"Sure," Robin said. "I'm not really worried about it. I'm pretty athletic, and if worse comes to worst, I know some good lawyers who will be all over this document."
"I don't have a pen on me," Creek said.
Robin peered at Chet's stand to look for a pen; there wasn't one. Then she crossed her eyes in annoyance. "Jeez, that's right," she said, and fished through her purse, eventually pulling out a pen. "Here we go. It's the pen that guy left at the store today. I forgot I had it." She signed the disclaimer and handed the pen to Creek. "Live a little," she said. Creek signed the disclaimer and handed the paper and the pen back to Robin. She gave the papers back to Chet, who had returned with the shoes.
"Okay, I need to explain to you how these shoes work," Chet said. He held up one of the shoes. "Inside the shoe, near the tip, is a small patch at the top of the shoe. What you do is lift your big toe to come into contact with that patch. When you do that, you activate the jumping mechanism. The jumping mechanism only stays active for a second—that's for your safety—so you'll need to touch the patch each time you want to jump. There are patches in both shoes, but each activation works for both shoes at the same time, so use whichever big toe you're most comfortable with. Depending on how hard you push off, you can get about twenty feet into the air. The floor is designed to cushion a descent from any height, but you can still land awkwardly or collide with a wall. So before the game starts, you'll get a couple of minutes to work with the shoes and get comfortable with them. Do you have any questions?"
"If we win, do we get anything?" Robin asked.
"You get two tickets to a regular season game," Chet said.
"Cool. Second date for free," Robin said to Creek.
Chet looked at the two of them. "You look like responsible adults instead of the brain-dead teenagers I've been dealing with, so I'm going to let you have these shoes now rather than wait until you're in the cube. But on the off chance you're tempted to run off with them, you should know that their jumping mechanism cuts off fifty yards from this station. So don't think you're going to be able to bounce all the way home."
"Do kids really take off in them?" Robin asked.
"Two attempts today," Chet said. "The mall security people hate us."
"We promise not to run off," Creek said.
"I appreciate that," Chet said. "Okay, let me get this other pair set up and then you'll be up after them. Another ten minutes or so. You can take your own shoes and put them next to this stand." Chet walked off to deal with his other customers. Robin sat to put on her shoes; Creek leaned against a decorative light pole, slipped off his loafers, and slipped on the WallBall sneakers. As he put one on he lifted up his big toe to feel for the patch; it was there, a small slick circle he could register through his sock. He pressed his big toe into it and felt both of his shoes vibrate. He held still so as not to trigger a jump; a little less than a second later the vibrating stopped.
"You know, these look like the coolest bowling shoes ever," Robin said, standing up. "I don't think I'd wear them for social occasions—I mean, besides this one—but they have their kitsch appeal. So, what do you want to do for dinner?"
"I thought you were the cruise director for this date," Creek said.
"Oh. No, I'm really bad at that," Robin said. "I don't know if you've figured this out yet, but I'm sort of both spontaneous and disorganized."
"And yet you own your own business," Creek said.
"Well, Dad's a CPA," Robin said. "He helped get me organized and keeps me on an even keel. I don't know what I'd do without him. I wish I could have inherited his organizational mind, but I'm adopted. So I just have to borrow it straight from the source. I'd have to guess one of my biological parents was sort of scatterbrained."
"Have you ever tried to find out anything about your biological parents?" Creek asked.
Robin shrugged. "My parents—my adoptive parents—told me that they had died," she said. "And aside from a bad moment with Santa when I was eight, they've never lied to me about anything big. So I never went looking. There were a couple of times when I was a teenager when I thought about what it would be like to meet my 'other' family, though. You know how teenagers are."
"I was one once," Creek said.
"I'm sorry," Robin said. "I suddenly got very personal for a first date. I don't want you to think I'm one of those people who unloads their entire history over appetizers. I'm really not that co-dependent."
"It's okay," Creek said. "I don't mind. Anyway, I think we'll have a lot to talk about at dinner."
Robin opened her mouth to follow up on that, but before she could a man in a sports coat walked over. "Robin Baker?" he said.
"Yes?" she said.
The man reached into his coat and pulled out a wallet containing an ID card. "Agent Dwight, FBI. Miss Baker, I need you to come with me. You're in danger here."
"In danger?" Robin said. "In danger from what?"
"Not from what. From who," Agent Dwight said, and glanced over at Creek. "You're in danger from him. He's going to kill you, Miss Baker. At least he is going to try."
Chapter 7
Robin turned to Creek. "You bastard," she said. "You never said anything about killing me when we made the date."
Agent Dwight grimaced. "This is serious, Miss Baker. You need to come with me right now."
"Robin, I wouldn't go anywhere with that guy," Creek said.
"I'm not going anywhere with anyone," Robin said.
"You're making a mistake, Miss Baker," Agent Dwight said. "This man is a danger to you."
"Yeah, fine," Robin said. "I'm in a public place with surveillance cameras all around, and you're here to protect me, right? It's doubtful he's going to murder me right here and now. So before I do anything else, I want to know what this is about"
Creek and Dwight started speaking at the same time; Robin held her hand up. "Jesus Christ," she said. "One at a time." She pointed at Dwight. "You. Go."
"You're in danger," Dwight said. "From him."
"I got that already," Robin said. "Why?"
"He's going to try to kill you," Dwight said.
"Any reason?" Robin asked.
"What?" said Dwight.
"Is there any reason he's going to kill me?" Robin asked. "You know, like I killed his father or stole his land? Or is he just your garden-variety axe murderer? What?"
"Well, he's done it before," Dwight said.
"Killed people," Robin said.
"Yeah," said Dwight. "And he's planning to do it to you. That"'s why—"
"I need to come with you. Right Okay, you stop now." She turned to Creek. "You go now."
"It's complicated," Creek said.
"Complicated would be good after this guy's story," Robin said.
"You have a particular sort of DNA in your genetic makeup," Creek said. "Someone with this DNA is needed for a diplomatic mission. Others with this DNA have been turning up dead; as far as I know you're the only one on the planet with this DNA who is still alive. I'm supposed to talk to you about the situation and try to get you to agree to come in to the State Department. We want to discuss options with you and see if you can help us."
"Options that don't include killing me," Robin said.
"Right," Creek said.
"But you didn't get around to telling me any of this," Robin said.
"I tried," Creek said. "I don't know if you know this about yourself, but you're not the easiest person in the world to have a linear conversation with."
"What happens if I don't go to the State Department with you?" Robin said.
There might be a war," Creek said.
"I meant to me," Robin said.
"Nothing," Creek said. "You're an American and a UNE citizen. We can't make you do anything you don't want to do. Although given the presence of the so-called Agent Dwight here, I would suggest you let the State Department give you protection until this thing gets sorted out."