Friday Free-for-All #67: Free jet, evil, relaxing, famous

Here’s the next in an ongoing series in which I answer random questions generated by a website. Here are this week’s questions. Feel free to give your own answers or ask your own questions in the comments.

If you inherited a private jet from a stranger, what would you do with it?

Well, the first big problem with this is the “Oprah Effect.” Remember that time that she gave everyone in her audience a brand new car for free? You may have even seen the footage online, the famous, “You get a car. And you get a car. Everybody gets a car!” moment.

This was in 2004 and the cars in question were brand new Pontiac G-6 sedans with an MSRP of $28,500. Only everything was not what it seemed. For one thing, it was not like Oprah bought the cars for everyone. Rather, they were donated by Pontiac as part of their marketing budget. But it gets worse.

The people who received those cars because they couldn’t afford to buy one of their own were hit with a gift tax bill of over $6,000. So it was the gift that kept on taking. A lot of people reportedly had to sell the cars in order to pay the tax.

So… if that private jet comes with a hefty gift tax bill, no thanks. I’m going to sell it off to cover the taxes and make whatever profit I can. However, if this is a fantasyland with no tax — and if someone is giving me a private jet — then that changes.

It all depends on how big the jet is. There’s no way I’m going to pay the operating costs for the thing and don’t feel like contributing to ruining the environment by leasing it to a charter flight company. Nope. I’m going to buy some land, plant that plane on it and convert it into a home.

Now, depending on size, it could be anything from a glorified studio with a really neat basement to a luxury home with its own kitchens and screening room.

Hey, planes have been converted to homes before, and there could be worse places to live.

What is your definition of evil?

To me, evil is when somebody intentionally causes harm, distress, pain, loss, or other physical or emotional trauma to another person for the benefit of the person inflicting those things. Now that benefit can simply be to get their jollies — this covers serial killers and the like — or it can be for financial gain — this covers most billionaires and politicians.

Obviously, this makes a wide range of acts evil. Jeffrey Dahmer and John Wayne Gacy were evil because they killed people for fun. But so is a multi-billionaire who owns a gigantic company but refuses to pay the employees enough money so that they don’t have to rely on public assistance to eat and won’t allow them to unionize or give them retirement benefits.

It happens when an international fast food company ignore real physical harm one of its products does to people because it’s cheaper to buy them off at $40,000 per incident, or when a major manufacturer discovers a flaw in their product that can kill people but decides to do nothing because it would be “too expensive.”

And then there’s that special kind of evil: Anyone who takes advantage of any kind of power relationship in which they have the superior position and all the control — and then uses that in order to sexually harass or assault the other person. This is what the MeToo movement has been fighting against.

Where is the most relaxing place you have been?

Okay, I need a palate-cleanser after that one — mind’s-eye bleach, as it were. The most relaxing places I’ve been tend to be rural and forested. I’ve written before about visits to my grandparents’ farm on the central California coast, and I found it very relaxing because it was quiet and slow-paced.

Of course, I was also a kid — the last time I was ever up there, I was eighteen — although maybe that’s a measure of its power. Any place that can calm down an angsty, angry teen is magical.

But as an adult, I’ve gotten to know a place up near Big Bear in California. Most of the year, it’s actually a Christian camp/retreat for school kids, although it doesn’t really have any blatantly Christian symbology, and the one spot that was clearly intended as a church is just benches made out of half logs and arranged outside with a lectern in front but nothing resembling an altar.

Anyway, before COVID, a group geared toward Southern California GBTQ+ men and their allies used to go up there for camps twice a year, once in the winter and the other near Labor Day. I was fortunate enough to go a few times, and even though it would only be for a long weekend, it would be an amazing battery recharge.

Here’s the way I can tell that a place is relaxing me: I fall asleep within minutes at night and wake up with the sunrise, ready to go. That doesn’t happen in the city, where I tend to lie awake for what seems like hours, then find it damn near impossible to wake up in the morning.

I also have this bad habit of actually being asleep and dreaming, but what I’m dreaming is that I’m awake and thinking about the things I’m dreaming. And I know that this is true for a few reasons. One is that I’ve had SOs and roommates tell me that I was happily snoring away the entire time I thought I was awake, and they had no reason to lie.

The other is that the “thought” that appeared to be just things I was musing would actually take on all of the hallmarks of dreams, with the visuals and so forth, but it would still feel like I was intentionally imagining them while still lying in bed, awake.

That doesn’t happen up at the camp near Big Bear, and the best parts, really, would be when I’d hop out of bed at dawn, be the only one up yet to head over to the shower cabin, then quietly get dressed, grab the tiny notebook I’d brought with me, and stroll out into the woods alone.

That was a magical place. Quite often, there would mist among the tall trees dancing in the shafts of sunlight peeking through, and on more than one occasion I would suddenly see a deer stop and see me, and then pronk off at high speed.

There were sounds and life everywhere, although most of it not visible. Birds sang in the canopy above. Sometimes, the trees made their own rain, which would plop audibly onto the ground. The distant roar that at first seemed like it might be freeway traffic was actually a river flowing downhill in the far distance. The forest smelled of the new life of pine needles combined with the musty, earthy smell of the dead leaves and needles underfoot — all of which were giving life to the forest at the same time.

There were always plenty of woodpeckers and ground squirrels flitting about, and the human constructions, which consisted of maybe a dozen cabins, the director’s house, the main meeting/dining hall, a small lodge, the zip-line, and a swimming pool all seemed to be a part of the landscape rather than an intrusion.

It was also during this camp that we visited a nearby lake and I went canoeing for the first time. We were in a three-person boat and I was in front, meaning that I was in control of steering. I was surprised at how intuitively I picked it up, how fast we were actually able to go, and how calming it was to be gliding smoothly across the water.

I don’t know when we’ll be going back. Maybe September, maybe not. What I do know is that the group has regularly had a pool party in L.A. every year for the 4th of July, but for the second year running, none has been planned. So I don’t know when I’ll get my little shot in the arm of relaxation again, but I can’t wait.

Oh, one other thing. I actually started this site the weekend after I came back from my first time at the camp — which was the same week the company I’d been working for made me a victim of their next round of downsizing layoffs.

Who is the most impressive famous person alive today?

He was a former world leader who is still alive and, despite his advanced age, just doing what he does, working with his hands, and helping people. At heart, he was always just a simple farmer who wound up going into public service and rising to the position of governor.

Then, he was inaugurated as 39th President of the United States in 1977. His name is James Earl Carter, but the world will forever know him as just Jimmy.

Sadly, he didn’t have much success as a president, but he came into office at a really bad time for the country. His predecessor, Gerald R. Ford, was the only person to become president without ever being elected (with two arguable exception) when Richard Nixon resigned.

It was probably a done deal going into the election in the Bicentennial year of 1976 that Ford was going to lose, and he probably could have lost to a lawn chair. But that was more because of the taint of Nixon, and it didn’t help that Ford pardoned him for his crimes.

It also didn’t help that he presided over the continuing energy crisis and crippling inflation. The economy went in the tank on his watch, and Presidents get blamed for that constantly.

Ford was actually one of those rare moderate Republicans who isn’t all that bad. The other examples I can think of having been a President of the U.S., Governor of California, and Mayor of Los Angeles — Eisenhower, Schwarzenegger, and Richard Riordan.

Although they were in favor of small government, they applied that in both directions, so while they don’t get brownie points on how they handled business and regulation, they did also make it a point to try to keep the government out of women’s wombs, gay people’s bedrooms, and elsewhere. Hell, Riordan even took part in the Gay Pride parade in L.A. in 1993 as Mayor-elect at a time when that was still a big deal.

But, getting back to Jimmy Carter. He had been the mayor of Georgia, but was so unknown during his time in office that he appeared on the game show What’s My Line? in 1973. Although Gene Shalit did correctly identify him as a governor after seven questions, nobody had any idea what state he governed or what his name was.

By the way, you know the whole current trend of moving film and TV production to Georgia? Well, Jimmy Carter started that back in the early 70s.

Now, in retrospect, one of the obvious purposes of the TV gig was to put out there that Carter was going to be chairman of the National Democratic Campaign Committee (NDCC) for the 1974 mid-term election, so it was clearly an early move with the 1976 presidential election in mind.

Still… none of this should in anyway denigrate what Jimmy Carter achieved, which was going from relatively unknown southern governor to President in just a few years. Yes, Ford was probably doomed from the beginning, but Carter was the dose of likable Everyman that America seemed to need at the time.

And then circumstances and history came along to fuck him up the ass and prove that Nice Guys Finish Last. Leading into the 1980 election, his administration was rocked by the 1979 Oil Crisis, which saw prices soar along with something the U.S. hadn’t seen since World War II — rationing.

The Iran-Iraq War began in late 1980, making things worse. But the really big thing that totally screwed Jimmy over was the Iran Hostage Crisis, which began on November 4, 1979, when 52 American diplomats and citizens were seized at the embassy by students and held for 444 days.

They were released just after noon EST on January 20, 1981. Put a pin in that date.

Carter authorized a rescue attempt that began on April 24, 1980, but the helicopters involved were ill-equipped to deal with the sandstorms, which not only damaged or grounded the ships, but led to an accident in which a copter crashed into a C‑130 tanker aircraft during refueling, killing all eight people on the chopper.

This did not go over well with the American people. Imagine the reaction, for example, if during Obama’s raid to kill Osama bin Laden, instead of succeeding, a helicopter had crashed into the complex and killed eight people. He never would have been re-elected in 2012.

Now combine that with Carter’s inability to get the hostages released, and he was doomed in the election of 1980. But… there’s a gigantic catch. Ronald Reagan and his campaign were directly responsible for urging the Iranians to not release the hostages before the election.

Or, in other words, those bastards cheated. What a surprise. And that’s why Iran did not release the hostages until right after Reagan (ptui! cursed be his name) was sworn in.

And then Jimmy Carter faded out of the public eye for a while, but not for long. I would say “also, not for good,” but it’s exactly the opposite. Everything the man has done since leaving office has been for good.

In 1982, he and his wife started The Carter Center, a non-profit NGO dedicated to human rights and the alleviation of human suffering. They seek “to prevent and resolve conflicts, enhance freedom and democracy, and improve health.”

He also did a hell of a lot of diplomacy from the end of his tenure through the early 2000s, but what he’s most known for now is Habitat for Humanity. You know — the volunteers who swoop in and build affordable homes for people.

And, despite bouts with cancer, some falls and bruises, and being generally, oh, I don’t know, fucking 96 years old, he’s still going. And that is why I think he is the most impressive famous person around today.

Bonus points: He’s famous for all the right reasons, and I hope that he’s an impressive famous living person for many, many years to come.

The Saturday Morning Post #44: The Rêves, Part 22

Escape to which mountain

Ausmann had been mulling over the document in the Operation Ghost Toast for most of the three days he’d been down here. He didn’t have access to the unredacted version, but the order had been put out after they were all aware of these abominable ghosts.

This probably meant that turning the machine off would do something even worse, like make them permanent. Or more powerful.

He also knew that there wasn’t a simple “Off” switch on the thing, and that it was hooked up to so many redundant power supplies that it would take an apocalypse worse than anything actually turning it off could do in order to shut it down.

But the machine had to be the key to sending these things back to where they came from, permanently, and erasing them from the human world. His hunters, Joshua and Simon, had shown that they were subject to the laws of physics, after all. Well, some of them.

During the brief time he had interviewed Anabel, she had hinted that the Rêves did have rules, and possibly vulnerabilities, although she had refused to reveal any. Maybe they knew what could destroy them, and what turning off the machine would do.

But how to get the information? He wondered whether it was common knowledge among them, then decided that it must be. That’s what communities of beings did — educated new members on what was safe and what wasn’t. The trick was finding someone who would spill their guts and who’d been dead long enough to have learned everything.

He thought about this for a long time before he realized that famous Rêves always appeared in character, and he wondered if they were stuck in them somehow. If that were the case, then he just had to pick a dead celebrity famous for playing cowardly, sell-out characters, get them in the lab and scare the hell out of them.

He was laughing to himself at his brilliance when there was a ding and he looked up at the monitors showing the security cameras outside.

There seemed to be a police presence, although he knew it couldn’t be the Simi Valley PD, since JPL was not only in a different county, but even a city beyond — it was outside of the jurisdictions of both Ventura County and the LAPD in the city of Los Angeles.

Of course, technically, it was outside of the jurisdiction of the Pasadena PD as well, but that’s who these two officers seemed to be, so he relaxed, knowing that there was no way they had been able to get any kind of warrant that would break down these doors.

Then he felt a sudden weird wave of vertigo and started seeing double for a moment. He rubbed his eyes and sat back down until he didn’t feel dizzy, then looked at the monitor again to see that the uniforms poking around outside the guard station were all Federal Marshals.

There were six of them, very armed, accompanied by a pair of nervous-looking campus police. He couldn’t hear the conversation. He could only see that they tried the door before peering through the windows into the empty and semi-darkened guard station.

They stood around outside talking and taking notes, occasionally speaking into their radios. It couldn’t be about his wife, he told himself. At least not about her murder. They must have been looking for him to tell him she’d died, in which case they’d have bought his alibi, meaning he had no reason to worry.

But… why send out this kind of force just to tell him, “We regret to inform you…” No. This had “pending arrest” written all over it. The only things saving him at the moment were the lack of authorized guards up top and the level of security clearance required to enter — something he doubted that any of these feds had.

Still… they’d found his den, and that was not good.

Ausmann had a habit of always listening to the most paranoid part of his mind, which had always served him well. He had to assume the worst. Those assholes on the Simi PD had decided that he’d murdered his wife and had put the word out…

And all they could muster were the two Pasadena PD, most likely rookie and first year officer who would write up a lengthy report summarizing nothing. But he kept going over the back and forth: Informing him of her death, or accusing him?

They had to think that if he weren’t at home, this was where’d he’d be, and since his home was rather a more valuable pile of rubble than it had been before the storm, where else could he be? But those fucking Marshals up there would get down here eventually. Hell, they might do it in the next five minutes. All it would take were a couple of phone calls to the right people in D.C.

So Ausmann made his phone call first, dialing Jerry. The conversation was short and sweet.

“I need your help right now,” he said. “A ride from the lab up to Big Bear.”

“Right now?” Jerry balked.

“Yes, right now,” Ausmann barked at him. “Meet me on the side road, at the emergency exit.”

“I really can’t do that right — ”

“You sure as hell can, and you will,” Ausmann replied, calmly. “Remember. I’ve kept you on as a consultant. It would be a shame if you had to lose that insurance.”

“Are you threatening my wife?” Jerry asked, mouth going dry.

“No,” Ausmann continued. “I’m actually threatening you. I know all about those little deals you made on the side. Fortunately, only with friendly countries. Still, if word got out about that, well, there’s no statute of limitation for espionage, I don’t think…”

He let it trail off and there was a long silence. Finally, Jerry spoke weakly on the other end. “I can be there in forty minutes.”

“Make it thirty,” Ausmann said. “I’m in a bit of a rush.”

He hung up the phone and turned back to the monitors. The guards seemed to have moved away from the windows of the booth. Of course, what he had missed was one of the Pasadena PD looking through the window, noticing a red button on the phone suddenly going out, and then ignoring it completely.

What he looked up to see was a Federal Marshal looking through the window and clearly noticing that one of the buttons on the phone on the desk was solid red before it went out.

He turned excitedly to the others and started asking the campus police about it. They confirmed that it meant that somebody was down there.

Unfortunately, these campus police didn’t have clearance to enter the lab either, so the Marshals spent the next twenty minutes trying to figure out who could grant them clearance to go in, and then another fifteen trying to get ahold of that person.

When they finally did and tried to explain the circumstances, it didn’t help their case. They only knew the reasons they were sent, but not a lot more behind that, so this particular Deputy Director was inclined to scoff. “So you’re saying he might have committed a crime?” she asked.

“Might, yes,” the head Marshal on site replied. “That is what we were told.”

“That’s really shaky probable cause,” she told her. “Is there anything more to go on?”

“The information came from your department,” the Marshal insisted.

“Really?” the Deputy Director spoke, sounding like her eyebrows shot past her hairline. “And what the hell would we in Arlington have to do with a crime he might have committed in Pasadena?”

“Not might have committed,” the Marshal insisted. “Might commit.”

“Oh, now you’re not making a lick of sense.”

“I can only report what we were told to check on.”

There was a heavy sigh from the Deputy Director’s end, then she spoke deliberately. “Goddammit. I’m going to have to take this one up the food chain. Do you know how much I hate to do that?”

“I can imagine, ma’am. So… we are not to proceed?”

“You are to stand down until further notice. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the Marshal replied, dejected. As she hung up, she looked at her fellow officers, disappointed. “Stand down,” she said quietly. Noting their disappointment, she added, “Don’t worry. We still have time.”

Ausmann’s confusion suddenly cleared and he gave the monitors another glance to see the Pasadena PD officers both leaning on the roof of their cruiser, writing out copious notes, looking like they hated life.

He headed down the hallway and out the same door in the mountain that had saved Joshua and Simon’s bacon not long before, then waited five minutes before Jerry finally pulled up.

“What took you so fucking long?” he demanded.

“I had to get gas,” he explained.

“Right. Drive. Asshole.”

Although Jerry tried to make small-talk, Ausmann was having none of it, and for most of the ninety minutes, they rode in verbal silence, awkwardness buried in Jerry’s playlist of old 70s classics.

Of course, these weren’t coming from his phone via Bluetooth or even playing on the radio. Nope. He had a ton of home-burnt CDs clipped in holders to the sun visors. Ausmann almost wanted to applaud him for not having an 8-track player in this hunk of junk.

Ausmann himself was not a fan of “classic” rock at all. To him, it sounded like demented teen boys screaming while drugged-up chimps abused washboards with barbed wire far too close to bullhorns feeding back into their own speakers.

And the music wasn’t helping the fact that Ausmann felt completely out of place during the whole trip, like he was seeing things out of eyes that were pointed in opposite directions, or like something was trying to rip him in half.

If he’d bothered to mention it to Jerry and confess to killing his wife, he would have gotten a solid hour-long lecture on Dostoevsky’s Crime and Punishment, and maybe a hint of the much more economical and readable version of the story, Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart.

But Ausmann didn’t mention it, and just kept on feeling the terrible malaise all the way through San Bernardino and then up the foothills and into the mountains leading to Big Bear, although Ausmann had Jerry pull off long before they reached the summit, up a long and dark dirt road, finally reaching a hidden and isolated cabin that Ausmann had owned for years.

He’d always thought of it as his apocalypse retreat, a place to go to if the world below went to hell, and even his wife had never known about it. He would visit about twice a year to make sure that the stockpiles were up to date. The huge basement, which doubled as a bomb and fallout shelter and panic room, held enough supplies to sustain one adult human for a year, and enough guns and ammo to fight off a few hundred.

The part above ground looked like a simple, rustic cabin, although what appeared to be wooden walls were actually four-inch steel with wood veneers and bullet-proof windows. The woods around the place were dotted with sensors and night-vision cameras, as well as booby-traps.

When he and Jerry arrived, the entire place was in pitch darkness, but Ausmann lit it up by tapping a fob he always carried with him.

“Wow,” Jerry said. “This your place?”

“Yep,” Ausmann explained. “I bought it right about the time we fired up our little experiment at JPL. Since I know you know what it does, I probably don’t have to explain why.”

“Of course not. Great retirement home for you and Coraline, though, right?”

“Oh, she never knew about it,” Ausmann explained. “Drink?”

“If I’m driving back, then nothing adult, but sure, thanks.”

Ausmann nodded and turned to the bar, which had its own secret compartments, wondering what Jerry’s choice would be if he knew he weren’t driving back.

Ausmann revealed a hidden ice bucket, fully loaded, and a bar fountain, then filled a glass with ice, fired a spritz of club soda into it, then added a shot of grenadine. He topped it with a maraschino cherry, grabbed something from one of the compartments and pocketed it, then turned to hand the drink to Jerry.

“Shirley Temple,” Ausmann announced, “So you know it’s a virgin.”

They both laughed and Jerry took a sip. “But Coraline doesn’t know about this?” he asked. “You sly dog.”

“It’s really only designed to support one person,” he said. “Besides, she’s never going to know.”

“Yeah, but women have a way of finding things out,” Jerry said. “I mean, Esther never should have figured out about my little… side piece in Reno, but — ”

“Dolores?” Ausmann announced, laughing. “Jerry, even the guys on the gardening crew knew about her.”

“What? How?”

“You’re just naturally bad at keeping secrets. Hey… when was the last time you saw real stars at night?”

“It’s been ages,” Jerry said.

“It has, old friend. Come on.”

Ausmann led him outside and they walked a good distance away from the cabin, farther into the woods, until they came to a clearing and looked up. The sky truly was stunning. Unlike down in L.A., it was full of stars, from one end to the other, shimmering in quite visible shades of yellow, red, and blue. They could even see the shape of the rim of the Milky Way itself from here.

“Wow,” Jerry said.

“Indeed,” Ausmann replied. “See, there are advantages to being so far away from everything else. We are as invisible here as those stars are back down in the city. We might as well be a million miles away from everything, which is why I asked you to bring me up here.”

“Um… why did I bring you up here?” Jerry asked.

“Remember, I told you that Coraline is never going to know about this place?”

“Right, but why wouldn’t you tell her?”

“Well,” Ausmann said matter-of-factly, “By now, I can’t, because I killed her.”

Jerry gasped and turned toward Ausmann. Although it was dark, his eyes had adjusted enough to realize that he was starting down the barrel of a gun.

“Which is why I asked you to bring me up here. Because you can’t keep a secret for shit. You should have asked for the adult beverage. Sorry!”

Jerry never heard the bang and didn’t even see the flash, but Ausmann heard one and saw the other, as well as the violent red mess briefly illuminated as the top of Jerry’s head flew off.

Fortunately, for Ausmann, he had always planned for this contingency no matter who had to take the bullet, and had managed to have Jerry be standing with his back to a ten-foot-deep, coffin-sized hole that he had dug out years ago. He always kept enough lumber, a small gas-powered cement mixer, and various bits of copper piping and tin barrels nearby to make it plausibly seem to be a legit and ongoing construction project.

It wasn’t, and once he’d made sure the body was in it, he shoved all of the dirt back into the hole, smacked it flat with a shovel, and then made a note to come back and finish concealing it tomorrow.

The property had been bought in the name of a completely fictitious company that could never be connected to him, and cell service up here was practically non-existent, although he had installed a satellite system that provided TV, phone, and internet.

He returned to the cabin, descended to the basement and noted that he was a bit blood-splattered himself, so took off the clothes he’d been wearing, tossed them into the incinerator, and took a long, hot shower.

Afterwards, he picked out a pair of silk pajamas from the well-stocked bedroom closet, then fell into the California King-size bed, turned on the local news, and watched, satisfied to see that he wasn’t being mentioned. After the timer shut off everything, he drifted off to sleep, contented, only one thought on his mind.

Which one of these fucking celebrity ghosts should he capture in order to get the dirt that would destroy them all?

In the morning, he woke up and automatically turned on the TV to one of the channels that only showed old movies, pre-1980. He went about preparing breakfast, the film broadcasting to the screens in the bedroom, kitchen/living room and bathroom.

It was an old classic, Casablanca, and right about the time Ausmann was sitting down to his Eggs Benedict, he heard a familiar line being screamed on screen: “Rick, hide me. You must do something. You must help me, Rick!”

He stared at the screen and realized that he’d found his target. Of course. Peter Lorre — well-known for playing villains or cowards, but quite often the character who gave it all up when his life was on the line.

Ausmann did a quick search and determined that Lorre was buried right where most of them were, in one of the hot spots for Rêve activity. Now all he needed to do was trap that asshole, and he was sure he could learn all of the secrets that would destroy them all.

The only problem was that he couldn’t do it alone. He needed his hunters, but he wasn’t exactly sure what his status was with them anymore. He hadn’t seen them since well before the storm —

And then he had a rare moment of Duh. “Of course not,” he thought. “You’ve been too busy killing your wife and escaping that, and why the hell would they come back to JPL any…”

“Fuck!” he suddenly shouted, tossing his dirty breakfast dish into the tile above the kitchen sink, where it shattered to bits and cracked the tile, spraying bits of food everywhere.

“That was them!” he grunted out to no one in particular, remembering his last arrival at the lab, before the cops showed up, when it seemed like someone had been there, but maybe not — and now he cursed the fact that he could not return because of… because… He couldn’t even remember at the moment which group of law enforcement it had been.

And he couldn’t even guess at what his hunters had stolen… It had been something. But what? They had taken information. And whose side were they on?”

He spent the next hour pacing around the room, planning and counter-planning, guessing and second-guessing. Either Joshua and Simon were allies or they weren’t. If they were, then they would capture Peter Lorre for him. If they weren’t, then they would refuse.

Hell, if they refused such a simple request that would make them a lot of money, then they were probably working for the other side.

His way out of this mess suddenly became clear. He had to find Joshua and Simon and make them an offer. He laughed as he realized that both of them were probably too young to get it, but it was going to be an offer they could not refuse.

The real jokes, though, were that A) Of course they knew the reference, it was only one of the most meme’d to millennials movies ever, and B) When it came to playing high tech hide and seek, Ausmann was an amateur, while Joshua and Simon were pros.

Of course, Joshua and Simon didn’t know they were playing hide, but Ausmann was sure as hell going to be playing seek. Not that he’d found anything after the first day, but he was pretty determined.

* * *

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