Research Required [Doc/OPEN]

[Stella Jane (DELETED 10037)]

As they shuffled back towards the computer and printer she tried her best to keep her cool. He hadn't agreed to her proposal, but he had seemed to be pleased by it. At least, that's what she gathered from the smile-like thing he'd shown her in response. His conversation with his business manager didn't give her any clues to where he might be headed either. Just because he was willing to show her the thing didn't mean he would be willing to pay her to research it for him.

Wrapping one of her arms around herself she used it as a shelf for the elbow of her other and began biting her nails. It was the worst nervous habit she possessed, but she was too, well, nervous to stop it. Bizarre as it was. It's not like this was the job opportunity of a lifetime. It's not like she was about to embark on some unknown adventure into unknown lands (all the lands have been found by now ) and have some life-altering Hobbit existential crisis. No, none of that was going to happen , yet her nails were going to be gone by the time his email arrived and she'd be contaminated with every germ under them.

In the middle of Common Cold a la Thumb he asked to use the computer. "Uh, sure." Typing in her own log-inn info she pulled up the internet browser, put in more of her log-inn info, and took a step back. "All yours." THe thing was old, slow, and made unholy sounds when it was on for too long. She'd tried to convince the owner of the place to upgrade, but the old woman had insiSted that so long as it worked, there was no need for something expensive. S.J. hadn't pressed her. Afterall she mostly wanted a better computer so she wouldn't have to go around the city using cyber cafes and the library to get her work done. Plus, the miser had a point: It's not like her shop was bringing in a lot of cash. Why spend money you don't have?

S.J. shook her head and came back to the present. No time like the middle of a ******* Hobbit existential crisis to drift off into a reverie about the age of her employer's miserly habits.

[Doc]

Doc was not one that could be considered a computer genius, but even he could clear spot that this particular computer was far past it’s prime. As he logged in, and waited, he watched the girl surreptitiously. She gnawed at her fingertips. He almost told her to stop it, but he refrained. He didn’t need to piss her off, he wanted her to do the leg work that he really did not have time for. She was an archeology student, and as a student who was working in book store that owned a dinosaur of a computer, told him she would appreciate being paid to investigate this.

Watching and waiting the screen of the computer, his emailing landing page finally loaded. Entering his details, he again paused to wait for the screen to load. Waiting again, he glanced at his cell phone and tapped out a brief text for Cyril and hit send. Finally the email and document in question loaded. He hit print. And thus, he waited again. One thing was clear, If she were going to research his tablet while she were here at work, she was going to need a faster connection.

After the job printed, Doc pulled the document off the printer, scanned it, and nodded. It was a basic, well developed non-disclosure agreement. He wasn’t an attorney, but to the layman’s eye, it did a good job of closing all the obvious loopholes. He pulled pen from his inside breast pocket. He entered his pertinent details, and listed the business name “Genesis Solutions” as the ‘owner and / or Disclosing Party’ of the document. He left the recipient or ‘receiving party’ blank, for the girl to fill in with her details.

Turning to the girl, he held out the document. “If you would..” He gave her another closed lipped crooked smirk, “show me your ID and sign this document. I would be more than happy to let you have a look at this.” The folded tablet rubbing was held between his forefinger and middle finger, which he held up just out of her reach. “Then you can see this.. And we can discuss payment.”

[Stella Jane (DELETED 10037)]

She'd gone back to her desk at the front of the shop to retrieve her ID and fill out the form there. She took the time to review it for herself, happy not to have his eyes on her as she scanned and rescanned any words that did not make themselves immediately clear to her in their meaning. Legal terms were such assholes. As she read she ate the remaining cookies and sipped on her now cool coffee. Mostly it was just to give her hands something to do. After satisfying herself that she wasn't being forced into some labor camp for the unwitting she signed her name, dated the thing, and located her ID.

A few minutes and three cookie stuffings later S.J. walked back into the computer room. She handed Nilson the signed and dated form as well as her attached ID. Thankfully she'd just renewed it last year after losing her wallet...again. Something told her that handing over a babyfaced version of herself to Mr. Serious would not have been in her favor. Not that she was thrilled with him knowing her full name and address either. Not even her classmates knew that much information about her. Hopefully the sacrifice to her privacy would provide lead to...What?

She realized she wasn't even sure herself what she hoped to gain from this venture. Sure the money would be a nice break, but was she really doing it for the money? Or was it just because this guy had some bit of the unknown. This world had been explored to its very last piece of land, there was no more Indiana Jones exploration to be had. The days of Jules Verne and his adventures had disappeared with the friggin moon landing (supposedly). All that was left to explore was the past. It held so many unknowns. So many secrets... She wanted to know those secrets--especially if they were top secret and for some reason in the hands of some mayoral candidate.

"Well, Mr. Nilson, I'd like to take a look at that sample now." She held her hand out.

[Doc]

While the girl had gone off to fetch her ID, Doc logged out of his email account, and then set about clearing the cache of the computer he had just used. While he was far from an expert, Ariadne had taught him a thing or two about safe guarding his accounts and identities. By the time he was done, he could hear the girl finally coming back. Hopefully, this dinosaur of a computer would run a bit faster. He absently wondered when the last time it had defragmented.

She entered the room without a word, thrusting the Non-disclosure Form and her ID at him. Silently he accepted the proffered documents and studied them thoroughly. He compared the ID of one Ms. Stella Jane Porter to the name on the form. The signatures matched. Nodding slowly he committed the details on her ID to memory. He smiled at her, as he handed them back. It was almost a smug knowing smile. “Here you are Ms. Porter.” He wondered if she was related in some fashion to Dr. Michael Porter. “And.. it isn’t Mister.. It is ‘Doctor’ Nilson.”

He laid the folder rubbing of the tablet in her outstretched hand, and then he folded the non-disclosure form and tucked inside his jacket pocket, just under the shoulder holster that was skillfully hidden by the cut of his jacket. He loved a well cut jacket, and the Italians did it the best. Clasping his fingers together, he rested them in his lap, as he still sat by the computer.

“You can keep the rubbing.. On the condition you do not photograph, copy, or scan it, as,” He canted his head at her, “..that would be breaking the non-disclosure agreement.” He paused, “This is one rubbing of one tablet. There are several tablets, that if you have success in deciphering this, will also need deciphering.”

Doc stood up, standing eye to eye with her. “I will take the nine books you picked out.” He wasn’t planning on taking her mere word for it. He would need to educate himself on the subject, and that would require reading. But having her do the leg work, gave him breathing room. Once she came up with something, he would be able to have a better idea whether she was on the right track.

[Stella Jane (DELETED 10037)]

Her fingers gently, nervously, unfolded the rubbing. She finally came face to face with the secret language he'd discovered. Something about it put a chill through her, and S.J. shivered as she studied the odd symbols set on the paper. Something in it looked familiar to her--probably the similarities Nilson had mentioned earlier making themselves visible to her--and it made her all the more uneasy. A voice deep inside told her to walk away from this. Give it back, forget it, ignore it, let him purchase the books and do his own work... But of course that wouldn't happen.

She wasn't doing this for him. She was doing this out of her own morbid sense of curiosity. Her own endless need for knowledge. To have that one bit of information that put her ahead of the thoughtless pack. Of the endless horde. Besides, intuition told her this was leading to something. Somewhere. Her blue eyes were intense as she looked up to her new What, business partner? Cohort? Conspirator? Whatever he was. She hadn't responded to anything he'd said. He'd been a buzz in the background as she'd conversed with herself. The resulting silence was the sort people liked to interrupt if they were the nervous type. And although she couldn't have said why, whatever this was, Charles Nilson was about to help send her down some twisted rabbit hole even Alice wouldn't go near. S.J. folded the paper, tucked it into the back pocket of her jeans, and took a deep breath.

Steady.

"Give me one month, Doc," She said it with a bit of sarcasm. Couldn't be helped. Her opinion of people tended to let its self be known when she was preoccupied with more exciting things than filtering herself. "One month and I'll have an update for you." Not giving him a chance to answer she moved off to the back room, gathered the books she'd pulled for him, brought them to the front register and rang his order. Well over $400.00. She'd get a good commission from this deal tonight. Speaking of hard earned cash... "Oh, and before I forget." She hardened herself against the anxiety growing in her gut. "I'd like a copy of that non-disclosure and I'd like for your lawyers to write up a contract for payment as well." She'd bagged the books and slid them over the desk toward him. Her earlier blunder of school papers were still scattered on the floor around them. "$500.00 a month if I find something relevant. Half that if I don't." She forced herself to keep eyec ontact. "I'll expect the money and the contract the next time we see each other." Her toes curled in her shoes as she waited for his response.

Negotiation was not her preferred hobby.

[Doc]

Doc wore a look of barely concealed amusement. Five hundred dollars.. If she is successful, half that if she wasn’t? The girl was selling herself short. He could tell she was ready for him to leave so she could start digging into the mystery. “I will get you a certified copy for your records.” He pulled out card to pay for his books. “And I will have a contract drawn up for your remuneration.” He waited until she had finished the transaction for the books, before adding. “Payment.. $1500 a month. A bonus if you succeed.”

Holding up a hand, to forestall her objections. “This is important to me. I will expect due diligence from you in your research, and I am willing to pay for it. Two hundred and fifty dollars isn’t enough to keep you supplied in research books, much less if you have to travel to Toronto to visit their Reference Library. If you have to travel, use Genesis Travel. They will get you the best deal, and make sure you are taken care of. If they don’t let me know.. It’s my company. I will make heads roll. Keep your travel receipts, this is business, and its a tax write off. I am sure you can use the tax benefits.”

Collecting his books, he gave her a polite nod. “I will see you soon.” And he would. When he had looked at her id, he put her address to his memory. He would be visiting her, and she would never even know it. “Have a good evening Jane.”

[Stella Jane (DELETED 10037)]

S.J. Stared at the black hole that was supposed to be the door. The echo of the bell had just faded but her ears were still ringing. He'd said fifteen hundred, right? You heard it. She heard it. Fifteen hundred dollars. Holy ****. She closed her mouth and shook her head, the breathe finally leaving her lungs. She continued to grip the desk for support. She'd just gone from broke-college-student-working-her-way-through-a full-time-schedule-fighting-the-temptation-of-adderol to... comfort. If she could pull this off she'd be set. College loans, buying herself a laptop, indulging in a pair of shoes that were more glue than duct tape. She was set.

Holy frog-on-a-stick.

She stared wide-eyed at the mess of her school work. The final she needed to study for. And just as she thought of reaching for her notes, cleaning up the mess, and getting back to work her hand instead went into her back pocket. She pulled the rubbing out and opened it once more. Her teeth gnawed at her bottom lip and she knew tonight's all nighter wouldn't involve anthropology.

Stepping around her desk she approached the front door of the shop. Nilsson would be the only curious shopper tonight-she knew it. Then again where was her integrity if she closed up early? But really what was she harming? Studying was completely out of the picture. S.J. Flipped the open sign, locked the door, and shut off the lights for the front room. She stood in the silence and the dark for a solid minute. This was crazy. Totally crazy. Crazy... and inevitable.

She moved into the back rooms determined to find a lead by tomorrow morning.

******

She hadn't found a lead that next morning, and in fact, two weekss latter, she hdan't found a lead at all. Well, unless you can call eliminating up to ten different languages a lead. Something told her she couldn't though. S.J. threw the reference book she was using to cross reference with another text on her bed and plopped down next to it. She was beyond frustrated, beyond stressed, and more than a little over caffeinated at this point.

Her studio was dim, towers of books built up around her multiple nesting areas like little towers of Babble, dirty dishes occupied most of the flat spots on her furniture, and her hedgehog Spike could be seen munching on the left over crumbs of her latest sandwich. She was living in a cave. The past two weeks had been fruitless and her obsession with finding something-anything-had had a sort of dilapidating affect on her daily habits. Who had time to clean when the knowledge of an unknown language was just around the corner? At least that's what she told Spike when he judged her from his post amongst the succulents under the windowsill. She had a feeling his acceptance of her lies was thanks to the extra cookie crumbs he got in return.

"I'm gonna **** this up, Spike." S.J. watched him continue to each the crumbs from her lunch. It was nearly 4 am and she hadn't eaten dinner yet. Not that she was hungry. More like she needed an excuse that let her walk away from the failing obsession. "Alright, fatty." She stood and scooped the ball of quills from her small coffee table holding him up to her face. His tiny paws rested on the lense of her glasses. "I need some tea. Would you like to take a nice soak?" His nose twitched and she chose to take it as a yes. Tucking Spike into her shirt pocket she headed into the kitchen and put on her kettle.

As she looked through her alarmingly large collection of teas and poured a bowl of hot water into a bowl to cool for Spike, S.J. felt her phone vibrate. Pulling it out she stiffened. It was a deposit text alert from her bank.

$1500.00 has been deposited into your account from Genesis Solutions.

S.J. stood stalk still. The phone shook in her hand. The kettle began to whistle. Her heart raced. She hadn't given him her account number. She hadn't even given him her bank. How the **** had he gotten a hold of her account?!

She moved the kettle and searched through her contacts. How? She clicked on his name and hit dial. How? The phone rang and she paced her kitchen floor. Spike gripped the edge of her pocket, looking irritated. HOW? The third ring was cut off and she heard his voice.

"How the **** did you get a hold of my bank information?!" No inside voices tonight.

[Doc]

Doc hadn’t been back in Harper Rock from his trip to Las Vegas for eight hours before Cyril was pounding on his door demanding he sign stack of paperwork. It was ten am Harper Rock time, and Doc needed his shut eye, but that wasn't going to happen until Cyril has his ...******* pound of flesh!

With an ill attitude that bordered on homicidal tendencies, Doc yanked the pen from Cyril’s hand and scrawled his barely legible name across a myriad number of forms, reports, and bank documents. He was a doctor. Penmanship wasn't his forte when he was jet lagged and already short tempered.

Yes, Doc knew it wasn’t Cyril’s fault that Lizzie was stressed out over her spawn that stupidly got himself killed. And yes, it wasn’t Cyril’s fault that business needed to move on even if he, Doc, wasn’t in the mood. And yes, it wasn’t Cyril’s fault that Doc was jet lagged and hateful as hell at this precise moment. But Cyril was fortunate int he fact that Doc had dragged himself out of bed, wearing nothing more than his boxers, when he shoved those documents at Doc.

Why? Why was Cyril fortunate? Because Doc was instinctively reaching for his Sig Sauer that would normally be holstered on left side of his chest. Had Doc been dressed, Cyril would have found himself pumped with numerous .40 caliber rounds. But as it happened, there was no holster with his beloved Sig in residence. He grasped air.

With a growl and barely concealed antipathy cast Cyril’s way, Doc signed, signed, initialed and authorised all the forms and papers Cyril shoved his way. Once done he uttered two words. Two words that had Cyril running for dear life. “Get out.”

Cyril wasn’t stupid. He knew he wasn’t Doc’s first thrall, and he wouldn't be his last. But Cyril did want to see tomorrow. So he grabbed his paperwork and slid out the door as fast as he could. It would have been helpful if Doc had told Cyril he was going to Vegas. But Doc hadn’t. And because he hadn’t payroll was late. He had to get everything scanned and submitted by 11am, or payroll would be late. Would Doc care that it was late because Doc was at fault? Nooooo. Cyril knew Doc would blame him. So Cyril braved the dragons’ den and got what he needed signed. He barely managed to get it all submitted by the deadline. Most people might take that accomplishment as a sign of victory and be pumped up by the experience. But not Cyril. Cyril was starting to understand why people drank. It was eleven o’five am.. And Cyril wanted a drink.

Meanwhile Doc had gone back to bed, only to be awoken five minutes later.

Actually it was closer to six hours later, due to the incessant ringing of his cell phone. He swiped the number thinking he had ignored it.. But he had the damn thing upside down. He had answered it. He could hear the irate female voice on the other end demanding answers. Answers to what he wasn’t sure.. Because he was still half asleep, half jet lagged and his phone had been upside down. So he had no idea who it was, because it wasn't a number he remembered programming in; because obviously it had not made an impression on him at the time.

Sleep weary, annoyed, and more than a little irritable, Doc replied, “Who the **** is this? And if this is a wrong number,.. I will ******* hunt you down, skin you alive, and watch as the vermin in the street devour your skin..”

[Stella Jane (DELETED 10037)]

The shock she felt at his words only outlasted her anger for a few seconds, but it was just long enough to burn the truly frightened feeling she felt at the sound of his voice into her brain. But, again, it only lasted for a few lingering seconds before her own fury took hold. Fury fuelled by sleep deprivation, the serious stress and anxiety of ******* up her own future, and the intense paranoia she carried about her own privacy. Nilson had triggered a deeply rooted fear in S.J., and she wasn't about to let him get away with it. Privacy didn't have price. The man might as well have used the crucifix to masturbate in front of a nun.

Forget the rubbing. Forget the money. Forget the new shoes. No ******* way she could work for a guy who somehow managed to get ahold of her personal bank account information. She hadn't requested direct deposit, nor had she been sent any documents requiring her to do so. Who the **** did he think he was?

"Listen here you pompous asshole of a mayoral candidate. Aside from obviously suffering from some sort of deranged mental issues are you also a major ******* ignoramus?!" Nope. No inside voice or filter. "How dare you threaten me when you, Mr. Nilson, have very obviously broken so many ******* privacy protection laws I could have you thrown in jail." She was shaking so hard she felt like she might be able to lift a car off Spike should the need arise in the next ten minutes or so. Adrenaline. Quite the confidence booster. Poor Spike looked like he wanted the car to squish him. Not really a fan of all the yelling.

"I want to know how you got ahold of my bank account number, and I want to know now!"

[Doc]

Doc’s eyes narrowed to slits, as he replied in a well measured, yet determined voice, “First. I am not running for Mayor. I am running for City Council.” There was a pause, then he added, “Second. I haven’t broken anything.Third. Threatening me with jail time, you better be damn sure of your facts, because I take that seriously. Fourth. I still do not know who you are. So this conversation will not go any further, until I do.”

He paused and softly said, “Give me your name. I dare you.”

It was clear the universe was against him. The campaign was not going well. And and Lizzie’s vacation was shitfest, though it ended somewhat fair, there was tension. Too much tension for it to be normal. Cyril was annoying, and now.. Some female with more guts than brains threatened him.

‘We will ******* see about that…’ He thought to himself. Holding cell phone to his ear with his shoulder, he reached for his pants. How long had it been since he killed someone? Too ******* long. All he needed was a name. And he would be on the hunt.

Pants on, and the cell dropped from his shoulder into his hand once more. He was waiting for the name, even as he moved around his bedroom colling a black turtleneck, and hoodie out of the bureau. He wasn’t that great at hacking. But push come to shove, he do it well it enough to break into database and get the information he needed. And thanks to Ari, he had a secure system to do it with.

The clothes were tossed to his computer desk, and he started the boot up process on his laptop. He was waiting for a name as he held the cell to his ear.