The Kaleidoscope (24 page)

That was the first time anyone else had suggested that his dad wasn’t actually driving the car with any possibility it was true. Harold used to wish it were the reality but never really allowed himself to consider it.

“Let’s go back over all the information we have about what Walter was working on prior to the crash. Keep in mind we’re thinking that possibly something he may have discovered would be enough to cause someone to kill.” Stan waved an arm across the table. “Everyone swap. Read a file you haven’t seen before, maybe you can catch something I missed, and vice versa.”

Pepper rested her head in her hands. Harold’s own body screamed for sleep. She sighed, and wiggled her fingers at Morrie. “Hand me one of yours?”

Morrie handed her another file, and Harold sighed at the stack in front of him.

The patent applications, his dad’s college transcripts, still stood high on the table, but if she wasn’t giving up, neither was he. The complicated descriptions and terms swam like koi in a pond before his tired eyes, making no sense. Then a line caught his attention, and he reread it over and over again to make sure he was reading it correctly.

“Intended usage and description—looking device for revealing user memories, prophetic predictions possible…” Stunned, Harold sat back.

“What is it?” Pepper leaned over to read where his finger pointed. “Oh, Harry. It’s describing the Kaleidoscope!”

Chapter Eighteen

“Come in on Friday at nine,” the recorded voice instructed. “You’ve been scheduled to meet with the board for the final stage of the interview process.”

Harold listened to the message twice, making sure it wasn’t just someone teasing him. To be quite sure, he called HR and confirmed before adding the appointment to his calendar. Without a cell phone to enter a reminder into, he wrote on his kitchen wall calendar and then made a sticky note, which he placed on the doorframe. Why he thought he might forget something of this magnitude was beyond his imagination, but after staying up late working on his dad’s files, reading every white paper he’d ever published, and talking with Stan about his investigation, his brain was fried.

His apartment phone rang. “This is Harold Donaldson.”

“Stan, here. Do you have a minute?” He rushed ahead, speech clipped and rapid. “I called the department that has jurisdiction over that cabin. Turns out Homeland Security is already interested in that location for alleged drugs and human trafficking. They’ve been building information about that compound for weeks. The shooting you were involved in with Gus has sped up their desire to move forward.

“Warrants are flying out of chambers left and right. We’re rallying at dawn. You want to ride up there with me tonight? When they get this Gus fellow in custody we can ask him some questions.”

“I can’t leave; I have an important meeting in the morning.” He could be in the interview room just as the compound was being raided. Yet it was tempting to go along.

“Understood. Keep a phone close by so I can keep you apprised. Did you get your replacement cell yet? Hang on…” Stan paused, the excitement in his voice burbling through like snowmelt down the mountainside. “There’s an all agency briefing at oh-seven-thirty, rallying outside the Mountain Deli at oh-eight-hundred. The raid’s slated for oh-nine-hundred.” Stan’s words came in under his breath.

“Sir?” Harold didn’t want to embarrass Stan, but that sounded like information he probably shouldn’t have told him. “You take care. I will be interested to know how it goes.”

When Stan hung up, Harold deleted the interview message. He hadn’t talked to Georgia in days. He should call and tell her he was short-listed for the promotion. That he might have found his dad. He would enjoy hearing her back-pedal when she heard about the interview. She’d be apologetic, and then beg to come over, anxious to see him and talk about getting back together. But he didn’t lift the handset.

Harold moved numbly through his evening routine. He set his alarm for 7:30, and laid a fresh shirt and clean slacks across the back of the chair, checking the razor-sharp crease three times.

He’d already showered so all he had to do in the morning was shave and brush his teeth. It took longer to shampoo his hair with the painful lumps on his head, and his arms wanted to remain at half-mast to protect the sore ribs.

Harold considered which tie to wear, chose one, then changed his mind, then changed it back and selected the one Georgia had given him for his birthday. Just before she left him. Was she already thinking about leaving him when she picked out this one? Did she pick a tie that could make him seem in control, or one that shouted loser? He should ask Pepper. He called her, but got her voicemail.

The street below seemed brighter than usual, so he padded over to draw the curtains together. The full moon had risen, and the light it cast was almost bright enough to read by. He calculated that if he were to go on the raid, he would have to leave within a half hour. He knew he wasn’t going. He had no car.

Something on the street caught his eye. Pepper was walking Glenda. She probably had just gotten home from her going-away party. She’d invited Harold to go. Some of the folks from work had taken her out for drinks, but he’d claimed he wanted to go over some new PowerPoints before the interview. But the reality was, he didn’t want her to leave.

She glanced up and saw him watching her. “Come out!” she beckoned.

He stepped out onto the Juliette balcony, pulling his robe tight. “Did you have a good time?”

“You should have come. It was a lot of people from the building, some from your office. Come down and keep me company.”

She was wearing the broomstick skirt from the first time Harold saw her in the courtyard. She filled it out more now, and her hair was growing in. She hardly wore the scarves anymore. He kind of missed their bright colors that set off her flawless skin.

“Wait there.”

He pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, then flip-flopped down the hallway to join her, his hands thrust into his pockets against the evening’s chill. She chattered on about the party, the bar trivia game they’d played, and told him she’d called him. “I knew you’d know the answer, but your phone was busy…what’s wrong, Harry?”

“They’re arresting Gus tomorrow.” He stopped, facing her. “They’re raiding the compound first thing in the morning.”

“Ohmigod! Who told you…Stan?” She stepped forward, grabbing his shirt. “Are you going?”

“He told me I could go up there and maybe see Gus after they arrest him.”

“You should go. Let’s go. I’ll get Morrie to watch Glenda, and we’ll take my car—”

“No. I have to be at the office. I got another interview. It’s the final step. Besides, I don’t think we’re even supposed to know about the raid. I think it was an accident he told me.”

“Screw the interview, Harry. Isn’t finding out what’s up with this guy Gus, if he is your dad, more important?”

“I can’t drop everything I’ve worked for to go somewhere I’m not supposed to be.”

“There’ll be other jobs. Call and tell them you have a stomach flu coming on and reschedule it. What time is it? We can make it if we start driving now.” Pepper shoved him a little too forcefully. “Get your coat and whatever you wear to a raid and meet me in the car in fifteen minutes. I’ll call Morrie.”

“No!” It was the first time he’d lost his temper with Pepper, but he had already sacrificed too much, and he wasn’t about to chase all over creation, putting himself and Pepper in harm’s way. “I’m not irresponsible, and I won’t drop everything on a whim like some people I know!”

He heard a slight whimper, and knew it wasn’t Glenda. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn around and apologize to Pepper. Instead, he cast a quick, “See you tomorrow” over his shoulder and went back inside.

He didn’t sleep much for everything on his mind, the interview, the raid, and on top of the jumbled mess of sheets tossed and tangled, the knowledge Pepper would soon leave him.

****

Harold dawdled in front of the mirror, meticulously plucking stray nose hairs, taming the uni-brow, and then he shaved twice. Replaying the pitch he’d prepared of his strengths, he even practiced his smile. Too much teeth. Eyes too squinty. Georgia told him he resembled a squirrel with a nut in his cheeks when he smiled too wide. One more try, and he settled on “the polite stranger” half-smile he used when he didn’t want to encourage too much intimacy, but not appear rude.

He arrived early and rehearsed his opening greeting until his mouth was dry. His replacement phone had arrived, and he fiddled with it while Gordon’s interview went long. Finally, the door opened, and Gordon came out.

“How’d it go?”

“They love me, of course.” Gordon smirked. “I’m a hard act to follow, Harold, but I’m sure you’ll do your best anyway.”

He sauntered off, and the door opened again. Clyde stood back and beckoned him inside. The interview committee had expanded by three people, the CEO and two others Harold didn’t recognize. He nodded hello to each one while Clyde made the introductions. Harold checked the clock on the conference room wall. It was 8:45. If Stan’s information was correct, the raid would happen soon. Clyde motioned to him. “You may begin, Harold. Tell us about yourself for the benefit of the folks who’ve not met you before.” All eyes turned to Harold.

He launched into the memorized résumé to prove his worthiness. The second hand popped forward, and with it, Harold’s diction began matching its methodical movement. Pop. Pop.

Clyde squirmed in his seat. “Before you go any further, Harold, let’s discuss the memo you sent out”—his boss held up a sheet of paper—“dated April 2
nd
of this year detailing some of your concerns about the informality of certain routines, specifically the mail delivery, which we agree has become antiquated. We have decided to take your advice and go to a centralized system utilizing a state of the art…Harold, are you all right?”

Had he just lost Rhashan his job? The second hand leapt forward. He gripped the podium with his good arm to keep his balance. “I’m a little dry,” he croaked.

The woman introduced as Meg Whately, a board member, poured a cup of water from a chrome pitcher. Harold released his death grasp on the podium, and hand trembling, reached for the cup.

Should he argue for Rhashan to keep his job, or proceed? He threw back the water, breathing in at the same time, and began choking. “I’m s-sorry.” He held up a hand to stop Clyde from rushing over to him. “I’m all right. But…” The second hand sprang again. Had time sped up? “I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now, I’m terribly sorry.”

Harold snagged his leather messenger bag and rushed out, leaving his notes and a startled committee of the very people he’d most wanted to impress. He punched the elevator button over and over like a madman.

“Harold, where are you going? Are you ill?” Clyde followed him into the hallway just as the elevator opened.

“I have to go. I’ll explain later.” His hand on the door to prevent it from closing, Harold added, “If you have to give Gordon the job because of this, I’ll understand.”

He stepped inside before Clyde could answer. The doors whooshed shut, and Harold wondered if they were closing on his career. Something was driving, no pulling, him to leave the room, but it was more than his guilt over Rhashan.

He had to be nearby when they arrested his dad for his mother’s murder. In his heart, he knew Gus was his father. And he owed it to his mother to make sure justice was done. No job interview was worth more than following through on making sure his mom’s killer was caught.

He rode the elevator to Pepper’s floor and ignored the receptionist’s angry attempts to prevent him from running down the hallway. “You still want to drive me to the…” He realized the gravity of announcing where they were going in front of an office full of attorneys. “Mall?”

As if nothing was out of the ordinary, Pepper blinked up at him and casually took out her purse from a drawer. “I would be happy to, I was just about to take a coffee break anyway.”

When they passed through the lobby in a jog, the receptionist wagged a finger at them until she saw Pepper. “You okay?”

“I’m going to grab coffee,” Pepper told her with a little wave.

“Fine, but keep him out of here!”

In the hall, Harold had to clear his conscience before they went any further. He turned her to face him a little too roughly. “I’m sorry for what I said last night.”

“You were just standing up for your beliefs.” The pout on her lips betrayed her true feelings about his behavior. “We’re not going to the mall, are we?”

“I was a jerk, and you were right. I should be there.”

Her eyes grew round. “You mean to the”—she checked around, then whispered—“raid? What made you change your mind?” Pepper gasped while he punched the call button over and over. “That won’t help.”

A tone indicated the car had arrived. “I can’t explain exactly why I have to go…”

“You know we’ll probably miss the whole she-bang by now.” The door slid open, and they stepped inside. She was right; it was probably too late. The door closed in slow motion.

“I know, but so far my entire life has been avoiding what I should be accepting. It’s time for a change that’ll make a different future, whatever it brings.” He peered down at her. “You in?”

“Oh, I’m in.”

They stopped for to-go cups of coffee from Morrie’s kiosk, and Pepper gave him the keys to her apartment, with some quick instructions on how to feed Glenda her dinner.

Harold dialed Stan’s phone as soon as they were out of the parking structure and he could get service, but it went directly to voice mail. With the radio set on a rock and roll station, Pepper’s little car popped in and out of the LA traffic like a pinball through a maze as she zipped back and forth, narrowly missing a lane-splitting motorcyclist. When the road opened up, they raced north. The car’s engine whined, every rattle and creak punctuating their haste.

Harold’s phone buzzed as they hit the section known as the Grapevine. “We’re on standby,” Stan told Harold. “One of the judges was on the golf course, and we haven’t yet got the signed warrant. I can’t promise when it will happen.”