Like Grownups Do (10 page)

After the first day observing MG and her staff at work on their new home, Jordan called Jack.

“Jack,” Jordan had said. “Clear your schedule for tomorrow morning. You have
got
to meet this woman.”

Jack, Jordan, and Samantha approached MG, who was lining up a demo crew in the massive, vaulted, great room. Samantha introduced Jack to MG, who gave him a hearty smile and handshake. Jack promised to stay out of her and her crew’s way as he winked at Jordan.

When MG turned her back to speak to her crew, Jack whispered to Jordan.

“That was like shaking hands with a linebacker that has one finger in a light socket.”

“My friend, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Jordan said.

Samantha kissed Jordan on the cheek and left for her office. For the next two hours, Jack and Jordan followed MG throughout the home, where crews were at work in seven of the home’s fourteen rooms. A large landscape crew, three large delivery trucks, a backhoe, and a front end loader/excavator arrived within a half hour, complete with two more crew foremen. Jack and Jordan frequently caught each other’s eye. They exchanged chuckles, head shakes, and gaping jaws.

MG moved between projects with an ease that gave the impression that her running shoe shod feet were gliding inches above the ground. She effortlessly juggled two cell phones, a clipboard, a large notebook, and a couple of catalogs, all while directing the different crews and foremen. Occasionally she jumped in to help lift or hold something heavy. The crews must have been used to this because they made room for her when she moved in.

Jordan took Jack’s coffee cup for a refill. Jack was about to speak to MG, but as he turned toward her and opened his mouth she turned a corner into a hallway and was gone. Jack laughed and chased after her. He approached her as she paused in the doorway of the master bedroom, and before she could disappear again, he said,

“Excuse me, Miss Gerard?”

MG turned to face Jack at a speed that made the move appear instantaneous, which caused Jack to stop mid-stride and jump backward a step.

“Call me MG, Jack. Everybody does,” MG said with a smile.

“Okay, MG. I need you,” Jack said.

MG, with some effort, said slowly “I’m sorry? You—”

Jack interrupted her, holding up both hands while vigorously shaking his head. He ran a hand through his hair to the back of his neck.

“Wow, I made that uncomfortable, didn’t I?” Jack said. “Let me start again. MG, I head up the Boston FBI office. I have lost two business managers in the last three years and have yet to find a competent replacement. We have a good staff, but organization and operation are… well, let’s just say, we fly by the seats of our pants on a daily basis.”

Jack continued, “I’ve been watching you for the last two hours and I— I’ve never seen anything like this. I would love to talk to you about working with us; on a flexible basis, of course. You are obviously very good at what you’re doing. No, that’s not true. You are incredible at what you’re doing.”

“You are too kind, Jack,” MG said. “Leave me your card. You have me intrigued.”

“Excellent,” Jack said. “Call anytime. My cell number is on there. I…don’t sleep a lot.”

“I can relate,” MG said.

Madeline Gerard entered the office of Research Consultants, Inc. the only way that she was capable of—like an explosion. Fifty-one years young and as electric as any human being is capable of, she was impossible to ignore. She was five-feet-eight, with skin that appeared to be stretched on, thanks to her brutal exercise regimen. She wore her platinum hair in a smart, short, care free style. She wore little makeup with the exception of her eyes. Her eyes were large; a blazing green, the whites more vibrant than seemed humanly possible. She added extremely long eyelashes, and the look was hypnotic. Today she wore a pair of running shoes along with a pin-striped business suit. When MG wore pin-stripes they appeared to be alive, like an electrical grid. When MG, sometimes referred to as Miss God, entered a room—she was in charge.

“Millie!” MG squealed. “How’s my best girl?”

She crossed the office floor in a flash and the two women embraced in what looked more like a tackle than a hug.

“I’m good, MG. We’ve missed you” Millie said.

“Well, I was just supposed to be gone for a week for my numskull little sister’s wedding, but she made sure I saw that wretched place they were moving into. The next thing I know, I’m lining up contractors and putting up cabinets. Conniving little bitch knew exactly what she was doing,” MG laughed.

MG reached into her satchel.

“I hope you have room left after lunch, Millie. My sister knows me well enough that while I was working on that wreck of a house, she went out and bought meeeee— this!”

MG continued in a mock Southern Belle voice,

“Simply the most divine chocolate in the whole state of South Carolina, I do declare.”

“Oh, God, MG,” Millie said. “Is there a fucking conspiracy to see me in a muumuu?”

MG threw her head back in laughter.

“
Muahaha
. Don’t be ridiculous, Millie. Chocolate is how the baby Jesus shows us that he loves us. But I can’t eat it alone because that would imply that I have a problem. Now, hold out your hand, and say, ‘Thank you, Baby Jesus’.”

Millicent Vandermeer was the newest member of RCI. MG had performed the secretarial duties in the inaugural phase, and then began the search to fill the permanent position. She held the initial interviews with the applicants and then the applicants were interviewed by a panel that consisted of Jack, Jordan, Babe, and Tom. The position was posted as secretarial with a pathway to office management. Applicants were told to expect very strict requirements concerning background checks and the requirement of a NDA, or non-disclosure agreement. Millie’s credentials and resume were the weakest of all the applicants. MG interviewed Millie and then followed her into the foyer of the office. She stuck her head into Babe’s office and flexed a forefinger twice, beckoning Babe to follow her. She did the same to Tom. When the three of them arrived in Jordan’s office where Jordan and Jack waited, MG handed a file folder to Jordan and looked all four men in the eyes.

“Miss Vandermeer is the last interview you will need to do—unless you are collectively brain dead.”

Babe and Tom returned from lunch and caught the two ladies with their mouths full. MG hugged them both.

“So, MG,” Tom said, “what’s the latest casualty?”

“Hang on,” MG said. She reached inside her jacket and pulled out her wallet. She unfolded a piece of paper and read from it.

“Treadmill. Ironman 3600. Incline motor and roller bearings.”

“A
wesome
!” Tom said. “Hold on a second.”

Tom walked quickly into his office and returned with a large dry erase board. The board was numbered vertically one through ten and listed various treadmills, stationary bikes, ellipticals, and weight training machines. Tom added a number eleven, followed by the words ‘Ironman 3600 Incline motor and roller bearings’. The heading on the board read, “MG’s Fitness Machines of Death”. There was a record of the now eleven pieces of fitness equipment that MG had murdered.

“Jesus, MG. What do the guys at the sporting goods store say to you?” Babe asked. “You have to be a legend over there.”

“We don’t exactly have long conversations,” MG said.

“I call them and they show up a couple of hours later with a better machine than the one I paid for. They’re getting their money back from the manufacturers anyway. I ask them which parts are toast and they always tell me. When I break a machine, they quit stocking that model. It’s a win-win.”

“Tom, you have one interview in the morning and then off on vacation, correct?” MG asked.

“Dat’s right, boss lady. Christie and I are off to Jamaica, mon.”

“Have a good time, Sunshine. Watch out for the local recreational pursuits. Bob Marley music—good. Bob Marley cigarettes— not so much.” MG motioned toward Babe’s office.

“When you’re ready, Babe.”

Twelve

“
A
nything you want to talk about?” MG asked.

“I’m okay, MG, thanks. Life goes on, as they say. I haven’t seen much of Jack, and I hope that doesn’t go on much longer. He says that he makes everybody uncomfortable, but I’m ready to have him back. I can’t say ‘to normal’, because normal is over. ”

“He’s throwing himself into his work, but the atmosphere at his office isn’t like it is here,” MG said, “I don’t see how it could be therapeutic—the way he spends the majority of his life there. I’d love to see him find something else to do and get out more often. And
speaking of ‘getting out’, just between us, it would be really great if Russell Eckhart did just that
.”

“He doesn’t have much of a fan club. What is his major problem, anyway?” Babe asked.

“He’s only in that position because of his step-father,” MG said. “His credentials would never have given him his job and he does everything possible to try to tear Jack down. Jack has support within the Bureau but Eckhart has more influence than he deserves. So, every day is a fight, thanks to that shit-head,” MG batted her long eyelashes and smiled. “So, anything else I need to know about?”

“Well, I know you’re meeting with Jordan when we’re through here. He just told Tom and me about Samantha’s appointment. I don’t know how much you know,” Babe said.

“I just found out last night. This puts us in a tough spot; and right before the holidays, too. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Jack and I are getting together Monday to brainstorm. We need to have something ready for when the wolves come out,” MG said. “Okay, Babe. Neely and Emerson. Files, please?”

Babe handed the files across his desk to MG, who placed them into her briefcase.

“You know the drill. Let’s have it,” MG said.

Babe pulled out a legal pad.

“Neely completed a BA in criminal justice in two and a half years; dual enrollment. He was a modest gamer, mostly RPGs—wasn’t fascinated with shooters and rarely played online. He did two tours in Kuwait and one in Afghanistan—honorable discharge, no discipline, no reprimands. One request for counseling after Afghanistan; good psych evaluation, good exit interview, no meds. He’s quiet and introspective; reads a lot. Seems to take
everything
seriously.

“Engaged to a high school girlfriend. Protestant, so is the fiancé. The fiance’s parents have been married for thirty seven years. Both of Neely’s parents are married for the second time—his mother for twenty-eight years, his father for twenty one, no step brothers or sisters. No red flags.”

“Emerson: dual enrollment, BA in psychology completed in three years. He’s a more intense gamer with a heavy online shooter footprint. The Bureau pulled down two hours of audio. His entire group was no-nonsense, hard-core, like you were listening to dialog straight from the front lines in Afghanistan. Emerson’s tag was ‘Gut Master’. In the Army he pulled four tours in Baghdad and did two weeks confinement for striking a non-commissioned officer during his second tour; Honorable discharge, passed psych evaluation and exit interview, no meds.

“Two letters in his file from superior officers express concern with his abilities to follow chain of command and established protocols. He is extremely intense and sometimes skittish— moody, dark, tends to speaks in short, staccato sentences. His eyes are always moving and he scans a room constantly. He is very sharp, and exudes authority and control. Parents are still married after thirty-four years; Lifelong Catholics and well respected. For what it’s worth, Emerson was a soloist in his high school choir and had scholarship offers in Drama. I’ve flagged his file for follow-up.”

“Good work,” MG said, passing a folder across the desk.

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” Babe said.

“Uh-huh. As I’m sure you remember, we’re always light in November and December,” MG paused. “All right, Mary Poppins; stop using my body. Two interviews in Albany, one each in Buffalo and New Haven for next week. Of course, we’re working around Tom being out for the next two weeks, Jordan making arrangements to relocate, and then the holidays. How about you? Are you leaving town?”

“Just Thanksgiving weekend. I’m flying to Texas to spend the weekend with my dad. He camps out there with some of his RV buddies during the Renaissance festival. He stays in the south during the winter because of his back. We’re trying to make up for a lot of lost years. So, I guess we’ll spend four days buying Ye Olde ale from buxom wenches and peeing against trees.”

“And looking at boobs,” MG said.

“And looking at boobs.”

“I’m going to leave this file with you even though this candidate will not be discharged until mid-March,” MG said.

“Gabriel Athas—parents deceased; raised by paternal grandparents. Enrolled at Boston College at seventeen and completed credits for a Masters in Forensic Psychology with a minor in Criminal Justice at twenty-one. Signed into the Army and placed into a highly classified intelligence unit straight from basic training. Twenty-four months of service, all classified.