Doc's Place

Chapter 3 | Part 7

Monday, October 1, 1984

Finally, Carlos takes me to what he calls `the eye in the sky,' a dark and quiet place. Men and women stare at monitors, watching people. The staff murmurs quietly to one another, using a language that I barely understand, even though it is English.

People gamble as other people watch and listen. Everybody is concerned with the money. They are fascinated by it and they cannot tear themselves away. Some live their entire working lives here. See it in their expressions, which are the same for gamblers and employees. In fact, Carlos tells me that quite a few gamblers are employees from this and other casinos.

Lean over, place my lips close to Carlos' ear and whisper, "Get me out o' here."

His hand touches my elbow again and guides me out. Back on the floor again, we walk to the street and look at the people walking by the front entrance. Some walk into Doc's, some walk out but most just walk by without interest. "Jesus Christ," I say as we walk down the street a little way.

Carlos says nothing for the moment. He just glances at me occasionally. After a while, he says, "Interesting."

"What?"

"You're obviously under emotional distress from what you've seen but it has no effect on you physically. No shortness of breath, no apparent dizziness or weakness and no display of emotion," says Carlos. "Martial arts training?"

Look at him. "Bet you play a wicked game of racquetball or tennis. I was going to check out the health club after work today. You want a game of tennis, Carlos?"

"Racquetball," he says. "I pick up tennis again in the spring and play it all summer but I don't mix the two."

"Mind reserving a court for six o'clock? I haven't even registered over there yet."

"Already got a court reserved for six," he says. "No mercy, Price?"

"You might beat me at tennis, Carlos," I say, standing erect before him, "but not at racquetball."

"Yeah? How do you know? I might kick your ass." That makes me grin. How do I know? I've never seen you on the tournament circuit. You're not sponsored. You reserve a court so you can practice your shots. I perfected my ceiling and kill shots five years ago. "Six o'clock. No warm-up," I tell him, walking to the elevator. "You get first serve."

"Uh-oh, now I'm scared," he says, trying to rattle me. He's studying my ass with appreciation as I walk into the elevator. I know because I catch him at it.

"Thanks for the tour," I call to him as the doors close. Upstairs, a receptionist challenges me, so I give her my name. She smiles warmly and welcomes me to Doc's Place. Smile in return and think, `Start looking for another job, honey.' Walk through the doors, feeling as I did in HR: soon she'll be gone; soon the bustling hallways will be empty.

Dick is watching the warehouse guys take away the last of my old office furniture. He's still holding my sketch in his hand. "According to your sketch, this should be by-God perfect," he says.

"Indeed it is," I tell him, pretending to look at the corkboards on the walls, the rolls of butcher paper in one corner and the marking pens and two boxes of pushpins beside the phone as I study the warehouse supervisor. He's bald, six-one, a buck-ninety, probably approaching sixty and in pretty good shape, as I'd expect from anyone who works in a warehouse. Look at him and say, "You're a good sumbitch, Dick. Hope the Rams kick the 49ers' butts."

Shaking his head, Dick grins and says, "You're the real deal, Price. Let me know if you need anything else." He walks away, muttering and shaking his head, following the warehouse guys.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License

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Doc's Place Chat
© 2008, Michel Grover.
Chapter 3 | Part 7
Late Spring 2008

Mic :

In the left frame, I'm posting Doc's Place, one of my copyrighted stories. I'll post a part of a chapter, wait for a while so people may leave comments or questions and then post those I find interesting.

Steph :

Hello everyone. I assume you either heard about or saw my appearance on late-night television. Nothing like a little free publicity to massage the ol' ego.

Lucia :

Yes, I thought you held your own up there, Stephanie. He was a little rough on you near the end of your appearance. Bet he was jealous.

Maria :

Hot monkey sex he said you had with Jill but it wasn't like that, was it?

Steph :

No, but I promised Jill and Mic not to give details until our moment appears in the story and I'm sticking to that.

Suze :

I thought your comeback on his question about the hottest guy in our group was great. They're all hot when you have a good imagination.

Ian :

Downloaded the show. He questioned you steadily on why Mic and Jill wouldn't appear on his show. Didn't tell you until the end that both said they had chosen their medium.

Steph :

That's okay. I think Dennis Rodman once said that the only bad press was an obit. Probably quoted someone else.

Cyril :

Have you downloaded the photoshopped pix of you naked yet? Some are quite tastefully done, sort of a soft porn approach.

Steph :

No, I didn't but my kids did and they showed me.

Marcus :

One of the ripple effects of your appearance is that the financial networks are trying without much success to dig up the financials on Pere and Midori. A couple sites have a silhouette on a cover with the question: World's Richest, A Woman? The sidebars on Aliversal and the Japanese orphanage in Reno were not bad.

Jules :

See that sports interview of KMark? That guy is completely unflappable, even when they jumped him about his mom being a murderous spider.

Benny :

What's your take on all this publicity, Jill?

Jill :

Predictable and fleeting.

Les :

Are you going to do anything about it?

Jill :

Nothing more than I've already done, which is to say essentially no comment.

Carlo :

How come you changed the subject as soon as Carlos mentioned martial arts training?

Jill :

Carlos is not Reno PD but he has plenty of friends there. I didn't want to make a statement that he might quote later to one of those guys. They might mention it in a context wherein he must testify to the fact that I once said that I know martial arts.

Carlo :

Paranoid.

Jill :

But paranoid enough?

Carlo :

Tough way to live.

Jill :

Not in my world, Carlo.

Jules :

Sizin' up the warehouse super. He your target?

Jill :

Don't know yet. Won't know until I get more information and that will take time and opportunity.

Suze :

You're in the HR department, right? Why don't you just walk into HR and ask for the information?

Mic :

Benny? Take that question?

Benny :

Don't want anyone in HR, especially old Rose, remembering later that you were asking about them or anybody else you plan to take out.

Mic :

Any exceptions to that rule in HR?

Benny :

You mean can Jill trust anyone in HR? She can trust Liz if she's careful about the context and how she phrases the question.

Jules :

Plausible deniability.

Jill :

Actually, that's not good enough since the Church Committee hearings and the Hughes-Ryan Act in 1974. It only shifts blame; doesn't get rid of it. If it doesn't work, one or both parties appear discredited or out of control. One step better is to ask in a way that the investigating party, in this case, Carlos, doesn't want to keep asking. A step better than that is to ask in such a way that Liz cannot remember either the wording or the context of the question so she cannot place the setting of the conversation, either in place or time. An even better way is to ask so that Liz doesn't dare bring up later that she answered my questions. The best way to get information is for someone to volunteer it. That way you don't have to ask at all.

Carlo :

Pretty technical. How'd you learn this stuff?

Jill :

Some of it is training, which I picked up in the Air Force where I worked in signals intelligence, and at Morris-Bemerson, where I handled classified documents. The rest of it is experience in compartmentalizing classified information. It's what I and others in similar fields do every day so we're used to it. Once it's routine, it's not that difficult.

You do something similar when you talk to children without cursing or talk to someone religious without offending their beliefs. Highly-socialized humans are pretty good at it. Now and then you'll hear a self-styled simple person claim not to know how to practice deniably plausible conversation but that's bullshit because children learn it from the parents and the community these days.

Lucia :

If we've tapped out that topic, I'd like to bring up a conversational string we've had twice now: society may be developing a new pathology targeted at violent, convicted felons released from prison. I've been thinking about that. Notice how law enforcement seems to turn a blind eye to Jill's pathology. My question is not about whether that is right or wrong from a moral or ethical sense. My question is about the new pathology.

Marcus :

Lucia, no one has established whether such a pathology does, in fact, exists or whether society or law enforcement at any level is, in fact, turning a blind eye to it.

Lucia :

Come on, Marcus, work with me here. I didn't say that society is developing a new pathology; I said it "may be." I didn't say that law enforcement is turning a blind eye but it "seems to be." Will you stipulate to that?

Marcus :

Yes. I apologize for misunderstanding your pointless point.

Lucia :

That's okay. I'm pretty sure after listening to your blather that you just wanted me to emphasize that society "may be" developing new pathologies and that law enforcement "seems to be" turning a blind eye to the perpetrator, specifically, Jill.

Marcus :

That is not what I intended and I do not blather.

Lucia :

Denying it only makes you appear guilty, Marcus. You blather.

My question is: what if society develops specific targeted pathologies? Society, due to unwillingness or inability, cannot keep convicted felons behind bars so it develops Jill Price to hunt them down and snuff them one by one. Society may develop others.

Marcus :

Jill is not a targeted pathology. No evidence exists to suggest that society develops such pathology.

Lucia :

Wet blanket

Marcus :

Truth hurts.