Fez moved to kiss Kiki on the cheek. She allowed the kiss as the currency of their transaction. She could smell the Old Spice and see the razor nicks on his damp face.
“What can I do for you, honey? Kiki, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Sit down.” He licked his lips. Kiki had never liked Fez, even before Abby, because he had skinny lips.
“I got a problem, Fez...”
“That’s why we’re up here.”
“I fucked up.”
Fez’s beady green eyes could have been electric.
“Like how?” he asked.
“I entered some special accounts for Mr. Merwyn and I did it wrong.”
Fez smiled and went back to his chair. He sat down in front of his terminal and said, “Shoot.”
“I gotta do it myself, Fez.”
“Why?”
“Because... because Merwyn gave me his personal ID and I can’t tell anybody what it is.”
“So you want me to sign on and let you do what you want? You think I’m nuts?”
From her tote bag Kiki brought out two bottles. The first was a fifth of Chivas Regal and the next was a quart of Courvoisier XO.
“Please,” she begged.
Fez’s eyes got hungry, just like she knew they would.
“Okay,” he said. He got up and gestured toward his chair.
Before Kiki was seated, Fez was at the door shouting, “Roger! Roger! Look what we got for the store.”
The store was the bar that ran from the tape library, or tape archives as they were called. All day long you could go out to the archives and pick up some scratch tapes and a Dixie cup filled with whiskey. Nobody could come into the computer area except the vice presidents, and they didn’t care what happened as long as the complex computer runs went through without trouble.
The moment Fez was out of the door, Kiki started hitting keys. F12 for insurance systems. F12 again for policy files. F7 for entry data. Bright green characters flashed across the black screen. Kiki held her breath a minute, wondering if Fez’s log-on had the priority to update the insurance database. If it didn’t the screen would freeze and the database manager would be flagged at his terminal on the twenty-fifth floor.
“Yeah.” Fez was right outside the door. “Kiki brought it. Right, honey?”
Kiki looked up from the screen. If the program rejected Fez’s log-on the terminal would make a loud beep.
Kiki put her left hand in her pocket and pinched the razor between her fingers. She could take out an eye before he could hurt: her too much. A cold joy that made Kiki shiver went across her forehead.
“That’s right.” She smiled at him and the brown-suited jerk Roger who stood behind.
Kiki hit the F3 key to initiate a new entry. F2 for health insurance. This screen offered for entry a list of blank information lines on the insured.
“Okay now.” Fez was patting Roger on the shoulder. The slump-shouldered, big-nosed man was at the door, wiping his lips as if maybe he had drooled with gratitude for the liquor.
“Thanks, Kiki,” he called through the door.
Kiki let go of the razor and pulled a small piece of notepaper from her pocket. She took a deep breath and ran her fingers across those keys as fast as she could manage.
Atwater and Tanya Wise lived at 784 Carmine Street, apartment 430. It was a post office box that Kiki kept under an old roommate’s name — Rachel Fraumeister. She used the box so that no one would know where she was. That way they could never tell her father how to reach out after her.
Atwater and Tanya had paid their first year’s installment in cash six months before to a private agent, but somehow the paperwork was lost. But now they were entered, with ages appropriately different and all the information she could make up.
Fez was in the office now about to look over Kiki’s shoulder.
“Could you get me a cigarette from my bag, Fez?”
BORN: 01/12/21, 07/30/59
“You can’t smoke in here.”
“Com’on, Fez. Who’s gonna see?”
POLICY EFFECT DATE: 03/01/87
POLICY COVERAGE DOLLARS: 1,000,000
REVIEW STATUS: COMPLETE
MAIL DATE: IMMEDIATE
“You don’t have any cigarettes in here,” Fez said.
“In the side pocket.”
REVIEW AGENT: SHELDON MEYERS (Route to operations, Central 617)
Kiki hit the enter key, and a string of characters, in red lights instead of green, appeared at the top of the screen. AJ3119-A22X.
“What’s that you got up on the screen?” Fez was right there with her, was reaching toward the keyboard.
“Just the policy I had to...” Kiki put her hand out — “Here, let me scroll up to the top” — and hit the F10 key — transmit and send. Immediately the screen went blank.
“Oh, no! Oh shit!” she yelled. “Fuck! Now I really messed it up. Why the hell did you have to ask me anything?”
Fez’s face lit up. He patted Kiki’s shoulder and said, “Oh, that’s too bad, honey. You know I’d need more than a bottle of booze to open the database for a hex dump. A lot more.”
“You did that on purpose. You motherfucker.”
AJ3119-A22X, AJ3119-A22X.
She got up and pushed his hand away. “I wouldn’t ask you for a thing, even if my job depended on it.”
“You’ll be back.” Fez smiled and put his hands behind his back. “I always wondered if you were a natural redhead.”
AJ3119-A22X.
Kiki ran from the office. She ran down the hall to the exit door.
Motie was still in his chair, still sipping at his scotch. “Kiki.”
“Motie, could you do me a favor?”
“Sure. Do I gotta get up?”
“I need a policy that should be coming off the laser soon. It’s going to oh-six-seventeen.”
Motie took a pencil from his pants pocket. He tried to scribble with it on the desk top, but the lead had broken off. He used his dirty thumbnail to pick the wood away from the broken point until enough lead was exposed.
“Yeah?”
“AJ3119-A22X,” Kiki said, sighing as she watched Motie write the number on the top of his desk.
“When did it get issued?”
“I don’t know. Mary should have sent it while I was up here.”
“Okay, I’ll call Phibbs. He’ll bring it as soon as its printed. You want it to go to the checkers?”
“No. It’s routed to Mr. Meyers. Have him bring it there,” Kiki said, and then, “This is special, so I might need you to route it to him for a few months.”
“I need to put that past McMartin, Kiki. He’s got to okay special processing.”
“Come on, Motie. Don’t be like that. I fucked up on this and the agent complained. If I don’t get it right, I’ll be in trouble. It’s already going to the general box. All you have to do is pick it up when I call. How would they know it’s you?”
Motie was a good kid.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll see.”
Kiki did a turn in the air and yelled, “All right!” in the elevator down. She swung her fist at Fez’s imaginary gut and felt a stitch give way deep inside.
That afternoon Kiki called the medical center and gave them Soupspoon’s new medical information. Before the day was over she had made appointments with a bone specialist, an oncologist, and a dentist for her charge. She’d left work early and bought him a woolen blanket and a side table with her credit card.
That night they had smoked ham hocks from an Italian deli and chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream for dinner.