Doc's Place

Chapter 22 | Part 3

Thursday, October 25, 1984

As I leave work, I check my mirrors. See Tan in a big Chrysler New Yorker trying to follow me, so I lead him toward Sparks and lose him near the fairgrounds. At home, change into jeans, boots and faded flannel shirt over a tee shirt. A little later, walk into the Z-bar, which is crowded. Most are men, but a few thick-bodied women stand or sit here and there. The noise level drops significantly, as the eyes follow me toward the bar.

"Jill, over here!" cries Arnie, standing up from a booth across the room.

On my way over there, a couple guys try swinging a shoulder into mine but avoiding those is just timing. Slide into the booth next to Arnie and nod at Rudy, who smiles and looks down at his beer.

The bartender approaches the table and asks what I'd like to have.

"Bud, no glass," I tell him. The noise level is slowly rising again.

"I'm glad you stopped by," says Arnie, grinning at me, a couple teeth missing. He's already well into a six-pack, judging from his red face and eager grin. "I talked to Walter today, who said he might be here himself."

"That's because I asked him to meet me here, Arnie," I tell him.

"Oh, okay," he says.

Rudy asks, "What for?"

Look at Rudy, wondering if he hides a slow craftiness behind those lidded eyes. "Sell him my Ford parts, maybe, Rudy."

The bartender brings the Bud over, sets it down and then stands there, leering at me. In my peripheral vision, I can see that he may have been a handsome rake in his younger days with his thick hair but he's fat and crumbling at the edges now. On the lip of the bottle are two coarse hairs.

Rudy glances at the bartender, looks at me and asks, "Figure you got a buyer for that Bird?"

The girl is standing back from the table, watching me. She looks nervous, like she should not be in a bar at her age.

"Yes, I do," I say to Arnie. Stand slowly and look at the bartender's lifeless eyes. Timing it with a gap in the crowd, I walk over to the bar, step up on a barstool, over the bar and fetch my own Bud. Several patrons whoop and whistle. Pop the top with a church key, take a sip and watch the bartender hurrying around the end of the bar. As he starts toward me, set down the Bud, vault the bar, pick up the Bud and walk back to the booth to a spatter of applause.

"What the hell was that about?" asks Arnie.

Instead of answering, I set my beer on the table. Kick the approaching bartender's foot as puts weight on it and slap down his hand grasping at me. As he falls forward, I clutch the hair at the back of his head and lean into it as I slam his face into the thick, pine tabletop. Release him and sit as he rolls to the floor, moaning, his crushed nose beginning to spout blood.

Hearty laughter booms through the place as Walter steps up and says, "Somebody should have warned him. The lady looks nice, but she ain't."

"Hello Walter," I say, turning to hug him. See Emmett and the girl behind him, but a couple seconds later, she is gone.

Walter hugs me in return and then pulls an empty chair over, setting it over the bartender, who coughs a spray of blood as he lies moaning on the floor. Walter picks up the doctored Bud and looks at me. "This the one?" When I nod, he up ends it, pouring cold beer all over the bartender, who waves his hands weakly. Walter drops the bottle on the floor.

"Will somebody tell me what's going on?" asks Arnie.

Rudy says slowly, "Probably rubbed the bottle on his dick, maybe pissed in it."

"Yep," says Walter, "Left his pubes all over it too. Stands there and watches while she takes a drink and then laughs about it." Turning, he says, "Emmett, go get us a couple cold ones from the bar. The service in this place sucks." He laughs again.

Notice several patrons hold up their beer bottles for inspection, a disgusted look on their faces. A couple of them go behind the bar to get a fresh bottle but some leave.

Walter takes a long pull at the Bud that Emmett brings him and asks, "Well Arnie, are you buying that Bird from Jill or not?"

"Why do you want to know?" asks Rudy.

"Because then he has to decide if he wants the spare engine and tranny, plus other parts too," says Walter. "If he don't want `em, then I'll buy `em right now, for cash."

We look at Arnie, who says, "Sorry Jill, I just can't afford it right now."

Rudy says, "Now, wait a minute. We talked about this. We can each put up half, four thousand apiece."

"That's eight thousand, Rudy," says Arnie. "Jill wants twelve. Plus a couple more for the engine and tranny and stuff." Rudy looks at me. "How about eight even for the Thunderbird? Cash." Shaking my head, I tell him, "Got another cash buyer for twelve, Rudy. He doesn't want the parts though, so I'm selling those to Walter if you boys don't move right now."

"We can have the money in . . . a couple weeks," says Rudy.

"Sorry buddy," says Arnie, placing his hand on Rudy's shoulder. "We just can't swing it now. We'll find another T-bird down the line somewhere."

Rudy's eyes are darting from me to Arnie to Walter. He's still thinking, hasn't given up yet.

Look at my beer, and say, "Window's closin'." Drain my beer and slap the empty on the table. "Thanks for the beer, Arnie. I'll see you around, guys." Slide out of the booth as Walter rises to his feet beside me. Notice that Walter is standing on the bartender's fingers as he protests weakly. We walk out, Emmett trailing us.

At my house, once we've loaded the engine, transmission and other Ford parts into Walter's one-ton Ford truck, we move inside and wash up. Out in the sunroom, Soji and Lloyd have just finished barbecuing our dinner—lobster tails. Walter and I discuss my next classic car project—either an early 60s Chevy or maybe a Camaro. Walter entertains everyone with tales of our youth, stealing big engines from Chryslers, Cadillacs and Lincolns.

Sara presses me into explaining how I transported the engines in a panel truck to Southern California and Las Vegas to sell them to racers. When Soji asks why I did these things, I tell them it was to support my drag strip racer—a gas-class '32 Ford `deuce coupe—and my driver.

"How old were you and what year was it?" asks Sara.

"Eighteen, in the summer of 1967. I was in my senior year of high school."

"What did your parents think of all this?" asks Soji.

"They didn't know. I had moved out a couple years before. Lived in the storage room above my shop."

"Smelled like tires and oil up there," says Walter. "Jill closed the shop at nine, so a bunch of us would sit around, drink, smoke and get high."

"You smoked cigarettes?" asks Sara. "That's disgusting."

"A pack a day, Salems," I tell her.

"Hey, opening that shop was the beginning of a new life for Jill," says Walter. "Stopped her fighting and racing. Eventually, the shop grew into JP Performance and that grew into a multi-million dollar business."

"You're leaving out a few years, Walter," I tell him.

"I know, I know, but some things take time. Look at you now, for Christ's sake."

"You always defend her, you know, Walter," says Lloyd. "How are we supposed to believe you if you take her side every time?"

"I love Jill," says Walter, his eyes moving to mine. "I would take her side if she were a serial killer."

Lift my glass of wine to him. Wondered if he suspected and now I know.

He lifts his bottle of beer in return.

So does Sara. "So Balzac was right," she says. "Behind every great fortune, there is a crime."

"She may have committed crimes and she may have a fortune but the one was not responsible for the other," says Walter.

"Then why commit the crimes?" ask Lloyd and Soji at the same time. They glance at one another, and then Lloyd says, "Surely not just to support your racecar." Everyone looks at me.

"I had put thousands of dollars into two engines in '66. Blew both engines one day at Bakersfield. Bought some more but those blew too. Towed my car down to Pomona for the Winternationals. Blew three engines in qualifying rounds on the first day so that night, Walter and I drove out to West Covina in my Ford panel and stole two Chrysler engines."

Walter says, "We worked all night to get one of those engines ready. The next day, Johnny D won every race with that stolen engine."

"Johnny D?" asks Sara.

"My driver, Johnny Dannenfelser," I tell her.

"What did you do with the other engine?" asks Lloyd.

"Sold it to another racer for thousands," I tell her. "He told me that he'd buy every engine I could bring in—for cash. It was easy money."

"It was stealing," says Sara.

Shrug. "That kind of felony seems to stay just under the radar screens of the local police. It didn't get the attention that stealing cars did."

"How long did you keep it up?" asks Lloyd.

"Through the summer. Quit when I nearly got caught in Rock Springs."

"Jesus, I'll never forget that night," says Walter. "I thought they'd nailed us for sure."

"Anyway," I say with a sigh, "That was the end of my life of organized crime."

Everyone sits quietly for a while, when the phone rings. Soji picks it up, and says, "Jill, Peter Marriott for you."

"Isn't that the Ferro lawyer?" asks Lloyd.

"Yep," I tell her. "I'll take it in the study, Soji."

"I'm going," says Walter. "Thanks for the dinner and the conversation, folks."

"Good night," I say as we give one another a hug. Walk back to the study while Walter says good-bye to the others. Close the door, pull on my headset and press the button. "Hello, Peter."

"Sorry to bother you at home, Jill," says Peter. "I've changed my mind. I want you to confront Dick, beginning now."

"Why the change?"

"Things are going better than expected, partly because you're at work every day. Arrive late and leave early more often. Don't show up at all some days."

"I work eight hours a day until April first of next year, Peter. It's in our agreement."

"Stephanie flew up to Reno this afternoon. Meet her for breakfast at nine o'clock in the morning, Star Suite at the Grand. She will show you a revised agreement stating that you decide your own hours. Read it and sign it. Do your job but find more reasons to be off-property."

I'm helping too much: promoting the fiftieth anniversary, getting invited to exclusive casino ops parties and providing photo services for security operations training. Peter does not like how helpful I have become. "Okay."

"Stephanie will also return your package with my instructions about how to handle Dick's supplement. Hold off releasing it until the next issue is published."

"That's two months away—in January."

"Stall him."

"Why?"

He pauses. "The more you know, the more you're obligated to hide."

"I need to know to be effective."

"Alright, Jill. Louise has hired an HR manager, name of Marion Drull."

"She told me."

"Dick will begin cutting positions. He hired Drull to administer that task. I want people to blame Dick Scope and Marion Drull, not Ferro, for the holiday and spring layoffs."

"As if he acted without your knowledge?"

"The rumors should start circulating Monday. You champion the workers and of course, Ferro. Both Dick and Marion should hate your guts by the time you drop the bomb in January."

"What bomb?"

"It's in the package. Those photos are perfect."

"He may fire me."

"If you're not fired once a month, you're not doing your job."

Why didn't you say so? "Expect Dick to fire me Monday morning then."

"Good. Oh, arrange for that supplement to be distributed while you are away, Jill," says Peter.

"Away?"

"Get out of town for the holidays. Don't come back to work until January 7th."

Jesus, I'll walk back into a shit storm. Will Marion Drull and Dick Scope gang up on Liz? Can she keep the video-training project going while I'm gone for two weeks? "Dick may force Liz to stop the video training project."

"He hasn't stopped you yet, Jill."

"That's different. Liz works for Louise. I'm acting as your agent, Peter."

"That's not why he hasn't stopped you."

"We have to give Liz something, like an ace up her sleeve."

"So, give her one," says Peter, "but no one can know of our agreement."

"Call Dick the day after I leave. Ask him how the video training is progressing."

"Alright, I'll do that."

"Oh, Dick may decide to cancel the purchase orders for the printer, graphic design house and photographers."

"Send me copies. I'll have Stephanie issue back-up purchase orders from here."

"Dick will be gunning for me when I return in January, Peter."

"Mm-hmm."

"Probably fire me again."

"Oh yes."

"Good night, Peter."

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 22 | Part 3
Winter 2012

Lucia :

Mic has posted in the left frame paragraphs from Doc's Place, one of his copyrighted stories. I'm moderating chat here in the right frame. I post every day, but I don't post everything. I have formed a secondary group from which I may also post comments.

Amalie :

I cannot imagine what these events must have meant to the people in the Z-Bar that evening. That bartender deserves no sympathy but imagine what he must be going through his mind as all this happens to him. Jill's capacity for casual and yet terribly destructive violence is awesome to behold—even in print as we see here. Bill, did you see any of this as you were growing up and visiting Jill now and then?

Bill Jr. :

Do you mean an example, a story, maybe? What are you looking for, Amalie?

Amalie :

Could you do us the favor of walking us through this scene in the Z-Bar and help us appreciate what's going on here? This wanton, destructive and casual violence is so foreign to me that I can make no sense of it. Can you help us—help me—understand, please?

Bill Jr. :

Well, I was just a kid when I visited Jill and witnessed her perpetrate any violence, so I'm not sure how helpful I would be.

Amalie :

Please, Bill, you know why I'm asking, why I must understand. I may have to select jobs for Jill to perform. You explain things about Jill plainly, so that we understand them.

Lucia :

We know you are good at describing events like this. Put us in the Z-Bar that night. Make it real, Bill.

Bill Jr. :

I have grown accustomed to my godmother's casual violence over the years, even though I've never been closer than the periphery. Take it for granted, sort of, when I've heard of it or seen evidence of it now and then throughout my lifetime. To me, it seems like the casual violence of some natural force, such as a summer thunderstorm that starts a few range fires or washes out a couple gullies, causing damage to county roads. The corrective action takes a lot of effort, money and time. What blows you away is how destructive such a quick, seemingly casual summer storm can be.

That's similar to the aftermath of Jill's casual violence. Reading of it in this story part reminds me of how fresh and brutal it is to someone who is not ready for it, or who finds such things shocking, as does Jill's other self, the adolescent girl.

Notice how Jill stands, pauses to gaze into the bartender's eyes after he delivers her beer, and then moves across the room and over the bar. I've seen Jill do that kind of thing, and let me tell you, she's quick. To everyone there, she probably seemed to flow rapidly like water, which is how she moves. One moment, she's standing next to the booth table; the next moment, she moving calmly but rapidly across the room and over the bar.

Notice how she casually pops the top and takes a sip as she waits for the bartender to hurry around the bar. Notice how she waits for his approach, casually sets down the beer bottle, vaults the bar, picks up the bottle and ambles back to the booth. I've seen her vault fences, cars, windowsills and so on, and it's surprising how quickly and smoothly she moves. It's as if she's running before her feet hit the ground, which is impossible, I know, but once you see it, you understand.

Notice how she sets the bottle on the heavy pine table and turns slightly, waiting. At the precise moment of the bartender's greatest vulnerability and risk of losing balance, she strikes. All of you know by now—conceptually, at least—how quickly and casually Jill can strike. Well, I've seen it and it's a blur.

Using the bartender's momentum and weight, Jill smashes his face into the table, crushing his nose, stunning and probably blinding him. Put yourself in his place. His nasal passages are useless now, and his throat is filling up, so he coughs a spray of blood. He wants to roll over so he can breathe, but he can't seem to move and he doesn't know why. Completely disabled and disoriented, he can't remember what he was doing or why before this calamity befell him. He moans for help as someone pours cold beer on him, but no help comes. A while later, after drifting in and out of consciousness, he feels intense pain as someone crushes his fingers.

No one helps him and no one calls an ambulance to provide him with medical assistance, which is what he needs. Imagine the helplessness and agony he feels, lying there, unsure whether he will live or die in the next few hours. Perhaps someone will take pity on him, perhaps not. Either way, he will never be the same. After his injuries partially heal, he will carry the scars and the headaches of Jill's strike, even though it took only a second, at the most two, to execute.

Like the summer storm, Jill moves on, taking her destructive force with her. Unlike the storm, she knows the effect of her strike, because she makes such moves with conscious aforethought. After her strike, someone must seek and receive treatment. Someone must pick up the pieces of a broken life and struggle to live. That's what happens when a natural force strikes and then moves on. Someone must deal with the consequences.

Amalie :

Merci, mon ami. You make the incident come alive, as usual.

Suze :

Bill, you mention that you've never been closer than the periphery of Jill's violence, and yet you have seen her strike. Will you tell us what you saw?

Bill Jr. :

Jill jogged beside my sister once as Amy rode her bike with training wheels along a park path. A young girl lost control of her Great Dane, which came galloping at them. Barely breaking stride, Jill sidestepped the dog's snapping jaws, stepped on the leash, picked it up and then hauled back hard. The dog's legs flew out and we heard the snapping crunch of the Dane's neck, like green wood, and it fell with a thud—dead. Tossing the leash, Jill caught up with Amy, who hadn't seen a thing. They continued as if nothing had happened.

Suze :

That's amazing. Do you remember what happened after that?

Bill Jr. :

Sure, the young girl began wailing about her dead dog, so her parents came running over. By the time Jill and Amy returned to the blanket where KMark and his parents were sitting with their children and me, the park police—one burly, one slim—had arrived on their mountain bikes. The girl, still crying, pointed at Jill, who stood there sipping water. The burly officer seemed to recognize Jill. At first, the girl's father started walking toward us, but his wife and the park police held him back. One stayed there while the other walked toward us as Jill sauntered to meet him. I don't remember any more because KMark started wrestling in the grass with Amy and me. He probably did it to distract us.

Suze :

Wow, how old were you and where did this happen?

Bill Jr. :

I was 5 or 6, I think, on a summer day. It happened in Reno. What I remember most clearly about that scene was that there were blurry parts.

The dog seemed to go crazy when it saw Amy riding her bike. It began barking and lunging, breaking the girl's hold on the leash. Her hands go to her mouth, but the dog goes after Amy. Jill, still jogging, is in the way—that's a blur. Mouth open, teeth bared, the dog snaps at Jill, clearly trying to get at Amy on her bike. Jill sidesteps the dog while stepping on the leash and picking it up—that's all a blur. This huge, heavy and powerful dog passes Jill now, going after Amy full tilt.

Here's the blurriest part, because it all happens in a single moment. With one foot on the leash, Jill stops the dog's momentum, turning its head and body to one side. At the precise moment when the dog's feet lose traction, Jill throws her right hand holding the leash up and back while leaning back. That extra 5-to-9 inches pulls the leash, attached to the collar around the dog's neck, up and back. With the dog's legs out to the side and the momentum of its body and head still moving rapidly in the opposite direction, the collar snaps the neck, killing the dog instantly in mid-air. When that dog hits the ground—thud, like a sack of meat—it's dead.

Meanwhile—another blurry part—Jill, still jogging, gives the leash a casual flip as she passes the meat sack beside the path and catches up with Amy, who is oblivious. They move along, Amy chattering as she does, and Jill going, "Mm-hmm," or chuckling now and then.

I remember looking at the young girl who had lost control of the dog. Her hands are still at her mouth when she begins wailing about the dog. She has to know it's dead, the way it lays there, inert. I'm certain she doesn't really know what happened, so her wailing is probably to mitigate her parents' reaction once they learn about the dead dog. However, once Jill and Amy show up at our blanket in the grass, the girl suddenly recognizes them, points and probably says, "She did it," or something like that.

The two police turn to look, and the burly one opens his mouth slightly, purses his lips and nods once. His right hand opens, palm up, and drops to his side. The gesture looks like a controlled shrug, as if to say, "Well, that explains it." As he and Jill approach one another, KMark wrestles Amy and me to the ground, so that's all I remember.

Steph :

Jill struck like a summer storm in that family's life as well.

Doug :

So what if someone has to dispose of the dog carcass? I would say the opposite: Jill prevented a calamity.

Imagine what would have happened to Amy or some other little kid on that bicycle with training wheels if Jill had not been there. That dog might have killed or at least disabled her, not to mention the sense of loss, the anger, the media reports, the public outrage and the lawsuits that would certainly follow.

Steph :

That's a good point, Doug. I retract what I said.

Suze :

I didn't realize it until Stephanie made her comment, and I know Bill was trying to illustrate Jill's quickness, but these two incidents are completely opposite one another. In the Z Bar, Jill responds to the bartender's insult by visiting a calamity upon him; in the dog attack, she prevents a calamity.

At the Z Bar, Jill's response was way beyond the scale of the offense committed against her. I'm not defending the bartender's actions, which were disgusting and worthy of retribution, but not to the scale of retribution that Jill visited upon him. At the park, compare Jill's response, which was appropriate to a dog attacking an innocent little girl.

Benny :

As usual, from my perspective at least, you are wrong, Snuze. Jill did not hurt the bartender because he insulted her in front of her friends. She hurt him defending herself.

Look at the process of escalation in the Z-Bar. The bartender initiated the process by insulting Jill with willfully deplorable service and product he had tainted with the intention of (a) humiliating her, (b) watching the humiliation, and (c) telling his regular patrons about it, probably several times. In response, Jill fetched a clean beer, which could have been the end of the matter. At worst, he would have lost the value of a few beers and a few customers, deservedly so.

Instead, he escalated the situation by approaching Jill rapidly and reaching for her, apparently to throw her out of the establishment, possibly causing her injury and embarrassment in the process. Jill's response, which caused him injury and embarrassment, was entirely appropriate to his escalation of the situation. In fact, Jill's reactions were not only appropriate, but also served to calm the situation by abating the bartender's attempted escalation. Putting him on the floor ended the rapidly escalating situation.

Doug :

Retract what you said, Suze, just as Stephanie did. Benny has you dead to rights. Obviously, you didn't notice that the bartender grasped at Jill, probably because Mic hid that fact in a compound verb at the end of the sentence. If you're embarrassed, as you should be after making that baseless accusation against Jill's response, you could blame the author, as Stephanie does now and then. Perhaps you didn't notice that we as a group are trying to avoid embarrassing ourselves by thinking twice before making such baseless claims as you made.

Suze :

I retract what I said, and I'll be more careful next time.

Alan :

Lucia must be visiting you again, Doug. Your statement actually makes sense and sounds intelligent.

Oh, and something tells me Doug was looking for more of a reaction than that, Suze.

Suze :

Well, he didn't get it, did he?

Alan :

Hey Stephanie, is this meeting coming up in the story tomorrow morning the one where you and Jill get nekkid?

Steph :

It is, Alan. Are you looking forward to it?

Alan :

Mm-hmm, girl-on-girl action always gives me wood.

Steph :

I thought you were gay, Alan.

Alan :

Oh yeah, I forgot. Thanks for reminding me, Stephanie.

Lucia :

Alan

Alan :

What?

Lucia :

Just because you came up with substantial analysis a few months ago doesn't mean you can tease and criticize. Besides, I thought you gay people were supposed to be sensitive to the feelings of others. Contribute something to the group by walking us through the telephone conversation between Peter and Jill.

Alan :

Okay, boss lady, I'll do what I can but don't help because Benny, Raj and I will call you on it if you do. Doug, show us you've re-read the story and understand it now. Is Peter telling Jill the truth when he explains why he changes his mind about Jill confronting Dick right away?

Doug :

He is telling the truth but not the entire truth, Alan. Jill reveals her thoughts a little later and provides the entire truth when she thinks, `I'm helping too much: promoting the fiftieth anniversary, getting invited to exclusive casino ops parties and providing photo services for security operations training. Peter does not like how helpful I have become.'

Alan :

Raj, Benny, did Lucia assist Doug with his response?

Raj :

No, Lucia would not have made the mistake of claiming that Jill provides the entire truth, even in her thoughts that Mic wrote for us in this story part. Lucia knows very well that Mic never provides the entire truth about anything. Lucia also knows that Jill not only rarely provides the entire truth but also manipulates the truth toward her own ends.

Benny :

This is Doug's response because it is simplistic. Lucia would have taken into account Mic's and Jill's perpetual perfidy.

Alan :

I concur. Additionally, the writing is too colloquial for Lucia's tastes. Doug, Peter waits until almost a month into Jill's employment to say, "If you're not fired once a month, you're not doing your job." Why?

Doug :

Why are you picking on me, Alan?

Alan :

You're able to defend yourself. Besides, your new girlfriend won't let me tease people who can't even tell I'm teasing let alone defend themselves, Doug.

Steph :

Oh for heaven's sake, Alan, I could tell you were teasing me and I can certainly defend myself against a pathetic old queer like you if I care to gather and expend the energy to do so. You're just being bitchy with Lucia, who is doing her job.

Alan :

Point taken and please accept my apologies, Stephanie, you silly little piece of fluff you. That doesn't let Doug's bossy-pants girlfriend off the hook though, does it?

Steph :

No, it doesn't.

Raj :

My, we haven't had this much fun since Benny thought Alice was running Doug out of the group.

Doug :

Well, since this is between you and Lucia, Doug, I won't respond to your question.

Alan :

Now Doug, you should know by now that Lucia ignores personal attacks even though she's not immune to them. What Lucia does is pretend that my teasing Stephanie is a control issue when in fact it's personal. Isn't it, boss lady?

Lucia :

You're right about my not being the boss. You're also right that this is not a control issue, Alan, but it's not personal either. This is about your teasing Stephanie, who has demonstrated that she can certainly take care of herself. You apologized to her, which ends that issue. Now, quit hiding behind others and please answer your own question.

Alan :

Yes ma'am, Peter is in fact not waiting at all. He's removing all restrictions from Jill so she can manage her own schedule and manipulate people and events as she wishes. After reviewing the photos and determining the layout of the supplemental issue, Peter realizes Jill can manage things in Reno on her own, which frees him to manage things in Las Vegas. In other words, he trusts her with implementing his will and with handling the details.

Lucia :

Is there anything else you wish to add, Alan?

Alan :

Yes, it's a pleasure working with you, Lucia, and may I add that you make a wonderful moderator.

Benny :

So, what was your purpose of this little tempest?

Lucia :

Alan was just auditing my efforts, Benny. If I were unable to continue my duties as such, he becomes moderator of the group. He's just letting me know that he's watching. It's a good thing.