Embarcadero Center Parking Garage | Apr 30 | 11:15pm
No more James Bond. Give me something useful.
That’s not really Roger. It’s a message from the spy, but those are all I get now from that number.
I’m leaving my phone on the dashboard just in case she changes her mind before I go home, but Tinkerbell isn’t answering my calls.
I kind of understand why she’s doing that since I found out she’s a corporate spy. This isn’t about embarrassment. She’s just waiting for me to prove I know something she can sell. That’s why she hung up on me when I told her I didn’t have a computer. I have to make her think I’m a useful source of information again. Then she’ll have a reason to finish the sexy dance that was interrupted by vomit.
She would answer if Roger called her, but I can’t call and ask him to do that, because it’s his number I’m calling her at. Tink said she started calling me from that phone because Roger gave it to her when he started a new job. Hell, I wonder if Roger’s even with the company anymore, or if I got transferred because he quit.
No, that doesn’t make sense, because I saw Roger after that. His new job was dispatch, which later became my job, but Hans contacts me on my phone all the time. Roger couldn’t just give his phone away. There must be another way to get in touch with him.
What if Tink was lying? How can I trust anything now that I know she’s a spy?
Hold on, I first got Roger’s number from Harry when he was too busy to hang out. Back then it was Harry in the office with Hans. He probably had a way to get anyone’s number. Okay, so that led to a meeting where Roger acted surprised I thought the number was his just because he answered it, but why did Harry send me Roger’s number?
Shit. Fuck. Of course, the number Harry gave me was for me to call Tinkerbell. He sent it to me right after he made me a bet he could bang the blonde faster. I’m the one who put Roger’s name in my contact list. I’m so dumb. It was always her number.
Roger and Tink were together all the time back then, and that was the only time he ever picked up that line. Maybe he was just closer to it right then. Maybe Tink was in the can. I can even go back and look.
Yeah, Roger told me he picked up the phone to warn me. Then he said I should learn to pay more attention. Stupid.
I could ask Sarah what Roger’s been up to, but I’ve never seen “Roger” in the log. We all have code names. I can find him. I just need to know what to call him.
[Editor’s note: there’s a break in the writing here, but these should be together.]
Dispatch | May 3 | 8:41am
Wake up! Get back to work.
I came to when the computer’s alarm told me my nap was over, even though I don’t remember passing out that time. I wiped the drool out of the corner of my mouth and checked my scribbling on the desk to make sure my face didn’t smudge it. I had a list of six names. In all the time I sat there watching, those were the only people Hans dispatched.
I searched the first name, “Gaff,” and up came 10,000 pieces of information.
I sighed. “Yippie-ki-yay, motherfucker.” I picked up the pen and drank a bit more Grigio.
May 5 | 10:26pm
Turns out I can search for dispatches in the log, and they’ll all just be listed together. Whatever. When I scrolled up far enough, one of the drivers had a long gap where they weren’t being dispatched, while all the others still were.
I kinda understand that the block of letters and numbers at the start of each line are something to do with time, but Acid said they have ten as their sixteen or something. Well, the gap in deliveries lasted a big amount of numbers and letters, but smoking gun: the dispatch records started again right after the number/letter combo when I got transferred.
The computer called him “Drake.” That had to be Roger’s code name. Mystery solved.
It was almost time for Hans to send me home. All I had to do was wait for the end of the night and catch Roger at his last delivery. I punched myself in the side of the head to restart my brain from under the Pinot Noir.
Tyrell Headquarters | 55 min later
A lot has changed in the six months since I first met Roger. His Mercedes was parked out front of his last delivery, and when he came out, I saw he still has a thing for nice suits. The difference is, I have the job that tells him where to go.
He saw me and waved, but his smile came with a bit of confusion. “Hi, Winston. Fancy meeting you here.”
I didn’t smile back. “You seen Tink lately?”
“No.” His smile disappeared. “I think she’s busy with another source.”
“So you know what she is?” I wanted to be clear.
“You mean, do I know she was working me for information the whole time? I’m not an idiot.”
“Why were you hanging out with her?”
“I had something she wanted. When she realized I had no intention of giving it to her, she lost interest in me.”
“Yeah, same here, but you’re gay. What could she have to offer you?”
For the first time, he looked disgusted with me. That was more like it. “Decent company.”
Then came the hard part, asking him for a favor.
O’Shaughnessy | 67 min later
I luxuriated in the fine upholstery of Roger’s back seat while he drove across town with intense efficiency, and I could kinda see why the system wanted to use him as a driver again.
“She had emails with Facebook guys on the drive I took.” I said it like I found out who she was working for on my own.
At the next stoplight, he leaned his head between the headrests to look back at me. “Yeah, she sells to Facebook a lot, but she really is freelance, like she says.” I guess I’m the only one who didn’t know those kinds of things about her.
When he pulled over, the back passenger door opened, and Tinkerbell climbed in cleavage first. She looked amazing in another thin, low-cut thing, but her smile was more fake than anything I ever got from Roger, and I didn’t confuse her with images of my imagination. “Oh, you’re here.” She gave me a nervous laugh. “Listen, last time I saw you, I got a little distracted, but I hope we can still go forward with that thing we discussed.”
I made the mistake of looking her in the eyes, and I wanted her again. “You could talk me into it.”
The painted lips of her smile pulled tighter. “I don’t usually do things like that.”
“Of course.” I knew that line. Every girl at every venue told me the same thing.
The spotlight of her exaggerated enthusiasm turned to the driver. “Roger! How have you been?” She leaned forward, pressing her tits against the back of the front seat, and the two of them shared a hug.
Roger smiled, which I almost believed was real. “I could be better. I’m driving his sorry ass around.” He pointed a thumb at me, and I smiled at the insult. Finally, some honesty.
Her voice raised in pitch and speed. “I’ve been meaning to call you for so long so we could catch up, but, oh, you know…” She paused for a tiny second, and I could tell she was thinking up a lie.
I jumped in. “Tinkerbell, he knows you were just using him.”
Tink turned to me and the fake charm dropped. I saw real anger, and I felt for the first time like I was looking at the real her, not some act she was putting on to get what she wanted, and I could almost picture the human face under all that makeup.
I knew what she really wanted. Maybe if I played the spy game again, I could win the bet and become a hero of the resistance. “Oh, by the way, there was a tiny hard drive in my office. Did you lose it?” The drive was in my pants pocket, and I pictured her going in after it.
She kept glaring at me. “You put anything on there?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.” I really wanted to get her to reach in my pocket.
She rolled her eyes. “Keep it. Put it in your scrapbook.”
Maybe I suck at the spy game, but while I had no-nonsense Tink with me in the back seat, there was a serious question to ask. “Just be honest, if I gave you what you want, would you sleep with me?”
Roger laughed and turned to face the windshield. “You are such a guy.”
Tink looked at each of us, and I thought I saw fear in her eyes. Her breasts swelled with one big deep breath, then fell in a quick exhale. She nodded. “Yeah, I should go.” She gave me another phony smile. “Call me if you want to do business, Winston.”
“Yeah, I have your number.” I nodded and watched her go, but my respect for her wasn’t what it used to be. Not only was she not the perfect girl of my dreams, I couldn’t obsess over a spy who didn’t care enough to find out my real name. “Hey Roger, take me back to my car?”
He shrugged. “Sure, Winston.”
I climbed over the leather into the front seat. “No, actually, my name is Oscar.”