garage of short and long sentences for the noun
:
ipam
.

“
IPAM”
means Internet Protocol Address
Management. Newly created folder for some student’s data for
his/her research paper in IT class.

He scrolls downwardly to next general
subject. He sees, clearly the proper name: Pamela Craft. He
uprights, swiftly & stares, studiously at jumbled sentences of
lines around Pamela’s Christian name.

Newly created thumbnail is from Pamela, not
random Burn U student’s paper. He glides, downwardly fast through
file looking for any other clues left by Pamela but data doesn’t
make any sense.

Ring! Ring!
Preston returns eyeballs
to cell checking if that bitch is calling him. If so, he’s got
colorful choice big vocabulary words for her stinging ears. He
gasps, nosily. Arthur’s cell, he found Pamela at airport.

“Yeah!”

Pause.

“Hold your position! I’m leaving the computer
center, now.”

Pause.

“Geneva’s always a problem. But she’s gone
home to roost or…roast depending on what find after we question
Pamela.”

Pause.

“Hoping to roast her ass as well, bro.
Preston, out!” He slaps cell shut then uses portable thumb drive to
copy Pamela’s POV file off desktop. He laughs, hardy. “POV, point
of view. Good girl, Pamela, keep dropping those bread crumbs,
honey. I hunger, too.”

Burn U Breakfast Bar. 11:30 am.

Time’s up! Librarian’s going to be searching
for laptop in Pamela’s hand…well, sitting on top of food table. Her
search for bogus words: BOA, CIA BOA doesn’t supply anything
important to her brain cells or further investigation.