Your Call Is Important To Us! (Excerpt)
Work on the sequel to Thank You For Your Cooperation is proceeding nicely. I hope to publish it in the late spring. In the meantime, I thought I'd share this little blurb with you...
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Felix spun in his gyrostool and settled in before one of its many screens. This one depicted a spacious, tastefully decorated living room, clearly the residence of a high-clearance citizen. Frilly, light blue curtains covered the windows. A long, plush couch and two immaculate recliners had been arranged around a low coffee table. On the wall to the left, a rectangular patch indicated where the hallucinograph had hung.
Just a few minutestretches before, the room had been occupied by three persons: Rich Anweir, his wife, and a middle aged man whose identity was entirely unimportant. They had been chatting amiably away. Now it was empty. A plate with several half-eaten pastries and three cups of congealing coffee were all that remained.
A few taps on his keyboard brought another room into view. This was the bedroom, and – unlike the living room – it was occupied.
On the large, canopied bed were Rich Anweir's wife and the third man. She had been blindfolded and her hands bound securely behind her back. Her head was being pressed roughly into a mound of pillows, and the third man – still dressed in his boots and spantex suit – was taking her forcefully from behind.
Standing near the foot of the bed, butt-naked except for a spiked collar around his neck, stood Rich Anweir. He was holding his PA out in front, hungrily recording all the action. A leash was attached to the collar, but at the moment no one was holding it.
Felix cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone. “Good afternoon, citizen Rich Anweir. This is citizen Felix Tubman speaking. I am the Head of Homeland Security.”
The three citizens on screen froze.
“I have a few questions to ask you. Do you have a stretch?”
Rich Anweir glanced up at the security camera. “Can't we do this another time?”
“I'm afraid not.”
Rich Anweir blew out a frustrated sigh. “Let me guess. Barney Max.”
“THAT IS CORRECT CITIZEN RICH ANWEIR. HOW DID YOU KNOW?”
At the sound of Control's voice, Rich Anweir stiffened. The man on the bed quickly disentangled himself from his wife.
“Is that Control?” barked the woman from the pile of pillows. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
Rich Anweir reached for his clothes. “No, Doris. Don't worry about it.”
“Well, whatever it is, I hope it's not catching!” she called after him as he headed for the door.
“I said don't worry about it, dear.”
“Lawrence? Are you still here? Get these things off me!”
Felix tapped the keyboard. The living room came into view. Rich Anweir was putting his clothes on.
Felix spoke into the microphone. “I appreciate your flexibility. This will only take a moment.”
Rich grunted something incomprehensible as he removed his spiked collar and tossed it cavalierly onto the coffee table. It landed on the pastry tray.
“YOU HAVEN'T ANSWERED MY QUESTION CITIZEN.”
Rich took a seat on the couch, spread his arms across the back, and looked earnestly into the camera. “What else could it be, Control? I was waiting for this interview. It's not often you have one of the most notorious traitors the Bunker has ever seen walk across your place of business. And to think, he was there for – what? Five yearstretches? Six?” He shrugged. “I should have been more discerning. There's no excuse.”
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Felix spun in his gyrostool and settled in before one of its many screens. This one depicted a spacious, tastefully decorated living room, clearly the residence of a high-clearance citizen. Frilly, light blue curtains covered the windows. A long, plush couch and two immaculate recliners had been arranged around a low coffee table. On the wall to the left, a rectangular patch indicated where the hallucinograph had hung.
Just a few minutestretches before, the room had been occupied by three persons: Rich Anweir, his wife, and a middle aged man whose identity was entirely unimportant. They had been chatting amiably away. Now it was empty. A plate with several half-eaten pastries and three cups of congealing coffee were all that remained.
A few taps on his keyboard brought another room into view. This was the bedroom, and – unlike the living room – it was occupied.
On the large, canopied bed were Rich Anweir's wife and the third man. She had been blindfolded and her hands bound securely behind her back. Her head was being pressed roughly into a mound of pillows, and the third man – still dressed in his boots and spantex suit – was taking her forcefully from behind.
Standing near the foot of the bed, butt-naked except for a spiked collar around his neck, stood Rich Anweir. He was holding his PA out in front, hungrily recording all the action. A leash was attached to the collar, but at the moment no one was holding it.
Felix cleared his throat and spoke into the microphone. “Good afternoon, citizen Rich Anweir. This is citizen Felix Tubman speaking. I am the Head of Homeland Security.”
The three citizens on screen froze.
“I have a few questions to ask you. Do you have a stretch?”
Rich Anweir glanced up at the security camera. “Can't we do this another time?”
“I'm afraid not.”
Rich Anweir blew out a frustrated sigh. “Let me guess. Barney Max.”
“THAT IS CORRECT CITIZEN RICH ANWEIR. HOW DID YOU KNOW?”
At the sound of Control's voice, Rich Anweir stiffened. The man on the bed quickly disentangled himself from his wife.
“Is that Control?” barked the woman from the pile of pillows. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
Rich Anweir reached for his clothes. “No, Doris. Don't worry about it.”
“Well, whatever it is, I hope it's not catching!” she called after him as he headed for the door.
“I said don't worry about it, dear.”
“Lawrence? Are you still here? Get these things off me!”
Felix tapped the keyboard. The living room came into view. Rich Anweir was putting his clothes on.
Felix spoke into the microphone. “I appreciate your flexibility. This will only take a moment.”
Rich grunted something incomprehensible as he removed his spiked collar and tossed it cavalierly onto the coffee table. It landed on the pastry tray.
“YOU HAVEN'T ANSWERED MY QUESTION CITIZEN.”
Rich took a seat on the couch, spread his arms across the back, and looked earnestly into the camera. “What else could it be, Control? I was waiting for this interview. It's not often you have one of the most notorious traitors the Bunker has ever seen walk across your place of business. And to think, he was there for – what? Five yearstretches? Six?” He shrugged. “I should have been more discerning. There's no excuse.”
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