Transplanted Life
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
I'm not seeing Kate that much at work right now; she's been incredibly busy, working through lunch and staying late. They've been running her ragged, in marked contrast to the programmers. They haven't had to put me into service, as the contract Dmitri had been working on has been suspended pending the investigation. Indeed, there's been a lot of that, since Dmitri wasn't the only one on that project and his teammates could be moved to fill the slack for "Carter". From the amount of people in the break room whenever I pass by there, I'd almost think we're overstaffed right now.

It doesn't help that the FBI is still coming in every day, and it's not predictable. This makes it worse; I don't expect to be able to schedule a criminal investigation, but it's made everyone edgier and irritable. And they know I know what's going on, but won't tell them. I'd be pissed at me too.

And then Doug Hastings calls to ask if I'm free after work tomorrow. I ask what it's about, and he says Kate has told him that I'm apparently part of an FBI investigation and asks if I'm being advised. I say no, but it's okay, since I'm not the target, and it's not something I really want to talk about in front of the rest of the company. He says it's no problem and tells me to meet him at a restaurant before hanging up.

I grab Kate the next time I can, and ask if she's been talking with her friend about me. Yeah, she has, since she was worried about all the attention I was getting from the FBI without any representation; a college classmate of hers had evidently gone from "source" to "target" in an IRS investigation without any warning, and even if that friend had been exonerated, it had not been a fun couple months. I guess I can see that, but I ask if he said anything, you know, personal.

She grins huge, says no, why, do you like him? Because that would be great; that could be something positive coming out of this whole situation. I tell her, geez, no, but I think he may like me, and she wonders why he wouldn't. That's very nice, but I've told him about my history, so I ask if he's ever demonstrated weird taste in women. Have any of his previous girlfriends been mentally ill, for instance? Besides me, she asks. No, I mean, like, disturbed, or delusional. Nuts.

"Look, I'm sure it's just a thing about reminding you of your legal rights. Besides, you're far from crazy."

"Believe me, based on what I told him, he's got no reason to think I'm otherwise."

How about transvestites, I almost ask. I decide it's no big deal, until I mention the name of the restaurant, and Kate's eyes get big and she says to wear a nice dress.


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Note: This blog is a work of fantasy; all characters are either ficticious or used ficticiously. The author may be contacted at