A/N: The title was inspired by Karen, who provided some lovely suggestions as well as the spacing of the dots. Jeanne, the butter knife is for you. And if it will make you happy, the bum on the street is Fred.
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-1-
From the anxious look on his face, I knew Bling could tell everything from the panicked one on my own. It had been only a few weeks since I'd denounced my family's longtime involvement in the business of selling corrupted hoverdrones, but already I was running out of cash. Exoskeletons are not cheap to maintain, and neither are search and rescue missions to recover lost . . . well, I guess she's my girlfriend now. I thought that a call to my accountant cousin in Chicago might uncover some forgotten money in one of the family's accounts.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Well?" Bling asked expectantly as soon as I'd hung up the phone.
"Well, what?" I replied, annoyed at the whole situation.
"Come on!" he said. "What did your cousin have to say?"
"I couldn't keep up with all the financial mumbo-jumbo he was throwing around, but I could tell it's not good. I am not in good shape at all. No, not at all. In fact, I think I've got to start selling some of this crap . . ."
"Hey, hey, come on, man! Tell me what he said and maybe I can he -"
"That statue! That's got to be at least thirty-thousand, and it's ugly as sin. I won't miss it a bit. I can write up a classified ad and have it in the paper by tomorrow's edition . . ."
"Slow down!"
". . . apparently my uncle was dumb enough to bank everything on the hoverdrone business . . . hey, how much do you think that painting would go for? I bought it for, like, four-fifty, but that must have been ten years ago . . ."
"You are an ass, you know that?" I was starting to sound frantic and Bling knew it.
". . . No, I think it was more like five years. I think I bought it five years ago. What would that be worth now? That's four hundred and fifty-thousand, divided by five years . . . do you think I divide by five? Or do you multiply? Wait. Maybe it's multiply by five years and then add . . . something . . ." I needed a pencil. I needed help. Bling wasn't helping.
"I don't think you're accomplishing anything by doing that."
". . . Do you have a pencil? Or a calculator? Yo, I can just use the calculator on my computer. Shoot. I'm gonna have to get rid of the computer. Do you think I can run Eyes Only from a laptop? Or wait! Better yet! I can use that computer they have at the public library! No. People would see me. I better stick to the laptop. Okay, okay, okay, um, all right . . . the painting, the statue, the computer. They're all going. That's a little money, at least. How stupid. Even . . . even JamPony stock would be better than what I've got."
"And what exactly is it that you've got? What have you been talking about?"
"In short, I've got nothing. I am a broken and beaten man. From here on out, my friend, I am no better off than that man outside, asleep on that pile of trash in the gutter. Really, I'm no better off than the trash that he's sleeping on." I let out a long, sorrowful sigh.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bling peer out the window at the bum in question. He made a face and looked back at me.
"I think you're a little better off then him," he said. "So all of your assets are defunct. So what? You'll sell some stuff, maybe move out of this penthouse, find someplace smaller, cheaper. I'll help you out. Lots of people would help you out. If the country knew that Eyes Only is in trouble, the donations would be pouring in, seriously."
I wrinkled my nose. "I don't want to take donations from people. I can't do that."
"Yes, you can. Because it would be for Eyes Only, not Logan Cale. You can live the rest of our life on the money you'll make selling this stuff. Eyes Only won't be so easy to maintain. Believe me, there's nothing wrong with Captain EO asking for a little financial assistance. You deserve it, I mean, financially speaking, you've never asked for a thing to help out with your quest to save the world. Why not now, now that you really need it?" Bling sounded insistent, and he looked at me like I was crazy for not wanting to go along with his idea.
"Because I'm a spoiled rich kid. I need to do this on my own. I can't ask for help. I won't."
"Bullshit! The last people that need a martyr are the rich. I won't let you kill yourself trying to keep up Eyes Only on your now nonexistent budget. I know you, and even though you don't come right out and ask for help, you imply it. Where'd you get that exo-whatevermajingy you've been trotting around in? I've never heard you ask for that, but there it is. Someone obviously figured that you wanted it."
"Remember Phil?"
"Phil who?"
"You know, Phil with the weird camera hat?"
Bling frowned as he tried to remember. "I don't think I was in that episode," he said.
"Oh," I said, recalling back to that week's zany adventure, "I think you were in it at the very end, remember? When I got that box delivered to me, and you brought it into my office. That was the exoskeleton, sent to me from Phil."
"Oh, ok, I remember now. But anyway, do you see where I'm coming from? I mean, unless you're planning on getting a part-time job, you're gonna have to give up a little of that classic Logan Cale pride. Anyway, I've got to go. I really hope you think about what I said. You're going to have to make some kind of decision, and soon."
After Bling left, I did think about what he said. And I decided that I needed a job.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I woke up the early the next morning, a Tuesday, and got ready to go into town on my first day of job hunting. I hopped in the shower right away to wake me up, and since my razor is still missing, I skipped shaving. Instead, I cleaned up the really scraggly looking patches with a dull butter knife which I keep in the bathroom for just that purpose. I threw on some decent clothes -- nothing too nice, as I didn't want to give them the impression that I didn't need the money -- and got started on breakfast.
I poked though the refrigerator, looking for something to eat, and after a few minutes I decided to make the only thing I know how -- pasta tricolore with uncooked dirty chicken on top. I forced myself to eat until I felt the bile start to rise in my throat, at which point I decided it was time to finish getting ready.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
-1-
From the anxious look on his face, I knew Bling could tell everything from the panicked one on my own. It had been only a few weeks since I'd denounced my family's longtime involvement in the business of selling corrupted hoverdrones, but already I was running out of cash. Exoskeletons are not cheap to maintain, and neither are search and rescue missions to recover lost . . . well, I guess she's my girlfriend now. I thought that a call to my accountant cousin in Chicago might uncover some forgotten money in one of the family's accounts.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"Well?" Bling asked expectantly as soon as I'd hung up the phone.
"Well, what?" I replied, annoyed at the whole situation.
"Come on!" he said. "What did your cousin have to say?"
"I couldn't keep up with all the financial mumbo-jumbo he was throwing around, but I could tell it's not good. I am not in good shape at all. No, not at all. In fact, I think I've got to start selling some of this crap . . ."
"Hey, hey, come on, man! Tell me what he said and maybe I can he -"
"That statue! That's got to be at least thirty-thousand, and it's ugly as sin. I won't miss it a bit. I can write up a classified ad and have it in the paper by tomorrow's edition . . ."
"Slow down!"
". . . apparently my uncle was dumb enough to bank everything on the hoverdrone business . . . hey, how much do you think that painting would go for? I bought it for, like, four-fifty, but that must have been ten years ago . . ."
"You are an ass, you know that?" I was starting to sound frantic and Bling knew it.
". . . No, I think it was more like five years. I think I bought it five years ago. What would that be worth now? That's four hundred and fifty-thousand, divided by five years . . . do you think I divide by five? Or do you multiply? Wait. Maybe it's multiply by five years and then add . . . something . . ." I needed a pencil. I needed help. Bling wasn't helping.
"I don't think you're accomplishing anything by doing that."
". . . Do you have a pencil? Or a calculator? Yo, I can just use the calculator on my computer. Shoot. I'm gonna have to get rid of the computer. Do you think I can run Eyes Only from a laptop? Or wait! Better yet! I can use that computer they have at the public library! No. People would see me. I better stick to the laptop. Okay, okay, okay, um, all right . . . the painting, the statue, the computer. They're all going. That's a little money, at least. How stupid. Even . . . even JamPony stock would be better than what I've got."
"And what exactly is it that you've got? What have you been talking about?"
"In short, I've got nothing. I am a broken and beaten man. From here on out, my friend, I am no better off than that man outside, asleep on that pile of trash in the gutter. Really, I'm no better off than the trash that he's sleeping on." I let out a long, sorrowful sigh.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Bling peer out the window at the bum in question. He made a face and looked back at me.
"I think you're a little better off then him," he said. "So all of your assets are defunct. So what? You'll sell some stuff, maybe move out of this penthouse, find someplace smaller, cheaper. I'll help you out. Lots of people would help you out. If the country knew that Eyes Only is in trouble, the donations would be pouring in, seriously."
I wrinkled my nose. "I don't want to take donations from people. I can't do that."
"Yes, you can. Because it would be for Eyes Only, not Logan Cale. You can live the rest of our life on the money you'll make selling this stuff. Eyes Only won't be so easy to maintain. Believe me, there's nothing wrong with Captain EO asking for a little financial assistance. You deserve it, I mean, financially speaking, you've never asked for a thing to help out with your quest to save the world. Why not now, now that you really need it?" Bling sounded insistent, and he looked at me like I was crazy for not wanting to go along with his idea.
"Because I'm a spoiled rich kid. I need to do this on my own. I can't ask for help. I won't."
"Bullshit! The last people that need a martyr are the rich. I won't let you kill yourself trying to keep up Eyes Only on your now nonexistent budget. I know you, and even though you don't come right out and ask for help, you imply it. Where'd you get that exo-whatevermajingy you've been trotting around in? I've never heard you ask for that, but there it is. Someone obviously figured that you wanted it."
"Remember Phil?"
"Phil who?"
"You know, Phil with the weird camera hat?"
Bling frowned as he tried to remember. "I don't think I was in that episode," he said.
"Oh," I said, recalling back to that week's zany adventure, "I think you were in it at the very end, remember? When I got that box delivered to me, and you brought it into my office. That was the exoskeleton, sent to me from Phil."
"Oh, ok, I remember now. But anyway, do you see where I'm coming from? I mean, unless you're planning on getting a part-time job, you're gonna have to give up a little of that classic Logan Cale pride. Anyway, I've got to go. I really hope you think about what I said. You're going to have to make some kind of decision, and soon."
After Bling left, I did think about what he said. And I decided that I needed a job.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I woke up the early the next morning, a Tuesday, and got ready to go into town on my first day of job hunting. I hopped in the shower right away to wake me up, and since my razor is still missing, I skipped shaving. Instead, I cleaned up the really scraggly looking patches with a dull butter knife which I keep in the bathroom for just that purpose. I threw on some decent clothes -- nothing too nice, as I didn't want to give them the impression that I didn't need the money -- and got started on breakfast.
I poked though the refrigerator, looking for something to eat, and after a few minutes I decided to make the only thing I know how -- pasta tricolore with uncooked dirty chicken on top. I forced myself to eat until I felt the bile start to rise in my throat, at which point I decided it was time to finish getting ready.