O l i v e r B e n j a m i n
and ran with it, came, saw, conqu—”
“You have five seconds to get to the point, or you’re fired.”
“We’ve got Futterman.”
“Great,” said Gareth mildly.
“Well? Aren’t you thrilled? I mean, this is big news!” the
henchman said, “Isn’t it?”
“Yeah, sure, sure. Big. Where is he now?”
“He’s been in the San Bernardino jail for a while now. He was
going to be extradited to Los Angeles County on suspicion of car
theft, but the highway is still all washed out.”
“Fine.” said Gareth.
“Say, are you all right Gare? You sound preoccupied.”
“You could say that.”
“Well, cheer up. That freak weather seems to have let up.”
“Whoopee.”
“Well, I’ll keep you posted. If you need anything, just call me,
give me a buzz, drop me a line, ring-a-ding-a-ling—”
“Goodbye Cain.”
“Catch you lat—”
Gareth hung up the phone. He let out a deep breath. Heavy load
indeed. How strange it all had become. It was as if from the moment
he took on the Armageddon project, some arcane force had set to
work deliberately trying to sabotage him every step of the way, and it
just got worse and worse. First, the chip to Futterman’s machine was
stolen, then came all the crazy mistakes and miscommunications
regarding the promotion of the gods, then the Letterman fiasco,
which resulted in the Gods losing their temper and temporarily
taking things into their own hands—a direct violation of their
contract, by the way, but who was he to argue. And although he had
certainly not seen those things coming, this latest hurdle came as the
biggest surprise of all.
“So, we’ve got Futterman,” said Barth, who had been with Gareth
in his office for the duration of the phone call. He said this quite
matter-of-factly, which Gareth found inappropriate under the
circumstances.
“We?” said Gareth mournfully.
“Oh, come now, Gare. This isn’t the time to be sour. You’ll have
an eternity to be sour if the world is destroyed. For now, we’ve both
got to be a bit more optimistic.”
“It’s hard to be optimistic,” Gareth said, “when you’re staring
153
 |
 |
 |
 |