of
Mandy's phone and made some calls.
Her office phone went to a
machine, and we left the obvious "Where are you?" message.
Cassandra's cell phone did likewise, and I explained that Mandy had missed a
meeting and could Cassandra please call Lexa. When Mandy's home machine
answered, I just hung up, not wanting to leave multiple messages all smelling
of fear. Until we had something more solid, I didn't see the point in worrying
Cassandra about her missing roommate/girlfriend.
Then we looked at Mandy's outgoing numbers. The last
place Mandy had called was a car service, which was how she traveled since
going full-time. The other outgoing calls led to the client's massive switchboards,
nonspecific numbers that ended in three zeros—probably Mandy conferring with
her bosses about "Don't Walk." The only other call in memory was one
to her home the night before. There were no clues that she had arranged to meet
anyone else besides us this morning.
But someone had told Mandy about the building and its mysterious
contents. At least one of the client's countless execs knew more than we did.
I looked at the phone. Having just had my cell phone
ripped from my life, I knew how much information was trapped inside in the tiny
plastic wafer of circuitry, but there was no easy way to get it out. Machines
don't give up their secrets easily.
Human beings, on the other hand, love to spill the beans.
One by one, I went through the client's numbers that Mandy had stored, skipping
straight past phone trees to human receptionists. Eventually one made the
connection for me.
"Hello, I'm making a call on behalf of Mandy
Wilkins."
"Oh, do you want Mr. Harper?"
"Uh, yes. Please."
"I'll connect you."
I waited for a moment on hold, listening to custom
rap-Muzak exalting the latest big sports name who'd signed on the client's
dotted line. It sucked me in just far enough that my brain got a jolt when the
exec came on.
"Greg Harper. Who is this?"
"My name is Hunter Braque. I work with Mandy
Wilkins. I was supposed to meet her this morning at Lispenard and Church ... about the shoes."
"The shoes, yeah." His voice was slow,
cautious. "I think she told me about bringing you in. Outside consultant,
right?"
"Exactly."
"Right, I remember now. Hunter." His voice
changed, sharpened by recognition. "You focused on 'Don't Walk,' didn't
you? Caused all that trouble?"
"Uh, I guess that was me. Anyway, she didn't make
the meeting—"
"Maybe she had second thoughts."
"Actually, I'm a bit worried. She didn't show for
our meeting, but we found her phone. She's missing, sort of, and we were
wondering what this was all about. The shoes, I mean."
"I can't comment about the shoes. We do a lot of
shoes. This is a shoe company. I don't even know what shoes you mean."
"Listen, Mr. Harper, I saw them—"
"Saw what? You should have Mandy call me."
"But I don't know where she—"
"Have Mandy call me."
The line went dead. No Muzak, nothing. Somewhere
during the call Jen and Lexa had stopped playing with the photo of the shoe to
listen.
When I dropped the phone from my ear, Jen said,
"What was that about?"
I'd heard many forms of corporate desperation before,
the frantic tones of lost market share, crumbling stock prices,
multimillion-dollar contracts with college hoop stars who weren't cutting it in
the pros, the horrifying realization of not knowing what those damn kids wanted
anymore. But nothing quite as panicked as Greg Harper's last words.
"I think the client is in a state of
denial," I said. "But one thing's for certain: The shoes didn't come
from them."
"So where did they come from?" Lexa asked.
I looked at Jen; she looked at me.
We shrugged.
Chapter
10
ONE THING
ABOUT BEING A COOL HUNTER, YOU REALIZE ONE simple fact: Everything has a
beginning.
Nothing always existed. Everything had an Innovator.
We all know who invented telephones and lightbulbs,
but the humbler innovations are made anonymously. But there was a first paper
airplane, a
Mandy's phone and made some calls.
Her office phone went to a
machine, and we left the obvious "Where are you?" message.
Cassandra's cell phone did likewise, and I explained that Mandy had missed a
meeting and could Cassandra please call Lexa. When Mandy's home machine
answered, I just hung up, not wanting to leave multiple messages all smelling
of fear. Until we had something more solid, I didn't see the point in worrying
Cassandra about her missing roommate/girlfriend.
Then we looked at Mandy's outgoing numbers. The last
place Mandy had called was a car service, which was how she traveled since
going full-time. The other outgoing calls led to the client's massive switchboards,
nonspecific numbers that ended in three zeros—probably Mandy conferring with
her bosses about "Don't Walk." The only other call in memory was one
to her home the night before. There were no clues that she had arranged to meet
anyone else besides us this morning.
But someone had told Mandy about the building and its mysterious
contents. At least one of the client's countless execs knew more than we did.
I looked at the phone. Having just had my cell phone
ripped from my life, I knew how much information was trapped inside in the tiny
plastic wafer of circuitry, but there was no easy way to get it out. Machines
don't give up their secrets easily.
Human beings, on the other hand, love to spill the beans.
One by one, I went through the client's numbers that Mandy had stored, skipping
straight past phone trees to human receptionists. Eventually one made the
connection for me.
"Hello, I'm making a call on behalf of Mandy
Wilkins."
"Oh, do you want Mr. Harper?"
"Uh, yes. Please."
"I'll connect you."
I waited for a moment on hold, listening to custom
rap-Muzak exalting the latest big sports name who'd signed on the client's
dotted line. It sucked me in just far enough that my brain got a jolt when the
exec came on.
"Greg Harper. Who is this?"
"My name is Hunter Braque. I work with Mandy
Wilkins. I was supposed to meet her this morning at Lispenard and Church ... about the shoes."
"The shoes, yeah." His voice was slow,
cautious. "I think she told me about bringing you in. Outside consultant,
right?"
"Exactly."
"Right, I remember now. Hunter." His voice
changed, sharpened by recognition. "You focused on 'Don't Walk,' didn't
you? Caused all that trouble?"
"Uh, I guess that was me. Anyway, she didn't make
the meeting—"
"Maybe she had second thoughts."
"Actually, I'm a bit worried. She didn't show for
our meeting, but we found her phone. She's missing, sort of, and we were
wondering what this was all about. The shoes, I mean."
"I can't comment about the shoes. We do a lot of
shoes. This is a shoe company. I don't even know what shoes you mean."
"Listen, Mr. Harper, I saw them—"
"Saw what? You should have Mandy call me."
"But I don't know where she—"
"Have Mandy call me."
The line went dead. No Muzak, nothing. Somewhere
during the call Jen and Lexa had stopped playing with the photo of the shoe to
listen.
When I dropped the phone from my ear, Jen said,
"What was that about?"
I'd heard many forms of corporate desperation before,
the frantic tones of lost market share, crumbling stock prices,
multimillion-dollar contracts with college hoop stars who weren't cutting it in
the pros, the horrifying realization of not knowing what those damn kids wanted
anymore. But nothing quite as panicked as Greg Harper's last words.
"I think the client is in a state of
denial," I said. "But one thing's for certain: The shoes didn't come
from them."
"So where did they come from?" Lexa asked.
I looked at Jen; she looked at me.
We shrugged.
Chapter
10
ONE THING
ABOUT BEING A COOL HUNTER, YOU REALIZE ONE simple fact: Everything has a
beginning.
Nothing always existed. Everything had an Innovator.
We all know who invented telephones and lightbulbs,
but the humbler innovations are made anonymously. But there was a first paper
airplane, a
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