Page 18 of Good Enough

He chose not to think about why he was so concerned.

She had left just after one o’clock this morning. He’d followed her to her house—a pink, turn-of-the-century, three-story house complete with a closed-in wraparound porch that formed octagonal gazebo shapes at the corners. Victorian streetlamps led up the walkway to her door as it was set back slightly from the street and bordered on a wooded area with a path.

There were neighbors, but there were easily several acres of wooded land in between the houses, which were on large plots, so there was minimal street traffic. He would have to find somewhere to park his truck, so it went unnoticed, and then it would be a long night in the woods, watching.

Damn. Can’t catch a break, apparently.

Using the car's customized navigation system, he found a pond about a half mile from the back of the house. Again, not optimal, but there was a dirt track leading into the woods back there, so he pulled the truck inside the trees. He changed into a pair of black cargo pants, made sure his jacket was zipped tight, then hopped out of the truck and jogged onto her property, doing a circuit of her yard. He sent a quick text back to the office, then watched from the tree line on the side of the building through her office window as he waited for a reply. A few minutes later, his watch beeped. Checking the time, he noticed it had been about ninety minutes from when she left the lot, and now she was finally turning out the light and going to bed. His watch beeped again. Completing the sweep of the property, he made his way back to his truck.

He locked the doors and engaged the window tinting, then turned on the truck’s navigation screen. After pressing an unlabeled button by the radio volume control, the navigation screen changed to a black background. A glowing red frame appeared around the terminal, and he spoke three separate codes—his identification number, a sixteen-digit alphanumeric string, and then the day’s passphrase. A young man’s face—scalp-cropped dark hair, soulful brown eyes—gazed back at him. His mouth was smiling and chewing at the same time, a hum of enjoyment at the chocolate, peanuts, and nougat. He waved the candy bar, label clearly framed, at his teammate and winked.

And the bastard is eating a Snickers. Goddammit, I’m gonna have to throat-punch my boss for starting this nonsense. Betty White, my ass.

“You’re a lot more clothed than I expected, Boss,” he mumbled around the candy in his mouth. The Afrikaans-tinged accent didn’t help with articulation, either.

Waters glared at Midas. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. What do you have?”

Midas grinned his Cheshire smile and chuckled. “You mean other than a major sugar rush and probably twelve instant cavities from this piece of shit candy bar? They’re so awful, they’re fantastic. How did I not know about these?”

“You’re not going to have to worry about cavities because the next time I see you in person, you won’t have any teeth. You’ll be sucking your food through a straw.”

Midas tsked him from his side of the call. “I will not be sucking anything. I think that’s something she should be doing.”

For the love of…

“Quit pissing me off. Are you going to fill me in on what you’ve got, or am I going to kick your ass all the way back to Johannesburg before I get the update?”

“You are very confused this evening, brother. I’m not filling anything. That is your job,” he corrected with a point of the candy bar toward the screen. The dark-haired man turned his head to his left and perused another screen. “However, I gotta admit. She’s pretty hot. I could probably be persuaded to ‘fill in’ if you feel you’re not ‘up’ to the task.”

Oh, hell no!

“Go anywhere near her, and I will break those golden fingers of yours, Midas. You’re not irreplaceable, you know. Computer experts are a dime a dozen.”

Still grinning wide, Midas shook his head. “You’re way too easy, mate. Collect yourself.” The grin disappeared. “Seriously, though, she’s totally into you. You should go after her.”

Waters took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was in such trouble. His Tribe were worse than the stereotypical coffee klatch. Midas had been watching the meeting with Kubrick, which meant by now, the entire team had, too.

“I can see your gears grinding. Relax, Boss.”

“Spare me, Midas. You telling me you didn’t make a copy of the initial meeting with Kubrick and send it to everyone?”

“What do you take me for?” he asked innocently.

Waters sighed with relief.

“Of course I did!” Midas joked. “Don’t be an idiot. That’s the best entertainment we’ve had since Nemo got caught with that waitress and her ass on the salad bar.”

Water exhaled and resisted the urge to growl, which would just make the whole situation worse.

Midas continued, “I meant relax because I also made everyone a hard copy for posterity. Don’t ya wanna be able to show your grandchildren where it all started?”

Midas needs to die. That’s all there is to it. Then I’m going to have to hide a body.

“As stimulating as this conversation is, do you have anything useful to tell me?”

Midas went all business. “Check your email.”

Waters grunted as he scanned through the documents. Midas had enclosed property maps of Kubrick’s house, the studio, and the shoot locations, including the house the actors would be living in beginning February sixteenth.

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