 
A Darker Side of Privacy

By

Paul Wolfle

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

Paul Wolfle on Smashwords

A Darker Side of Privacy

Copyright© 2012 by Paul Wolfle

Thank you for downloading this eBook. Your support and respect for the property of this author is greatly appreciated.

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

Adult Reading Material

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I hope you enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.

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A DARKER SIDE OF PRIVACY

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Chapter 1

Who thought it would ever come down to the federal government selling compulsory privacy policies to all of its adult citizens. When the Senate and the House of Representatives initially realized they could mandate such purchases, lawmakers wasted no time lunging head first into the business of brokering confidentiality. What's more, they made sure no one was there to stop them.

When the seeds of Privacy Allocation, or as its sometimes abbreviated, "PA", were first planted during the initial days of the post-911 Patriot Act, legislators in Washington secured total control over the nation's affairs, collective as well as singular. The feds subsequently turned their absolute power into a wholly corruptible assortment of profitable sleaze, which spurred the creation of a newly defined American oligarchy, unofficially referred to as the "Politician Class." Privacy policies quickly became one of their instruments of wealth.

Similar to a "holier-than-thou" caste, the "Politician Class" claims to be culturally superior to the rest of the population. It's the main reason why the same old names keep reappearing in every election cycle. The tradition was first perfected years ago during the Clinton, Bush and Cuomo eras of voting; coincidentally, when the richest zip codes in the nation moved to Washington, D.C.

In contemporary society, starting at the age of 21, every citizen is now required to purchase a privacy policy. Residents who don't comply are often left to defend themselves against the ever present throngs of voracious paparazzi and blood thirsty rag journalists on the prowl. This is a new breed of ruthless, unrelenting media, the likes of which would have made Princess Diana turn over in her grave. If she only knew how personal privacy was being doled out with a price tag. Find the dirt on someone and then release as many secrets as you can to the highest bidder. That had always been the cardinal rule; however it went completely out of control.

Available only in America, privacy policies, modeled after domestic healthcare plans, offers a variety of premium strategies. These assorted Privacy Allocation products allow different degrees of digital penetration into the personal data of each U.S. citizen.

In essence, the more a subscriber spends, the higher the insulation from public scrutiny. Of course, only a small well-connected group of brokers are licensed to negotiate the sale of such policies, due to the enormous commission involved. In many ways, it's nothing more than an enforcement pay-off from the government.

Within this community of strange Orwellian policy brokers, privacy is a marketable commodity, much like crude oil and soybeans. Entertainment celebs, rock stars, professional athletes, Wall Street executives, Internet legends, captains of various industries and famous politicians represent some of the super wealthy who have the means to keep their personal information hidden. They can pay for the finest government issued privacy policies, ensuring the greatest insulation against prying.

Conversely, ordinary folks can't afford to buy costlier privacy policies. As a result, they live their lives under threat of the ever present and all too intrusive public eye. One wrong move could cause a person's life to fall between the cracks of their own privacy policy, only to be thrust into hordes of cut-throat media types, waiting to descend upon work and home without notice.

In order to render privacy policies enforceable, every bit of a person's personal information must be collected, starting from their first moments on earth. All vital statistics, even the slightest minutiae, are recorded by the federal government. The litany of transcribed facts includes:

Hospital charts, physician records, fingerprints, banking paperwork, driver's licenses, school grades, an individual's height, weight and sexual preference, eyeglass prescriptions, Social Security numbers, immigration documents, birth certificates, old addresses, photographs, criminal histories and perhaps most troublesome of all, skeletons from the darkest of closets. It all goes into government storage, as well as favorite colors and foods, names of friends and acquaintances, preferred restaurants, immunizations and allergies, dental cavities, personal DNA sequencing, sports accolades, identities of childhood teachers and coaches, religious affiliations and standing, descriptions of pets and their names, vacation spots with addresses, songs listened to, types of clothing bought and the status of family relationships. The statistics are staggering but still managed by the state.

In the past, a paper trail had the potential to be hidden, sealed or ultimately destroyed, but what do you do about a "cyber path," where material, true or false, authorized or not, remains perpetually available?

When the cost of digital storage dropped to an all-time low, the federal government recognized definitive and ultimate control over all its domestic citizens could be achieved if every little thing about each person was archived and fully retrievable upon command. The cost of amassing a citizen's life averaged out to be merely fractions of a cent. Consequently, giant databases sprung up over night in order to accommodate such an exponential undertaking. Before long, there was no escaping the clutches of Washington's information highway.

Defying the federal government's computer technocracy meant social suicide for most residents. That is, for everyone but Andy Stone. By some means, Andy, 31, a college educated civil service clerk, inadvertently slipped under the "PA" radar. How ironic that he worked in state government for the past eight years and was never required to purchase a requisite privacy policy, which happened to be fine with him.

From the time he was born, Andy's individual stats were recorded in their entirety, following the usual governmental procedures. When he turned 21, the age every resident was obliged to acquire a privacy policy, he had all the normal social credentials just like anybody else, including a driver's license, car registration and Social Security card. To his credit, Andy had no skirmishes with the law, not even a traffic ticket. His public profile was as clean as a whistle. He lived free from any type of media scrutiny. That is, until now.

Stubborn as well as intelligent, Andy Stone was no pushover. He was not the kind of person with whom others liked to tangle. His defiant nature led him to the conclusion that privacy policies were a government racket, so he avoided them like the plague.

About privacy policies, he insisted, "They are not needed if people would just learn to stay out of trouble."

Muscular and tall with dark hair and blue eyes, Andy was mostly German and Italian with a bit of Irish and Norwegian thrown in for good measure. He reveled over what his girlfriend, Kim, frequently told him:

"Italian people are of the earth. They got it here and they got it there and don't forget, you're part Italian!"

Whenever Kim expressed this theory, she would first point to her head and then hold out both hands, implying Andy's ancestors were strong in mind as well as body. She thought he had plenty of intellect and brawn, a century's old blend which proved to be a valuable combination.

One day at work, while sorting emails in his cubicle, Andy received a phone call from the program manager, William Prober. A portly curmudgeon resembling a squatty box with a rounded bottom, Prober managed the entire Centerton customer service facility, located in Pine Brush County on eastern Long Island. He may have looked asinine and hapless but make no mistake, underneath it all, Prober was a callous autocrat.

Andy didn't report directly to William Prober and he rarely encountered him during the course of the day, maybe once in a while, in the men's room. He never went out of his way to speak to the graying wet-blanket. Getting a call from him was rather peculiar; therefore, Andy immediately realized something was amiss.

"A, hi Andrew, a can you come here and see me in my office?"

"Hi, Mr. Prober, you mean right now?"

"Yes, Andrew, right now."

As a kid, Andy's parents called him "Andrew" whenever he was in trouble. Prober's "Andrew" sounded just like that.

"Okay, Mr. Prober, I'll be right there."

Prober's office was in the administrative center, about 100 feet away from Andy's work station. As the program manager, everyone answered to William Prober including the administrative staff, supervisors, clerks, security, tech people, delivery drivers, vendors, lawyers, local labor unions and anyone else who set foot on the property.

Once inside his private office, Prober told Andy to close the door.

"Hello, Andrew, a, come in."

"Hi, Mr. Prober, how are you."

"Um, I'll get to the point Andrew. I received some complaints about you recently, it concerns coming in late and leaving early."

"I don't know anything about that. I'm always here on time, usually early as a matter of fact. You know, Mr. Prober, can't you just check my log in times? I'm confidant you'll see I haven't been late."

"Um, yeah, but some of these complaints came directly from your supervisor."

"What? Are you serious, from Dwight? Dwight Edwards said that?"

"Yes, Andrew."

"But I'm never late. Why would Dwight say such a thing?"

"Ah, yeah, then there's the matter of taking long lunches."

"Wait a minute. Hold on here. I pass you every day when I come back from lunch. You know I'm never late getting back and if I am it's because I received permission from Dwight. You know that, Mr. Prober."

"It has also come to my attention that you do not have a current, up-to-date privacy policy. Ah, and as you know, with my connections in Albany and Washington, I have the authority to sell you such a policy. I'm an authorized broker. That should resolve all issues, it's a federal law you know.

"Hey, wait a minute here. What does allegedly coming in late and leaving early have to do with a privacy policy? One thing has nothing to do with the other. I'm never late, I don't leave early, I can't afford a privacy policy and I don't want one. I've been fine up to now without one. Mr. Prober, is there something else going on around here?"

"You see, that's the whole thing, Andrew. Just suppose, in theory, the media knew you had gotten in trouble here in Centerton due to various employment infractions. And then some type of disciplinary action against you ensued. What do you think would happen if the media knew you had no privacy policy? They would have a field day. Tell me Andrew, do you think the paparazzi would come here first or go to your home? Whaddaya think, Andrew?"

"Yeah, I see Mr. Prober, I dunno."

"I can tell you that if they came here, I'd have to cooperate to the fullest extent of the law, seeing how there's no policy with your name on it."

"I already told you I'm not interested in a privacy policy."

"When you come right down to it, I think a year's salary worth of coverage should set you up nicely with some adequate privacy protection. That's what you really need."

"No, Mr. Prober, I don't think so. This is very fishy to me. I wanna know why Dwight Edwards said those things about me. And what does a privacy policy have to do with me being late for work?"

"Because everyone's supposed to have a privacy policy. It's the law and you know you're not above the law."

"Yeah, a fake law, designed to collect everyone's hard earned money."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Andrew."

"What happens now?"

"You tell me, is that all Andrew?

"Well, I sure hope not. I think there's something going on here because you and I both know I'm never late. I'm one of your most productive workers. I've passed every supervisor exam and I have a lot of friends here. And I'm not sure why you're so concerned about me having a privacy policy."

"Ah, yeah, Okay then. If there's nothing else, I'll speak to Dwight Edwards but ah, we're probably going to have to write you up."

"But Mr. Prober, this is unfair. Then I'll have to grieve this with the union. I've never used the union's grievance process before, but all that stuff you said is unfounded...this is very weird."

"Okay then Andrew, if there's nothing else."

Andy had no blemishes on his employment record when trouble suspiciously arose. William Prober and Dwight Edwards filed a disciplinary notice with human resources indicating he was insubordinate. That was usually the first step taken when they wanted to get rid of a person. Andy filed grievances with the union in response to the warnings.

How and where would his complaints be arbitrated? Right there at work. Recently, due to a bad economy, the Centerton facility contained a number of vacant office suites that sat unoccupied. In an effort to offset the enormous rental cost of the property, the idle space was utilized in a variety of ways.

Though Centerton was originally set up as a customer service operation, some of the empty offices were converted into a large hearing venue which had jurisdiction over civil service employees in the region. Workers were required to resolve all disciplinary actions at Centerton.

Three weeks after filing his request, Andy's grievances were heard at an inquiry held in the Centerton facility. Only moments after getting underway, surprisingly, the complaints filed by Andy were summarily dismissed. As it turned out, according to the latest collective bargaining agreement, William Prober held the distinction of being the state's judge, jury and executioner, all rolled into one. Incredibly, when the last union contract was drafted, all mediation power, on every level, was conceded to the state. That meant William Prober held total control over the grievance resolution process.

He ruled that Andy's grievances were unable to be supported by any facts rendering them inadmissible under the current union contract. The procedure was entirely legal since this was civil service territory, with its own set of harebrained rules and preposterous regulations. Too bad that wasn't the end of it.

For the next six months, Prober tied Andy up with recurring allegations, by and large involving tardiness, insubordination and dereliction of duty, all fabricated. After filing 31 new grievances with his union, Local 23, of the Clerical/Administrative/Internet Technical Support Unit, Andy requested one of their attorneys to look into the matter. His request was denied.

Being from a working class family, Andy expected the union to pick up the gauntlet on his behalf, especially in view of the fact he was being unduly targeted. After all, he was up to date on his dues and had always supported local organizers. It came as a shock when the union wouldn't assist him. Apparently organized labor had been in bed with the state due to political affiliations in Albany. They didn't want to rub particular people the wrong way.

Members of the rank and file, some of whom called Andy's predicament "a witch hunt," started receiving harsh treatment from Prober, the same kind given to Andy. As a result, coworkers who were willing to step forth on Andy's behalf abruptly backed down. He was going to fight this battle solo.

After a while, the job related problems became magnified. They started to seep into Andy's life outside of work. He shared an apartment on the beach, in Ocean Inlet, Long Island, with his girlfriend, Kim, 31, a marketing entrepreneur and dark haired beauty. Ocean Inlet, located in neighboring Tricester County, was approximately a twenty-five minute drive from Centerton.

Though the couple spoke about marriage only once in a blue moon, they knew they loved each other and wanted to be together. At the moment, both were afraid Andy was going to lose his job. In next to no time, anxiety about work gathered in his psyche, not slowly, but like a ton of bricks.

"What do you think, Kim? What's my next move at work? I'm not sure which way to go on this."

"I don't know, but leave my nipples alone, they not ready for playing. It's three o'clock in the morning and I was asleep."

"They just looked so nice and since I couldn't sleep, well, you know..."

"Hey, hands off!"

"All right, all right, good night. I don't know how I'm gonna fall asleep. I haven't slept all week."

"Good night, Andy."

Chapter 2

Andy's union representative, Tony Bongiorno, called to say the latest grievances filed about William Prober fell outside of the collective bargaining agreement. The union's hands were allegedly tied and there was no other civil service department or source of help Andy could turn to. "Nobody could help" started to have a prophetic ring.

"Tony, listen, I read the collective bargaining agreement. At the beginning of the contract, even before chapter one is the union's mission statement. It says, 'There shall be no hostile work environment' and 'all employees are entitled to a safe and equal workplace.' Mr. Prober's actions violate this declaration, which is certainly hostile. Ask my coworkers, they'll tell ya. Tony, why aren't you and the union doing anything about this?"

"It's like I told you Andy, there's nothing we can do about it. Our hands are tied. The union agreement doesn't cover it."

"Tony, then why did I just pay eight years' worth of union dues, for what?"

"I dunno. I spoke to the other delegates and they agreed that your complaints fell outside the contract."

Desperate and tired, Andy searched for help everywhere. One of Kim's friends, an attorney in trusts and estate law, suggested he contact one particular high powered labor lawyer for assistance. His name was Kevin J. Sapell.

Sapell was well regarded in the legal community and came highly recommended. That was before video footage appeared on the ten o'clock news showing him being arrested for masterminding a fraudulent mortgage scheme. Accompanying photos ran in The New York Times business section. Needless to say, that was the end of Mr. Sapell as an attorney.

After a diligent search, Andy couldn't locate a single lawyer willing to fight for his job. Public agencies and advocates proved to be no help either. Most indicated there was nothing they could do to address his situation at work. When he contacted the so called "Whistleblowers Hotline," representatives decided Andy did not qualify for their assistance. Once again, that familiar phrase echoed in one ear and right out the other:

"There's nothing we can do."

It looked as though Andy was being set-up to be fired. The harassment at work continued unchecked. Before long William Prober sent an official notice indicating Andy was being placed on leave without pay due to poor performance. An administrative hearing was going to decide if he was fit to resume his position as a customer service clerk. Strangely enough, after all these years, Andy's employer suddenly decided he could no longer do his job. It had become so ludicrous that the union then felt a need to step in. They finally assigned an attorney to the case. Andy threatened to bring in the National Labor Relations Board if they didn't.

Andy waited months for a hearing. During that time the stress had taken a bit of a toll on his health. Was he going to have a job to go back to after all of this? If he did get his job back, could he keep working there, following this dreadful treatment?

Prolonged acute nausea along with some other generalized symptoms forced Andy to the doctor, who prescribed a CAT scan. Tests revealed a small stone in his left kidney. A follow-up appointment was made with an urologist, Dr. Jonas.

When they met, Andy was taken aback by the physician's questions.

"Tell me Mr. Stone, what happened in your life, oh, say about six months ago?"

"Six months ago? Whaddaya mean?"

"I mean just like what it sounds. What happened in your life six months ago? Was there something traumatic that happened to you?"

"Well, I dunno, why?"

"Because you have a kidney stone and judging by its size, it seems to have been there for about six months or so. The interesting thing is that during the course of my practice, I've found a mind-body connection in my patients, one that can produce kidney stones, usually from stress."

"Go on, get outta here Doc."

"I'm very serious. This is about your health, which is something that should not be taken lightly."

"Yes doctor...well, ah, yeah about six months ago. Well, I'm embarrassed to tell ya. I got suspended at work and I'm still waiting to see if I can go back."

"Let me get this straight. If I understand you correctly, you lost your job and you don't know if you're getting it back."

"That's correct."

"What do you do for a living?"

"I'm a clerk, for the state, you know, civil service."

"Let me ask, what did you do, anything bad?"

"No. I'm on administrative leave without pay because the boss at work decided I was his next target."

"Oh boy, he's one of those?"

"I'm afraid so. He fabricated all kinds of reports about me and well, all kinds of other things."

"I see. So you've been waiting for six months to see if you're getting your job back. In the meantime, do you have any salary coming in, if I may be so bold?"

"No, I don't."

"I'd say that's a lot of stress, wouldn't you?"

"Well, yeah, I guess so."

"I'd also say that's a fair amount of stress for anybody. Now, how did I know that you had something stressful in your life six months ago? I didn't know you then. You weren't my patient yet."

"I see your point, wow. That's interesting. Stress can cause kidney stones."

"Sometimes but often enough...did you see it coming?"

"You mean the boss's attack, no not at all. It's trumped up. I've worked there for eight years, trouble free and an exemplary worker. All of a sudden they decided there's a problem. I didn't change anything, so why now?"

"I really think that could be the cause of your stone. You need to hydrate as often as possible. I'll give you a little cup. When it passes, catch it when you urinate. We'll have it analyzed. It looks small enough that you don't need lithotripsy."

"What the hell is that?"

"That's when you crush the stone with sonic waves. Do you know when you'll find out about your job?"

"Not really."

"Well, good luck. As far as the stone, it's small enough so that we'll leave it alone. But you must hydrate. Don't forget, use the cup when you feel it's moving and do something to cut down on the stress. Remember, there's a mind-body connection. I'll give you something for pain."

"Okay Dr. Jonas thanks."

Ten days later, Andy finally received notification of an administrative hearing, which was to be held in Centerton, Part 25. It took seven months. He was glad, though it was still going to be an anxiety producing event and a major cause for concern. He had no idea what was going to happen.

Following a particularly sleepless night, Andy decided to go for a cup of coffee and buttered roll from the local deli. It was 5 am and still dark outside. As he pulled up to the parking lot Andy didn't see a small puddle of water waiting down below. Stepping out of his vehicle, he took two steps and then went down like a wet sack of cement.

Looking around in embarrassment, he checked to see if anyone was watching. Nobody was there. He stood up and within seconds his left arm became stiff with pain and tingling. It seems he struck his shoulder against the asphalt pavement.

Needless to say, Andy never made it to the deli. Instead he jumped back into his car, turned right around and went directly home. Sitting in a hospital emergency room for hours was out of the question. Instead he made an appointment with the orthopedist. Thanks to a cancellation, he was seen right away.

Following a thorough physical examination and an MRI, the diagnosis was a chipped left shoulder. Surgery was not needed as long as the loose fragment didn't move around too much.

"You know Doc, this really sucks. I just had a kidney stone and now this. I feel like there's something else going on here, like I have a black cloud following me around."

"No, no just a little bad timing. How's your stone?"

"It's still there."

"I'm prescribing six weeks of physical therapy for your shoulder. Do the strengthening exercises, you should have no problem. If you do, come back and see me again. You can do them at home after a while."

"Thank you, Doctor."

Following his visit to the physician, Andy was saddened. Having one thing on top of another was difficult for a person who was never ill. On the positive side, since shoulder surgery was not needed, he realized it could have been a lot worse. The same held true for his kidney stone. These were treatable conditions. All the same, Andy figured he acquired these maladies as a result of the stress caused by William Prober.

"Kim, you don't know how much I wish this whole thing was over."

"Oh yes I do, you don't have to tell me. I know."

Andy's hearing date finally arrived. The administrative inquiry required a higher level of adjudication so Judge Bradford Peabody was assigned to hear the case. He, too, was a state employee. His decision would be binding and legal under civil service law. Andy's request for an impartial specialist or referee was turned down.

With a stenographer present, the hearing began. There was no mention of Andy's lack of a privacy policy, on or off the record, and he didn't dare raise the issue. Following a brief kangaroo court type of proceeding, a decision was reached. In exchange for the entire retroactive money and benefits owed during his 28 week suspension, on advice from the union's Kafkaesque attorney, Arthur "Max" Petrocelli, as well as Megan O'Brady, the lawyer for the state, Andy agreed to resign his position.

Beaten down and fatigued, he reluctantly settled on their terms and not his own. Eight years of public service and an immaculate employment record went completely down the drain. Andy was no longer allowed on the employer's premises, not permitted to collect any belongings or even say farewell to his coworkers. Pension benefits, a retirement package, his health plan and dreams of the future were now truncated, all because of some cockamamie cabal of crooked civil servants.

When he was a young boy, his mom stressed the concept of having an honorable reputation. She taught him that having a good standing in life was everything. On the contrary, at the moment, he felt sullied by the fictitious tales intent on destroying him.

"Any personal possessions will be mailed to you promptly," proclaimed Judge Peabody, "Good day, Mr. Stone. This hearing is now adjourned."

Andy turned and quickly walked out without saying a word to anyone. Once inside his car he locked the door, where he breathed a deep sigh of sadness and relief.

While gunning the engine and with tears in his eyes, he said to himself, "It's finally over."

However, losing his job was only the beginning of Andy's troubles.

A month later, with some of the money from his resignation settlement, he and Kim flew to Florida for a two week vacation at Disney World in Orlando. It was a welcome breather from the horrendous civil service sham they had endured. On the first afternoon there, following a few drinks, Kim suggested some pre-dinner lovemaking to Andy.

"That shower felt good. I needed to wash off all the filth and grime left from your friggin' battle with the state."

The humidity left a sexy sheen on Kim's unblemished skin and an attractive come hither look about her pouty lips and inviting eyes.

"Oh man...Kim, your tits are...they look so good, I mean really good. I see it's a little 'nippy out.'"

"I think you should come over here right away and stick it in. We don't need a condom."

"M-m-m-m, it'll be my pleasure."

As the night wore on and they readied for dinner, Andy told Kim that he wanted to start fresh and forget about anything related to his civil service employment when they got back to Long Island. He didn't know at the time his story was being blasted all over the Internet on cheap sites that would smear anyone for a buck and some free advertising.

"I better touch base. I'll just be a couple of minutes, I wanna check my email...what the, hey what the, what the hell is this?"

"What's the matter?"

"I'm not used to this screen, so when I logged on I must have put my name in the search bar by mistake. Up popped an article about me! Look at this."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Look, it's about my civil service hearing."

"Let me see...Hey Andy, this says 'after egregious behavior against the People of the State you agreed to resign your position.' It's definitely your paperwork, from the civil service hearing. But why is it here?"

"I dunno. I'm speechless."

"Look, it makes you... it makes it look like you were the guilty one."

"This is bullshit, what is this crap? I can barely read it I'm so angry!"

"Will you look at this? They posted everything...but there's no mention of the money you won back or the hostile environment you put up with for the last couple of years. They don't say anything about your attorney getting arrested, nothing, what is this?"

"I don't know, I mean, how did this happen?"

"There's nothing about Prober singling you out or that weirdo, Dwight Edwards, lying about you. Yuck, he always gave me the creeps. He's probably in one of those, what are they called again, those groups of men with the boys?"

"I dunno...this says I openly admit my guilt against 'the People of the State.' What site is this? It's 'The Authentic Civil Service Gossip Machine.' Who wrote this? I'll fucking kill em'...it just says Staff."

"Andy, do you know which site this is? This is the one that the Governor's brother owns. He gets all the civil service hearsay first. It's always being quoted on the news."

"This is legal?"

"Well, yeah, it's a matter of public record."

"There's nothing I can do about this?"

"I don't think so. Since you were civil service everything is a matter of public record. You did sign the settlement agreement."

"Oh sure, they wanna crucify me, a lowly clerk. Why do they have to do this?"

"You need to ask? If they can find out anything about anybody they'll publish it. And there's not a damn thing you can do about it. They're smearing you."

"Prober told me in his office, before the shit hit the fan, about media coming to work and my home or something like that. This was all planned."

"Of course it was. And when you signed off on the resignation agreement you agreed to their description of you."

"And to think I had a friggin' union lawyer standing right next to me the whole time."

"They got over on you, just like they've done to a bunch of others."

Needless to say, Andy didn't enjoy their remaining time in Florida. When they did get back, after being home for a day, he couldn't get to sleep. At about two in the morning, bright lights from outside the apartment drew Andy out of bed.

"Hey Kim, Kim, come over here quickly, shhhhh. Is that a news truck parked outside in the parking lot?"

"Huh, what is it?"

Take a look out the window. I think there's a news truck outside."

"Is somethin' wrong?"

"I dunno, take a look."

"Hah? Isn't it only two in the morning?"

"Yeah, but don't turn the lights on. You see...its channel 10 News, the station with that retired nun who investigates all those crooks."

Knock, knock.

"What the fuck...look at this, Kim, it's a reporter at our door. Oh my god. It's that blond from TV, on the cable news, the one we always make fun of! She's at our door, holy shit!"

"I better get it."

"No Kim, you stay back. I'll get it."

Knock, knock.

"Can I help you?"

"Hello! Mr. Stone, I'm Carmen Liu-Steinberg, from AM Plus News. Mr. Stone, why did you leave your job with the state after eight years?"

"What? Huh?"

"Mr. Stone, is it true that you agreed to resign your position and in exchange the state agreed not to prosecute you criminally? Can you comment, Mr. Stone?"

"Hey, it's only two o'clock in the morning. Do you know it's only two o'clock?"

"Mr. Stone, I have in my hands an official document with your signature, that says 'after egregious behavior against the People of the State you agreed to resign your position.' Was there any money exchanged? Are there any higher ups who knew about this...what's your response, Mr. Stone?"

"What, wait, I was just a clerk in customer service...wait, it's too late for this, this is my house..."

"Quick, Andy shut the door. Move out of the way, I'll do it."

Wham.

"Can you believe this shit?"

"Pull all the curtains."

"Kim, do you see this...now someone's calling us, at this hour? What the hell is going on here tonight?"

"I'll get it. Hello...yes...yes...no...well, yes...we don't know...no...we don't know, we don't know, yup', nope, nope, nope, Okay then I'll tell Andy. Yup, thanks, goodnight."

"Who was that?"

"Bill the apartment manager. He's gotten some calls about loud trucks and a disturbance outside our apartment. I told him we'll check it out but we didn't know anything about it."

"They're not leaving Kim."

"Andy, don't worry."

"Oh yeah, what happens when we have to leave, what do we do then?"

"They can't get in the back way or through the garage so we're Okay if we have to leave."

"I'm gonna throw a fucking brick at them or else I'm gonna get the garden hose and spray those fucks."

"No you're not. You're not doing any of that. You'll look like a maniac. You want that? For now, Andy, we do nothing."

The next day, Andy used the rear exit at his home to slip out unnoticed, for some fresh whole wheat bread and an apple-crumb pie from a bakery downtown. Having avoided the media, he unsuspectingly stepped from his car, when an attractive middle aged woman approached. She was holding a small microphone. She started shouting.

"Mr. Stone, do you think your father's first failed marriage or your poor childhood grades contributed to your illegal behavior while at the state? I'm Wendy Snow and our readers want to know."

"Who are you?"

At that moment several paparazzi jumped out of a dark van on the other side of his car.

"Hey, Mr. Stone, hey Andy, hey look over here, hey this way, Andy..."

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Others shouted, "Hey Andy, let's hear your side of the story, what do you have to say."

Another journalist showed up and yelled, "Hey Mr. Stone, do you think not earning a championship on the field as a kid contributed to your bad choices as an adult...What can you say that will help defenseless little children keep off the same destructive path that befell you, Mr. Stone?"

Completely flabbergasted, totally pissed off and afraid, Andy hustled back into his car and headed for home. Inside, he locked himself in solitude.

"Kim, I don't know what the fuck I'm gonna do, you can't believe what they're saying about me out there. How do these shit bags even know me, it's just not true what they're saying. I'm not gonna put up with all these cameras and people surprising me with crazy questions and microphones and spotlights...I was just a god-damn clerk, a friggin' clerk...Kim, what's that sound?"

"I dunno but I hear it too."

"What is that? It's scaring the cats...Hey wait a minute, look over there...it's one of those drone copters that all the news shows use. Oh great, now we have a friggin' helicopter over our heads...look over here it's directly above our house, those bastards! Shit, it's definitely a mother fuckin' news 'copter. They're always poking around and scarring the shit out of people. I could kill that mother fucker Prober for starting all this!"

"What do we do?"

"We stay right here. Don't do anything. What are you gonna be able to do anyway? You'll open the door and they'll see you and bam! Your picture will be everywhere. It'll be horrible. They'll shine a big spotlight on you and you'll look like a deer caught in the headlights."

"Not having a privacy policy makes this all worse."

"Fuck that, this would have happened with or without one...whatever you do, don't open that door."

"That's not true. If you had a privacy policy then maybe they would have never found out about personal stuff, like your patents divorce or your school grades."

"Oh yeah and who was going to pay for the privacy policy that would have shielded me from that kind of prying? I couldn't have afforded to pay for that kind of coverage, not if I wanted to pay for other things, like food and rent. Maybe other people can afford that kind of money but shit, I can't...they're still here, don't open the door!"

"Okay, okay, OK, I won't open the door."

"The floodgates outside might be open but for now, in here, please keep the curtains closed."

Fatigued and besieged by the media, Kim's patience was wearing thin. The next morning, with the unmanned drone helicopter gone, she ventured out to pick out up some groceries before heading to the office. Trees and shrubs provided heavy cover around the back of the house so she thought she had made a clean getaway. That was a mistake. By the time she arrived at the store, Kim was surrounded by a pack of rabid correspondents.

"Mrs. Stone, Mrs. Stone, I'm Ashley Dunn from 101 Newsmakers, did you know Andy was committing offenses against the state? Mrs. Stone, what do you have to say about it...?"

"My name isn't Mrs. Stone!"

"Aren't you the one with Andy Stone?"

"...Kim, Kim, it's Roberto Quintana, 7 All the Time News. Can we talk? About Andy's resignation, were there any bribes at any time that you recall...?"

"Hello Miss Stone, Jaleel Dhabi from INDIA Reports, what are your plans now that everyone knows about Andy Stone's disciplinary action..."

"Kim, Kim, Mrs. Stone, Kim, just a minute..."

With her pocketbook in one hand, packages in the other, enraged and fearful, she managed to find her way to the car. In a matter of seconds she was out of the parking lot. Incredibly, no one in her path was mowed down. Back at home she could barely contain herself.

Wham.

"Whoa, well hello. The front door thanks you. That was some greeting."

"I am furious, absolutely furious. I was ambushed by a bunch of, a bunch of, of scumbags!"

"Oh man, what happened now?"

"I got the god-damn groceries including the friggin' avocados and cilantro. It was perfectly fine until I walked out of the store. Then all hell broke loose. Someone started calling me 'Mrs. Stone' and 'did I know what you did' and 'did I know that you committed offenses against the state' or some shit. I have fucking had it with all this crap! I'm not going to the office with all that shit going on out there."

"Here let me take the groceries from you."

"I mean enough is enough already. No offense but Andy, I didn't commit any crime either."

"Oh, I know."

"I wish we could move away from all this shit. These people, they lie about you and get away with it and that isn't good enough, nope that's not good enough. And they're friggin' paid by the taxpayers of this state!"

"I'm sorry, Kim."

"They have to ruin your life and completely destroy who you are. This isn't fair to you and it's not fair to me. These people are sick. To think dirt bags like Prober and Dwight Edwards, the very ones who started the whole ball rolling against you, are civil servants. I'll tell ya, there's something wrong with this picture."

"You're telling me? Come here. Let me give you a hug."

"Yeah, I suppose so."

"Kim I feel bad that I'm the one who brought this on. Is there anything I can do?"

"Thanks, nah. It's not you."

"Are you sure there isn't anything I can do for you?"

"Thanks, nah thanks anyway."

"I'll tell ya what...you're standing there holding fresh avocados, why don't I make us that breakfast thing we like?"

"You mean with the guacamole and all that?"

"Yes with guacamole, the extra avocado slices, the sour cream, you know, the whole thing."

"Umm, yeah okay, that sounds good."

"Okay then. I'm making those scrambled egg omelets we like. On top of the eggs we'll put black beans, then a big spoonful of guacamole, a dollop of sour cream and some fresh salsa. Since we both like avocado we can put extra slices next to the eggs, in addition to the guacamole on top. Let's see, you don't use it but I like Tabasco sauce, you can use the chipotle...whole wheat English muffins for you and regular for me but we also have those little Italian bread 'toasts' to go with that. Oh I'll make spicy potato wedges too."

"Wow, it sounds like a breakfast banquet. I'm glad I picked up the groceries. Don't forget the coffee."

"Yup, I'll make the coffee too. Leave it all to me."

"I'm gonna' take a hot bath. Oh, did you remember I went to the 'good' bakery?"

"I forgot."

"We have four gigantic cupcakes; two are red velvet, one German chocolate and one Dulce de Leche, how's that?"

"Sounds terrific, so go take your hot bath and I'll get the food going."

"I love you, Andy."

"I love you too, Kim."

Chapter 3

In the months following his civil service resignation, Andy became reclusive, barely opening any emails or text messages. He stopped answering the telephone altogether and never ventured out of the apartment. As the weeks crept along, he received dozens of communications, from every kind of journalist and seedy tabloid seeking information or a personal quote about what happened in Centerton.

Staying cloistered over a period of time caused the feeding frenzy to wane little by little. The herd of reporters dwindled though it never completely disappeared. Staying in the house every day surrendered an active life for hermitage, but it certainly helped take the momentum away from the media whores.

Needless to say, Andy learned about joblessness the hard way; firsthand. Fifteen months and two dozen interviews went by; however, he remained out of work. Unemployment benefits, Kim's earnings and his own savings kept him afloat. Thankfully, being without a job also brought the cost of living expenses way down. No need to put gas in the car twice a week or buy lunch everyday and there were a lot less dirty clothes to wash.

Though the media spotlight had leveled off to infrequent, single-handed gonzo paparazzi attacks, Andy rarely left the house. Few options in a bad economy led to a period of insomnia, general fatigue and a bout of agoraphobia. After suffering an anxiety attack in the middle of the night, Andy came to a conclusion; he had to somehow reinvent himself. There was no other way out. He had to do something else in order to save himself.

The negative effects from the information on the Internet about Andy's resignation proved to be detrimental. The destructive reports generated so much bad publicity that when a potential employer found out about his resignation, especially after conducting a background check, no one would hire him. Furthermore, most managers didn't think a former civil servant could successfully make the transition to private industry. Plus, Andy had a hard time explaining why he left his civil service position after eight years. Even the underpaid positions were reluctant to hire him.

Despite a four year degree from a respectable institution, he felt unqualified to do anything else in society, other than being a civil service clerk.

"Kim, what are the things that I know the most about...I guess guitars, music, entertainment, sports, politics, films. I have a Bachelor's Degree from a good school, an insurance adjuster's license, certification an appraiser's license plus I know about art history and a whole bunch of other things. There must be some way for me to parlay what I know into something that pays. Kim you know, I've been writing reports at work for so long, I thought I could capitalize on that. You could help proofread my stuff since you already do that professionally. I wanna let people know about my opinions regarding all that stuff."

"Andy, what time is it?"

"You know Kim, not everybody can talk or write about National Steel Resonator guitars and open tunings. It's historical yet people still don't know how to tune 'em or play 'em. I could write about stuff like that, Johnny Winter, slide guitar, all of that. That's what I'm gonna' do, I'm gonna' write articles about all the shit rolling around in my head."

"That's great. I think it's a terrific idea, now go to bed, please."

Over the next three weeks he sent out numerous resumes, applying for a bunch of creative writing positions. Then he hit pay dirt. Andy started contributing to a popular social media site where he was paid one dollar per article plus page traffic. Not great, but it was a start.

From there he grew as a freelance writer. Next was a prospering digital guitar magazine, at five dollars per commentary. He was then penning news stories and wrote for a few socio-political gigs at other online spots. Before long, comments from readers started adding up on the sites where his work was published. One of Andy's editors commented on his writing:

"Thanks Andy, stellar work. Your articles have gained some favorable attention lately. The natural organization to your articles is better in ways I hadn't readily seen before. In short, they're great. Keep up the good work."

Within seconds, some of the self-imposed guilt lifted from his shoulders, due to the warm encouragement.

"Hey, this is pretty good. I can get used to this. I'm starting to enjoy working from home but I do miss the office camaraderie, the Christmas parties and talking sports with the guys in the morning... I guess I should just focus on earning enough money to pay some bills."

"That's right...Oh, Andy, I told Rachel and Kevin we'd pick them up at noon. They were going to wait at Rachel's, near her car, you know, it's off to the side of the building, at the visitor's lot."

"It feels great going out and being with some friends. It's been so long. And a ball game to boot. I'm a loyal Yankee fan but I don't mind going to a Mets game once in a while...oh man, this is very cool. What a great way to get ready for spring."

"Yeah right, you just like smoking pot with Kevin."

"Shut up, there they are."

"Hey you guys!"

"Hi Rach and Kev, it's great to see you guys!"

"Hey Andy, hey Kim, how are you guys doing?"

"Hello and hello. Andy, are you ready to smoke a joint for the ride?"

"Does the Pope shit in the woods?"

"I dunno, does he?"

"I dunno but I'm ready to smoke."

"Thanks for being the designated driver Kim."

"Oh, you're welcome Kev."

"Kevin man, that shit smells good."

"Keep it down while I'm driving Kev."

"Okay Kim...eh-h-h-h-h, whew, oh yeah, that shit is strong! So Andy, eh-h-h-h, what are you doing these days? I haven't seen you in so long. Are you working? I remember you had that business with the state and everything?"

"Not yet."

"Oh my god, Andy, it's been so long since that state crap ended. You're still not working yet?"

"He's writing Kev, Andy's a good writer."

"Yeah, too bad I'm not earning enough to buy a big bag of pot."

"I feel so bad. What are ya gonna do, Andy?"

"I don't really know, Rachel."

"Here Andy, take another hit."

"Hey, that's enough about that civil service stuff! No more talk about that."

"Kim's right you guys. Andy, where do you and Kim feel like eating after the game?"

"I'll tell ya Kevin, you're always mentioning how good Don Gianni's is but I've never been there. I wouldn't mind trying that place out."

"Don Gianni's it is. Andy wants Don Gianni's and then we're going to Don Gianni's. The place is easy to get to and it's right on our way home. Okay, Don Gianni's, we're going after the game. It's settled."

"I love the roasted peppers and the linguine with white clam sauce there. It reminds me of my Aunt Rose's food."

"You had an Aunt Rose too?"

"Oh, that's hysterical. Kevin and Andy both had an Aunt Rose. I did too."

"What about you Rachel."

"Sorry to disappoint, there are no Roses here, just some dead flowers."

"Very funny Rachel...Andy, take another hit, you too Rachel. Kim, if the smoke is too much, let me know."

After watching an exciting extra inning thriller, the four friends gobbled down platters of assorted fried vegetables and pasta dishes at Don Gianni's. Following a long day, Andy and Kim finally arrived home. Like he always did, Andy checked his email before going to bed.

"That was a really nice day. I had a terrific time...motherfuckingsonofabitch! Look at this, oh not again, motherfucker look at this shit!"

"Andy what's wrong?"

"It's the state again. I got an email alert that my resignation story and the whole friggin' thing is back...it's on another site now.... Motherfuckin' bastards! This one is called 'Bagged Me Another One.' Is this gonna' be owned by the governor's relatives too? There it is, all the same crap, about me leaving my job, all over again. There it is! I'm sick of this!"

"Andy, take it easy."

"How many times are they going to make me relive this shit? I didn't commit any crime! I didn't break any laws. There were no crimes against humanity committed... That's all old news... I was just a damn clerk, a friggin' clerk!"

"Come over here honey. It'll end, you'll see... let me hug you. How about I scratch your back? Take your t-shirt off."

"What are they just going to keep rehashing all my personal information over and over again, for all eternity?"

"We talked about this last time. That's what happens when you don't have a privacy policy. You and everything about your life are fair game. The government has you and most other people by the shorthairs."

"I didn't tell you this before but I search my name every once in a while, just to see if the information about my resignation has disappeared. It never does. I can't get it erased."

"I'm sorry Andy...those fucks!"

"I was thinking. You know maybe I should try to bury that stuff somehow?"

"How would you do that?"

"Just suppose, if I flooded cyberspace with a whole bunch of articles. At least people would know the positive things about me, not that anyone cares."

"I care."

"I gotta tell you, I'm tired of waking up in the middle of the night sweating...I'm tired of searching the want-ads over and over again...I'm tired of not having money in my pocket, like I used to do. I can't even go out and buy you a bunch of flowers or that marzipan that you like. Remember when I used to bring home marzipan for your birthday?"

"I remember and it'll happen again, you'll see honey."

"Kim, it's the phone."

"Stay there, I'll get it...yes, he's right here, hold on."

"It's Bill, you know, from the apartment manager's office. He couldn't get you yesterday. He says he wants to talk to you."

"Hello? Yeah what's up Bill? Who? Did you get a name...wait why was he here? Aha, really...how long was he here...What'd ya tell 'em? Aha, did he talk to anyone else? Yup, aha, yup, yup, aha, aha, aha, no, really...no, nope, yeah, get outta here, he did, oh really...he did...nope...I have no idea, I couldn't say, I have no idea, nope, no, well okay I guess. Hey, thanks for calling me. Yeah, we went to the game... No they lost. Yeah, okay thanks."

"What did he say?"

"They sent a fuckin' private investigator here yesterday to snoop around our house. Do you believe this...those underhanded sneaky fucks?"

"A private investigator was here...why and who is they?"

"Bill said he showed up unannounced, supposedly from a news organization. He started asking questions about me. He heard I had resigned my job and that, 'He wanted any and all information about me.' Things like, 'was I ever arrested, am I married, do I have any children or any kind of money problems,' stuff like that."

"What did Bill tell him?"

"He said the guy came off as either an ex-cop or a cop wannabe and Bill didn't like that. Plus he showed up without calling first. Bill said he didn't like that either."

"But what did he tell him?"

"That I don't have any children that he knew of and that we've lived here for about three years. He told the guy if he wanted any more information, he had to get my permission first. He didn't leave a number or a business card. At times Bill can be a dick, but right now he's OK."

"You think it's the state behind this?"

"I think it's a strong possibility. They showed their true selves, spineless snakes, so I wouldn't put it past them."

"Even though the guy said he was from a news organization or something?"

"Yup, I do."

"Why would the state be doing this now? All of that resignation business is behind you."

"Because Kim, don't you get it? It's payback. They're getting back at me by torturing me. They keep circulating the same damaging information about me in cyberspace. It keeps going 'round and around, like an endless derogatory loop. It's a nightmare. It's unfair. Imagine, I was just a civil service clerk and all of this is allowed to go on. And people want to know why civil service has such as bad reputation?"

"It's a crime what they've done to you."

"William Prober is lucky that I've kept it together all this time, like I've done. Don't think for a minute that I haven't fantasized about getting him back."

"Oh, I bet you have."

"I've thought about carrying out some kind of Ninja type assassination plan, no one would ever know who did it. You've know me long enough. You know I could get the job done...all those things when I was younger...I never got caught. I'm already a careful person and then I learned a lot when I worked under Mr. Toller as a private investigator."

"I didn't like when you did that. It became dangerous."

"A lot of my friends were arrested for different offenses when we were younger, but not me. I've never been in trouble before...I thought how Prober lives over in Miller's Hill. At first I envisioned parking across the street from his house and letting that scumbag see me as he goes to work in the morning. That would scare him. Then I thought about walking down the sidewalk just as he comes out of his door early on a Monday morning."

"This sounds a little crazy to me, Andy."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Then I'd discreetly canvas the area with some slow inconspicuous drive through, maybe a quick walk around the block under cover of darkness, something to help establish Prober's evening pattern. After a solid look-see of the neighborhood, over an extended period of time and only after ascertaining a distinguishable routine, I would strike hard, fast and without a sound.

"This sounds all too realistic."

"Realistic, you bet...I would make O.J. Simpson look like a Boy Scout...do you know what else I'd do, hey, are you crying? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you upset. Are you crying?"

"I don't want anything to happen."

"Oh man, me and my stupidly big mouth. Of course I would never do any of those things in real life. Kim, it just feels good to say those things. It's my weakened ego talking out loud, due to my own frustration. You know what, I'll better shut up. I'm sorry, I apologize Kim. It was not my intention to make you cry... my ego must be feeling pretty bad right now, a thousand apologies from the bottom of my heart."

The bond between Andy and Kim was loving and firm. Even so, there were the crazy people out there intent on doing either or both of them harm. There were lots of lunatics spurred on by the recurring articles about Andy's resignation. Some of them snared his personal information from the Internet.

One evening following dinner, Kim spoke about an unpleasant incident that happened earlier in the day.

"Andy, I have something to tell you."

"Uh oh, this sounds serious. I have to interrupt my favorite beer commercial."

"No really, something serious happened today, near the pharmacy."

"You mean at Royal?"

"Yes. At about nine-thirty this morning I went there to pick up some nail files and some polish remover and to get your cranberry juice. Before I left the store, I looked around first. I know, after all that's gone on, to look first before going outside, no matter where I am."

"Yeah, so what happened?"

"It looked alright, so I walked over to the car carrying my shopping bags when I noticed something or someone coming up on my right side. The person was far away from my car so I didn't really think about it. Then I realized it might be paparazzi or a reporter, so I rushed to get the keys out of my pocket...then I saw the same figure as it came closer...it looked like a man in a hat, coming directly toward me. I didn't see anyone else around, he had no microphone so I didn't think it was a reporter. I thought it might be a jogger. Thank god for me, I jumped in and locked the car door just as he ran up and started banging on my window, heavy, like he wanted to break it."

"Holy shit, are you okay?"

"Yes....wait, when I looked at him I saw blood all over his hands, at least it looked like blood... he looked, well, not normal."

"It's good you got outta there quickly."

"But wait, listen to the rest...with both fists closed, he slammed my windshield, bam! Bam! Then my driver's side window, again bam! He was screaming, 'witch, you're a witch, you're a witch, you need to die.' The whole time I was trying to start my car."

"Oh my god, did he break the glass, are you oaky?"

"No, but I was terrified. I'm still shaking. There were no cops and no one was there to help me at all, I guess it was after rush hour, a slow time."

"Keep going, what happened after that? It doesn't sound like it was premeditated or anything, so he probably didn't know you."

"At first I thought the same thing, except this maniac screamed, 'you have to die, Kim, you're a witch Kim, you have to die!"

"Wait a minute here, he knew your name?"

"Andy, yes he did, he said it twice, 'KIM, KIM!'"

"Are you kidding me and you didn't tell me this before? You didn't go to the police either?"

"No friggin' way."

"Why didn't ya?"

"Because we don't need the publicity, that's why. We don't need a whole new crop of reporters and cops asking stupid questions. Nothing happened after that. I started my car and got the hell out of there."

"Nothing happened to the guy?"

"If anything happened to him it wasn't from me. I hit the gas and left."

"Alright, so Kim, you weren't injured, there was no ambulance and you didn't need to go to a hospital or a doctor."

"Correct."

"And no police were called to the scene."

"Correct."

"And there were no witnesses that we know of."

"Correct, kind of, because I didn't see any, it doesn't mean there aren't any."

"Correct."

"Hey isn't that my line-ha, ha."

"It's a miracle. Kim, did the guy need medical treatment?"

"Oh I don't know."

"We don't know that. Shit man, now we have to worry about our safety?"

"This maniac was nuts, Andy!"

"We have this situation because those articles are resurfacing about my resignation. And my personal data is also out there for anyone to see. This privacy crapola, any 'loony toon,' crook or a person with a vendetta can just look me up and voila! We're a target! This guy knew you were 'Kim' just from reading the articles."

"I didn't want to tell you because I wasn't hurt. I thought you'd get mad because it might mean rehashing everything all over again with the media. You don't need that."

"As long as you're okay, that's the most important thing. I'm not sure what I'd do without you, Kim. We can't have anything happen to you now, c'mon now. You and I have something good going and we're not letting this shit get between us, c'mon now. You're sure you're okay, right?"

"I'm fine."

Chapter 4

At home, Andy's daily schedule was mundane. Up at five in the morning, for a brisk fifteen minute walk down the block and back in every kind of weather. Then it's time to feed the cats, two solid black American shorthairs, Jack and Joe. After that, change their litter box. From there, it's breakfast, usually toast and coffee. Onto checking new emails before doing a thirty minute workout with free weights, split schedule-four days on and one day off. Following a shower and another cup of strong coffee, he sits and writes until dinner.

In between all the writing, the working out, the daily chores and everything else, his mind frequently wandered. Sometimes he'd find himself reminiscing about his grandmother Gisela's mouthwatering food. He especially recalled the stuffed eggplant and Easter frittata she made. Andy missed her homemade cooking so much that he decided to recreate various recipes from his childhood. Gisela had been gone a long time when Andy started preparing cherished meals from memory.

Like his grandmother before him, Andy was known for specific gastronomic specialties, including:

Pasta and Sunday sauce made with country style spare ribs, chicken and sausages; meatless eggplant ragout; lasagna filled with sliced mini meatballs; eggs fried in olive oil with hot red pepper flakes and fresh Italian bread; macaroni and cheese baked golden brown with toasted breadcrumbs on top; roasted stuffed chicken, pan gravy, mashed potatoes and baked yams; homemade French bread pizza and buttermilk pancakes from scratch, along with plenty of others.

"I'm not making a big meal tonight because I don't want to mess up tomorrow's job interview in any way. I can't go in there smelling of garlic or stuffed like a big slob who has to use the bathroom half way through the interview. Tonight it's just Caesar salad along with tuna and macaroni casserole. Okay?"

"That sounds good. Whatever you make is fine with me. I like whatever you put in front of me."

"I just wanna tell ya that this sales associate job interview that I'm going on, I know it's not writing but it's a good salary plus it has all kinds of benefits and coverage and we could really use all of it. You see that's why I'm going on this interview. I'm still gonna do my writing but it'll be on the weekends and at night."

The following day Andy came back from the meeting feeling he was on top of his game. There were positive vibes this time, as he explained to Kim.

"Mr. Kisling told me as long as I have no criminal record I should sail through the background check. That would be the only thing left in the interview process. They loved me."

"Ooh, that's great, I hope you get it."

"I haven't even had a traffic ticket in the last five years. Oh man Kim, I hope this works out."

"Now what type of business is it?"

"It's an employee benefits firm. Believe it or not, the position has some similar duties to my civil service job. A lot of boring report writing but that's completely fine with me, it's a paycheck. Oh and the best part, it's only 20 minutes down the road. I am friggin' psyched, oh yeah!"

"I'll keep my fingers crossed."

"Let's go out and have dinner at Austin's. I love the Arctic char there but even if they don't have that, the other fish on the menu are really good. So is the Mediterranean salad with herbs and feta cheese."

"Nope, this calls for a trip to something a notch above that. What do you say to "The Watershed?" It's more expensive but I can get a bucket of those killer mussels and you can get that steak frit that you constantly blab about...I think they have crème brûlée for dessert."

Destiny and an unfortunate telephone call soon delivered a knockout blow to the couple's high spirited mood. Less than twenty-four hours later the good times were cut short by a brief conversation with Dobbins and Whitmore's hiring manager, Mr. Theodore Kisling:

"Hello...yes this is Andy. Good afternoon, Mr. Kisling...Yes, it's very nice weather. Oh yeah...well I'm proud to say that I've never had any type of criminal record and intend on doing the same in the future. Why? What's wrong? Yes? Yes? Yes? Yes, no, no, no...I resigned my position... administrative... no civil or criminal no, no...I know...but...yes...yes I've seen them but that was a while ago and it has no bearing on things now. Are you sure...well maybe I should speak to someone else or maybe there's...possibly a letter of...yeah, but you know it was civil service...yes, regulations...yeah, yeah, yeah, all right Mr. Kisling. Yes goodbye."

"Hi Andy, the traffic was horrendous but I made it home in one piece. How are you?"

"Motherfuckincocksuckin'motherfuckerbastards. Go to fucking hell, those bastards!"

"You're that good, huh?"

"No, Kim, I didn't get the job."

"What?"

"I passed the background check but they didn't like seeing my name plastered all over cyberspace in, how did he put it, oh yeah, 'a negative fashion that could implicate the company.' This guy Kisling made it out like I was going to be some kind of mutinous renegade. Well fuck that company, Mr. 'Dobbins and Whitmore Human Resource manager'."

"Andy, what the hell happened?"

"Whaddaya think happened, the state strikes again. It's just what I told you...I didn't get the job because they didn't like the negative attention that I could possibly generate. You tell me what the fuck I'm gonna do now, can you tell me that one Kim?"

"Oh for god's sake, give me a break. What's wrong with these people?"

"Fucking they can go to hell, every one of them."

"I'm so sorry, Andy."

"Thanks."

"Hey you know what? I was watching our two cats and I thought about you...you're just a big cat. So you have nine lives, just like our cats. And about your question, 'what are you gonna' do now,' I say keep writing. That's all I'm gonna say, is just keep writing."

"Okay Kim I will. As far as that job goes, I guess nothing ventured, nothing gained."

Chapter 5

"I know I've said over and over that I'm frustrated from not being able to get a job and that I'm sick of not being able to go out and show my face in public like I used to, from that shit with Prober and the state. Well you're not going to believe this, but I think working from home has had its positive upside."

"Yes, you're not dead yet."

"Ha-ha, no really. Working as a civil service clerk, well I don't know if that was the best thing for me. Maybe I've had a creative side all along that just couldn't get out. I don't mean that I'm a creative person per se, not really. Now my brother for example, he's got talent. He's the one who's creative. He can paint and draw. My mother and her sisters and brothers, they're all very artistic."

"You say that you're not creative, but that's not true."

"I'm really not a creative person, not really."

"Oh yeah, okay, you're not creative, sure. A person who draws with pencils, learned to play both electric and acoustic guitar, including slide plus writes all kinds of articles on every conceivable subject, from art and entertainment to socio-politics and music, then cooks delicious meals...Okay, so hmmm and you say that person isn't creative. Boy, do you take the cake. You're a whack job, a real whack-a-doo."

"Well, I never really thought of myself as being creative. I'm left handed. Grandparents on both sides slapped my hand in order to discourage me from using my left hand. Great grandma used to say, 'the left side is the side of the devil because it is Lucifer's favorite,' and then bang! She'd slap my hand across the knuckles with her soup spoon. I'd always tell them, 'I'm not changing because that's how I throw and catch a baseball.' Just think about it, when I draw my circles they go the opposite direction of right handed people."

"There's no doubt in my mind you're creative."

"Years ago, in high school, my brother, Matt, painted the faces of famous rock stars on kid's jackets. First he'd look at a photo and then paint. The kids in school loved it. They paid him for doing it. If it was a jacket or a shirt, he could paint it. Hendrix, David Bowie, any of em.' He used acrylics on everything... Besides taking art in school he also painted cars professionally and he designed some tattoos. He was always doing something at home that had to do with painting or drawing."

"You have quite an artistic family."

"One time in school Matt painted an old radiator that was still fastened to the floor inside a closet. It came out great. He painted a red and yellow dragon on it because it had fins, like an accordion. You could see the dragon completely from any angle. Everyone thought it was so cool."

"Wow."

"Yup, and my grandfather was talented too. He built that log cabin house by hand. He cleared the land, used the wood. Everything was from scratch including the furniture inside. I remember the television cabinet was custom made just for that TV set, you couldn't buy it anywhere. Too bad my grandfather turned out to be such a scumbag."

"If we go to your Cousin Joyce's party you better not talk about any of that."

"Are you kidding me, go to my cousin's party?"

"Why, she's an artist. We'd probably have a good time if we went."

"Kim, the publicity, I don't know. Suppose someone jumps out of the bushes with a camera and somehow tarnishes my cousin. I don't know about this. She's already dizzy."

"I guess you're right. In a momentary lapse of reason I forgot. She's the kind of person who is certainly way out there and doesn't need a paparazzi ambush. But I feel it's worth mentioning that I like your cousin. I like hanging out with the strange oddballs."

"Having grown up with her, I remember Joyce is one of the few members of the family who still holds me in a good light. I don't really care if her paintings aren't understood by everyone, her naked women and lots of boobs. That's how she is. She's talented. It runs on that side of the family."

"It goes from your grandfather, down to your mother, then her brothers, onto you, your brother and your cousins and probably their kids as well."

"I loved hanging out at her last party. There was that big guy, the transsexual and the artsy girl who was into jewelry...then the lesbianish chick and her so called boyfriend or whatever he was, the musician. On the other side of the yard the more conservative mainstream people were a bunch of stick-in-the-muds. What about the blond chick who had no shoes?"

"Hey, that was a lot more fun than some other parties I've been to recently. Those people were a lot nicer too. I told you, your cousin and her friends are a lot of fun."

"You really think I'm creative, like them? I was always involved in sports."

"Andy, I just told you."

"Maybe that's a good lead in to tell you about my idea."

"What idea?"

"Well, it looks to me like I'm not going to get a job anytime soon. I've sent out hundreds of resumes, in all different formats with assorted information and not a bite. You also sent resumes for me and yet I'm still sitting here. Plus, it's gotten hard to feel comfortable going out of the house. Add to that all the stories in my head and I think I'm gonna try to write a book about some of this shit. I'll self-publish it."

"You know how to do that?"

"How to self-publish, no. I researched it and there are a few companies that will publish it for free. You write the book and then post it on their site. Writers split the profit with them. You have to have a cover for the book but I have some ideas about that as well."

"What would you write about?"

"I already thought about that too; my father."

"Now there's a soap opera tragedy."

"I know. How many 31 year olds can say that they last saw their father when they were 11? He goes out of my life completely and then returns decades later, only to die."

"That was tragic, there's no other word. But think about it. There's another side to it. After all those years of separation you wound up having a loving relationship with him after all."

"Do you know how long he was here after we spoke? It was exactly nine months from the day I first got the call from his sister that he wanted to reach out before passing away."

"That was completely heartbreaking."

"I feel it takes nine months to nurture a healthy fetus to birth. It takes nine months to successfully bring a new life into this world. I had nine months with my dad to create a bond that was absent all these years. In the nine months we had together, it's almost as if we created a new father and son relationship. We were together again."

"The words he said in the end, they were as touching as I ever heard... It's making me cry."

"I'll never forget what he said, 'Take me with you.' I couldn't understand what he was saying at first. 'Take me with you.' He told me to 'get his shoes.' Here he was dying from cancer and yet he wanted to go home with me. That's all I had to hear. It meant that he liked me so much that he wanted me near him at the very end. I'll never forget that."

"Of course he liked you, he loved and trusted you. In the end he didn't say those words to anyone but you. Andy, you should feel proud."

"He was on medication but I prefer to think that he meant what he said. He sensed the end was near."

"Of course he meant what he said."

"I like to think I was there when he needed me the most, taking coffee and buttered rolls to him every Sunday when he was on chemo and then in the end. The thing is, I don't think my father would be very proud of me right now, with the resignation and the whole job thing."

"C'mon now, they'll be no beating yourself up."

"At the moment, my own mother and brother have stopped talking to me because I rekindled a relationship with my father. I can't help it if he was abusive all those years ago when we were little. But I also knew how I felt when he came back and I had no hesitation wanting to be with him. My parents' divorce should have been between them instead of us."

"You're gonna write a book about this aren't you?"

"Yup and I'm gonna call it 'Take Me with You.' You'll write the foreword. You know what else? Remember when I told you about a rickshaw we won in a raffle when I was a kid?"

"What about it?"

"It's all going into a book about my father. How many people can say they won a rickshaw when they were young?"

"I'll tell you something, you lived through a lot of crazy stuff when you were a kid."

"First I have to buy the ISBN number for the book. If it's going to be taken seriously it needs an ISBN. I can show you my idea for a cover if I can locate something that looks like a rickshaw, say from clip art or something. I have ideas for other books too. Remember the notable musicians I interviewed?"

"My, but you're quite the industrious one."

"You know why I'm doing this? I realize I'm not going to make any money selling books. It's not for my ego and to feel good about myself and all that nice crap either. It's more a way of letting people know what I'm really like. Considering the shit with the state, it's a way of fighting their propaganda. No one helps me so I have to help myself."

"And you don't think you're creative. Ha, you have your specialties."

Chapter 6

Headlineaccuracy.com, a growing online news service with hundreds of small field offices across the country, offered Andy a position as a local field reporter. It was a part-time job, as a freelancer, which meant the salary was low, but it was legitimate writing work. The organization focused on local happenings instead of global headlines.

Andy joined the Headlineaccuracy website earning seventy-five dollars for each five hundred word article. Fortunately for him, freelancers required no background check. Furthermore, going out on field assignments would prove to be important because it meant his lingering agoraphobia was not a permanent circumstance. Besides, he gladly welcomed the opportunity to be working with others.

His duties included covering boring affairs, like the Incorporated Village of Goose Hills Board of Trustees meeting, held every first Wednesday of the month at eight o'clock in the evening. A small and extremely affluent hamlet in southwestern Tricester County, not a lot happened in the exclusive community of Goose Hills, which left its mayor, Samuel Smythe, contented.

At the most recent trustees meeting, a public hearing was held where a motion was passed to raise local property taxes in Goose Hills well above the state imposed maximum. Mayor Smythe discovered as an incorporated village, Goose Hills was exempt from the state's municipal property tax cap, which is implemented by the governor. None of the trustees, including the village attorney, questioned the increase. Consequently, with a swift swing of the gavel, the measure was enacted and immediately placed into the law. When asked why the Board was raising property taxes above state limits, the mayor issued a simple but curious response:

"We're instituting an increase, just in case things get bad. That's all. Thank you, no other questions right now, good night everyone."

In the days that followed, city hall offered no additional comment. Even for a reporter who was still wet behind the ears, like Andy, this looked pretty suspicious. He thought about the old proverb, "Where there's smoke, there's fire."

Considering his previous civil service skirmish with William Prober, Andy was not keen on confronting city hall yet again. He toyed with the idea of keeping the story hush-hush, but that would mean sacrificing personal integrity. He wasn't ready to do that either.

Before long his conscious kicked into gear. He thought, "Sometimes a person has to take a stand or else not complain when things go bad."

Besides, what kind of journalist would he be if he simply walked away from something that stunk?"

After that, Andy penned a series of short articles about the lack of due process in Goose Hills, particularly regarding the latest property tax hike. Next was a cursory examination of municipal red tape and public records. Surprisingly, Andy's examination revealed a small money trail which curiously came to a screeching halt, right in front of the mayor's office. That's when city hall complained to Andy's editor, Frieda Koenig. The mayor felt he was being unnecessarily targeted. Koenig then called Andy.

"Hey Andy, how's everything...good. What's going on with the mayor? Yeah...a-ha...I have to admit some of this stuff makes him look bad."

"Yeah, well, it is what it is. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck you can bet it's not a dog."

"Um, yeah I know but you're sure about everything with the mayor? I mean if we're doing an end around the mayor's personal privacy policy, because he's a low level village official, I don't want to be sued."

"Trust me. The guy stands to collect some bucks because of this new property tax. He's getting a slice. Some of it's going to him personally. Either the mayor or someone close to him did their homework."

"Okay Andy, I trust you. Let's go with it."

"Great, you'll see. I won't let you down. Thanks, Frieda."

"Anytime you say, Andy."

"I'll see ya."

Within weeks the governor as well as the slumbering but influential residents of Goose Hills woke up to the mayor's greedy tricks. Miraculously, the village's tax hike was rescinded. There was no comment from the mayor's office or the village attorney. Andy's succession of written items provided ChatterTalk.com with the highest amount of page views it ever had. Frieda Koenig was ecstatic.

"Much appreciation Andy, you're the greatest."

"Thanks Frieda. Just remember me when the next full time position opens up."

"Are you kidding, it's yours honey. In fact, if you would ever get out of that cave you've been hiding in I'll buy you a drink. If my memory serves, you like dry martinis."

"You got it, Frieda. I love 'em dry and a little dirty, with two olives. You'll see, one of these days we'll get together."

"Yeah right, that'll be the day. I'll see ya."

Kim overheard the conversation and thought that Andy's job at ChatterTalk.com was a much needed feather in his cap. That quickly segued into a reminder that his best friend, Kyle, was driving up from Maryland, the following afternoon.

"Andy, are you going to tell Kyle about your Headlineaccuracy job when he gets here tomorrow? I think he said he'll be here around two."

"Yeah sure, I'll tell him I've been writing Internet articles but not about the civil service hearing or my resignation. Kyle doesn't like to read about other people's misery. He just does his own thing down there in Maryland, so I'm not mentioning it."

"I was thinking. Kyle's not married and all he ever talks about are 'roommates' all these years? I mean he doesn't go out with women socially and he's never actually been on a date all the time I've known you. Do you think he's gay?"

"We always wind up talking about this. That's a good question. I dunno and yet he's been my best friend for years. I still dunno."

Kyle Stevenson and Andy Stone had been best friends for 25 years. They went to elementary school together and Andy just about lived at Kyle's house when they were teenagers. Now a successful account executive in Maryland, Kyle, or as close friends called him, "Ky," was travelling to his sister's house in Rhode Island. Andy and Kim were one of his stopovers before heading out to a hotel room in Manhattan for the night and then onto Rhode Island in the morning.

Andy was excited. He had not seen his friend in almost five years. As luck would have it, in a society that offered very little in the way of privacy and solitude, they were both concealing personal secrets of their own Kyle arrived at two sharp.

"Hey Ky, man, it's good to see you."

"Hey, it's good to see you guys too, hi Kim."

"Hi Ky, it's good to see you. How was it driving up?"

"The ride wasn't bad, not bad at all."

"I wish you could stay longer so we would have a chance to catch up on things. There are a couple of concerts scheduled at the beach this week."

"Yeah, but I only have a small amount of time before I have to get back on the road. I'm glad to have a chance to hang out with you guys, if not for a little while. Hey Andy, wanna get high?"

"Hey Kyle, do you have to twist my arm?"

"Kim?"

"Oh no, none for me, thanks anyway."

"Hey Andy, I was looking up some information on old bands and up popped your name. That was really cool. Your article about them was very informative. I was searching for personnel line-ups and stuff like that."

"Yeah I'm writing articles for a few different sites. I'm you liked it-WOW...this shit expands in my lungs. Kyle you take it."

"What do you wanna get to eat? Kyle? Andy?"

"I haven't had good deli food in a while. What about some pastrami sandwiches from that place down the block? I remember those were killer sandwiches. Is that place still there?"

"Sure and we'll get some lox and whitefish and we'll have a little party."

"That sounds great. I haven't had good New York deli food in so long. Make sure we get that mustard for the pastrami and those gigundo dill pickles."

"I'll go call 'em. The deli has delivery."

"That sounds really great. So what else is going, on Andy?"

"Oh, not too much else, just keeping busy. Let's see, I'm writing some articles, playing a little guitar, cooking, you know, the same old shit. Hey Kyle, let me ask you, are you still doing, ah, well, you know, blotter acid and shrooms and all that?"

"Sure, but I don't like to do that while I'm driving. Why do you ask? I know you'll never partake."

"That's right, I don't wanna go on any trips but it doesn't matter to me if other people want to. I mean, I loved "One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest" and the Merry Pranksters, Ken Kesey and all that. Those acid eaters didn't do too much for culture, or was it counter-culture back then? Yeah not too much, I love those people. They had brilliant minds."

"Okay guys, I called the order in. They said about an hour."

"So what's new with you, Kyle? I haven't spoken to you in so long. How's your family? What's been going on?"

"Oh, let's see. Unfortunately, my dad has prostate cancer but they got it in time and my sister is doing well, oh and yeah, I'm gay. Hey, there ya go, that's a bit of news for ya. Now that's a big surprise, let's see, oh yeah, I went to California recently and had some killer pinot noir there. They had the best food."

"Kyle?"

"Yes, Andy?"

"Um, Kyle, back it up a little. What was that again? You said something about being gay?"

"Oh, big surprise, I'm gay, as if you didn't know. You should have seen California, Andy you would have loved it."

"Hold on there, Kyle. All these years we've been friends and you didn't tell me?"

"Oh, I don't know. I did tell you guys before I told my parents. I still haven't told them and I'm not going to. Andy, you never realized it before?"

"Well, I thought about how you took Emma to the prom. But then I was always wondering why you didn't date anyone since then. You always mentioned 'roommates.' Then I thought about my aunt and my two first cousins, how they never married but no one ever thought they were gay. I didn't think so either. Don't you think this is big news?"

"Not really."

"All those summers, growing up together, we were like brothers. We didn't keep any secrets from each other, or at least I didn't think so. We were best friends. How come you didn't mention this before?"

"Andy, maybe Kyle doesn't want to talk about this anymore. It's a personal thing and his business only."

"No, no, it's okay Kim. I dunno why Andy."

"Did you think I was homophobic?"

"Well, no."

"Then how come you didn't tell me before?"

"I dunno."

Knock, knock.

"Uh oh, the food is here. You two guys sit at the table and I'll get the door."

"Hey Kyle, you were my best friend before I knew this about you. I hope you still consider us best friends."

"Hell yeah Andy, we've known each other since we're six. We're always going to be best friends."

"Okay, you douche bag, let's go grab something to eat."

"Okay, you asshole."

"So when are you and Kim getting married?"

"Oh man, that's a whole other story."

The small group enjoyed spending some brief time together before Kyle had to leave. After a few sad good-byes, "Ky" went on his way. Later, Andy couldn't wait to discuss his friend's announcement with Kim.

"I dunno how I feel about this. He really downplayed telling us the big news. How come he didn't think we had an honest enough relationship to tell us he was gay? At the same time, we know about "Ky" before his parents ever will. In a weird way, I feel good about that. At least he confided in us."

"Listen, even as his closest friend, it's very hard for friends to tell other friends about being gay and I think it's even harder for men."

"Yeah, but what does that say about me?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"For example, Kyle listens to music that isn't exactly main stream. Do you recall some of those geezer rock bands from the old days, like The Grateful Dead and Phish? That's what Kyle likes."

"So what, I also know people who like that music. What does that have to do with what we're talking about?"

"What I'm trying to say is that not a lot of adults have gay, acid-dropping, white collar Grateful Dead head hippies as their best friend for a quarter of a century. When I look at who I am, deep down, I guess I really don't care what another person is if they want my friendship. As long they like me then I like them. Lately, I can use as many friends as I can get. But even so, I still wish "Ky" told me sooner...his secret is safe with us. But you know what? I never told him about my own secret, about William Prober and the civil service."

Chapter 7

While Andy's friends seemed to be enjoying life, he felt like his existence had been placed on hold. Being underemployed for so long he had little to show in the way of earned income.

Adding insult to injury, a recent notice from the state indicated at the time of retirement, his monthly pension was going to be cut ten percent, due to the disciplinary action at his civil service hearing. The meager amount was going to worth next to nothing by the time Andy collected it.

The funny thing, retirement was not for another forty years or so.

"Hey Kim look at this shit. The state is still pestering me. They just won't leave me alone. It's like a gift that keeps on giving. Now they're going to penalize me in 50 frigging years. How do you like this nonsense? Boy, if there's a hell, these people are going."

"Let me see...are they kidding me, your pension won't kick in for another...forty years! Those idiots, this is nonsense."

"Well, I'm thirty-three now. Speaking of which, you know I feel like my life has been on hold for so long that I just can't let it hang me up anymore. It's also been keeping the both of us in limbo. I can't have any more 'social suicide' or is it 'employment suicide?' Maybe it's both."

"But it's not hanging you up, you are doing something about it now, you're writing."

"Kim, let's get married, next week. Let's do it. We've been going out for a while. Let's get married."

"Ha? What? Are you crazy?"

"No I'm serious, dead serious. Let's get married. We can do it next week. We'll go down to city hall and get married by a judge. We just have to apply for a license, which we can do tomorrow. What do you say?"

"What are you kidding me?"

"Nope, I'm not."

"Go on get outta here! Get married..."

"I mean it. Let's get married."

"Do you know I was married once before, for a short while? But wait, this is crazy."

"Whaddaya say, c'mon Kim?"

"What do I say?"

"C'mon we'll keep it small and quiet. No fanfare and no press to bother us. I don't have any relatives to invite since no one in the family is talking to me anyway. My best friends live out of state and we don't have much money. Rachel can be your maid of honor and Kevin the best man. Whaddaya say? I'll leave it up to you if you want to tell your mother and brother."

"Married... well...let me think about it...married...well I mean ha? No really seriously?"

"Yes I'm serious!"

"Get married...married again... hmm, married? Well, I dunno, I-I-I-I, well okay...okay then, let's get married! Oh my god what are my friends gonna say when we tell them. Okay Andy let's get married, yes."

"All right yeah! We're getting married! Wait, here's my formal proposal to you. Kim, will you marry me?"

"Before I say yes, I have to tell you. Well I'm not sure about having children. If you want children you might not have the right girl. If that matters to you I may not be the right one."

"You leave that to me. Can I tell you something? I never planned on having children because I was terrified that I'd be a terrible father and that I'd emulate the same stuff my father did. I know it's like a chain but I think I have to break it. It's like a cycle. I mean nobody told me, it's just what I think. Do you see how we're matched?"

"Yes I do."

"So is it yes?"

"It's yes."

"YEAH, we're getting' married!"

"Okay, we're getting married. Andy I can't believe it."

"Tomorrow we'll go down and apply for a marriage license and see which judge will do the ceremony. It's just going to be the four of us with the judge and his clerk as a witness. Okay Mrs. Kimberly Stone."

"Mrs. Kimberly Stone? Who is that, oh it's me? Maybe I'll call and find out about the judge's schedule in the morning before we go. This is so exciting. When my girlfriends find out they're gonna have a fit."

"Remember, we're not telling anyone beforehand accept Rachel and Kevin. You said you'd send out wedding announcements in a few weeks. We'll let everyone know we got married...you know, this is a first for me."

"Ha-ha, very funny. I know what I'll wear. I'll get a turquoise and white top to go with that peasant skirt I have. I'll get white shoes...Oh my god, we're getting married."

The nuptials were set to take place a week later, on the fifteenth. When the momentous day arrived, as luck had it, an ominous hurricane blew into Ocean Inlet which caused the lights in the Judge's chambers to go out an hour before the ceremony. Judge Fishbein was set to do the ceremony at 11 o'clock.

Being a barrier Island, Ocean Inlet became flooded from the storm and impassable to vehicles. Though with all the ferocious power she might, Mother Nature was not going to stop such a determined couple. With Rachel and Kevin in tow and a bit of horsepower from a tall standing Chevy four-by-four set in overdrive, the small group trudged five and a half miles, through sand and sea water. They finally made it to City Hall on time. By way of candlelight, Judge Fishbein made Andy and Kim legal in the eyes of the law.

"I now pronounce you legally married according to the laws of this state. Go ahead Andrew, it's okay to kiss the bride."

"Yea-h-h-h-h-h congratulations Andy and Kim!"

"Thank you and thanks to you Judge, Fishbein."

"My pleasure, I wasn't sure if I was going to have a ceremony or not this morning due to the storm but here we are. I left at seven just to make sure I was here on time. We did it. Congratulations."

"Hey Andy, where'd ya get the ring, it's beautiful."

"Thanks Rachel, I bought it at Newport Jewelers."

"Are you kids going on a honeymoon?"

"Oh yes, two weeks at Disney in Orlando. It's my favorite your Honor."

"I like going there because she loves it so much. We're not going right away though. We'll leave in October when it's a little cooler and we have some more money saved."

"Hey Andy, Rachel and I are planning to do the same, where ya staying in Florida?"

"On Disney property, of course I love it there. They have a gym and a sauna right there where you stay, oh and massages. They have two whirlpool baths and a giant swimming pool, twelve feet deep. It's great, there's a small laundromat and all right there. It's the same with the food. For breakfast there's fresh orange juice squeezed at your table, oh forget it, I could go on and on."

"I think you just did."

"Um, Judge?"

"Yes, Ms. Conklin?"

"Is anyone here expecting photographers or members of the press because they're waiting out front? They were asking if this was the Stone wedding. I didn't answer and walked back here."

"No, we're not expecting anyone."

"Thank you Ms. Conklin. Everyone, we have a side entrance that very few people know about, for just such an occasion. Show them out Ms. Conklin. Nice meeting you all."

"Thank you again, Judge."

"Everyone follow me. Go right through those doors and down the steps. You'll see it brings you out by your car, that's why I had you come around to the restricted indoor parking area because no one will see you leave. I never thought you'd make it in this weather so good luck going home."

"Thank you Ms. Conklin and thank Judge Fishbein for us. Let's get moving."

"Hey Andy, shhhhh, are you ready for another joint?"

"Hey Kev, does a bear shit in the woods, shhhhh?"

"I think our plans for dinner at the restaurant are pretty much washed out."

"Not so fast. I went shopping...we have half a rack of ribs left over in the refrigerator. I'm sure they're still good. We have a gas stove, French fries in the freezer, eggs, bread, butter, oil, we even have three quarters of a coconut cake left, so it's like fate meant it to be. Of course there are two bottles of champagne and plenty of batteries to go with all of that."

"Okay...let's see how it is going back. Hold on, we're gonna get wet."

With an impromptu but touching wedding now history, October brought long awaited honeymoon plans at Disney. Mr. and Mrs. Stone booked the corner suite on the second floor of the hotel, a very secluded spot. The weather was clear, relatively dry and not so hot, perfect for miniature golf, a favorite pastime for the two. After working up a sweat on the putting greens, Kim suggested they go back and freshen up before grabbing a bite to eat.

"These are absolutely the cleanest rooms you'll find anywhere."

"Right now, I'm feeling really grimy. I could use some getting clean. You know, before jumping in the shower, do you wanna feel how dirty and filthy I am? Let's make love right now."

"That sounds good to me."

"Hey Andy, it looks like you're ready as well. What is that, a missile in your underwear or are you just happy to see me?"

"Does this feel like déjà vu to you?"

"That's because we've both been here before."

This time Andy and Kim thoroughly enjoyed Florida. There were no menacing email notifications from the state waiting for Andy and no unexpected visits from any media hounds. When they came home, notices went to friends and family about the nuptials. Some responded with cards and others gifts, but overall, reaction to the wedding was mixed.

"I wasn't surprised that we didn't hear from my mother because she's still not talking to me but my brother, my own brother?"

"Don't let it consume you."

"It's not your family, you know, your mother and brother are cool with me. It's my own relatives who suck, at least the ones who talk to me. They either feel left out or that I should have had a big traditional wedding, well too bad. This is how it is."

"I'll get it...Andy it's your cousin Connie on the phone. She wants to talk to you."

"Okay, hello, Connie...hi...how are you...we're good...yes getting used to it...No different, we already knew each other pretty well...Yes we did...great...yes the weather could not have been better...Yeah, yeah, yeah...No, nobody from the family or anyone, just us and the Judge and his clerk...No my mother wasn't there...No none of Kim's family...no church, just City Hall, nice and legal...No really, no one. No photographer...No we didn't have a pre-wedding dinner anywhere...No I didn't hear from him...I dunno...I dunno...yeah, well...I dunno...yeah so, I better be going now, being newlyweds is certainly keeping us busy...we'll look forward to that...you too...I will, okay, you too, bye now."

"Oh boy, that didn't sound too good. What'd she say?"

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. She didn't believe anybody was invited and she can't understand why we're not having a church wedding and she's sending a check as a wedding gift anyway and say hello to Kim. Okay, that's it for now. No more telephone calls for today."

Chapter 8

Word by word, article by article, Andy rehabilitated his career. Ever since being paid for his writing he proudly viewed himself as a "professional." Compared to being a civil servant, now he was in a totally different line of work, contributing to eleven sites on the Internet. Quickly, four, five and then six months passed by as he gained a full head of steam. Viewership had never been so high, though earnings remained meager.

On "Newswonkers, Polemicists and Punditry," a highbrow but popular socio-political site, Andy penned, "Compassion in Contemporary Virtual Society," a personal commentary on human behavior. He noticed that no matter how much people of the world were separated by their culture, language and geography, even in virtual societies where artificial intelligence was used exclusively, they still had a natural propensity to lend a helping hand in times of life threatening crises. Andy's article suggested people themselves were the only solution to most of the world's largest problems.

He summed up the piece with a quote from page 151 of Betty Smith's timeless American classic, "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn":

"They learned no compassion from their own anguish. Thus their suffering was wasted."

At that exact moment, as Andy was publishing his column, hundreds of miles away, outside of Red Rock Place, in Georgia, Charlene Delaney, just 13 years old, was being cyber bullied.

Slurs, taunting and disgusting language, all aimed at Charlene, were recently posted on several social media sites frequented by her friends and classmates. Words like "skanky," and "disease ridden slut" as well as "whore bitch" showed up in the comments section of her personal media pages. Being at an impressionable age, instead of merely walking away from the keyboard or simply signing off, Charlene was consumed by the nasty utterances, perhaps due to the not so unique sin of being a sensitive teenager.

Quiet and intellectually deep, Charlene was a soft spoken girl who typically didn't look for any sort of trouble. She told her mother about the cyber mocking but they hesitated from contacting the police at Charlene's request. After a fierce battle, Charlene agreed to tell her mother if any more of the ridiculing messages came through. Mom and dad were separated, so Charlene's father, a bystander to all of this, was not aware of the situation. On the very next instance of similar trouble, Mrs. Delaney warned her daughter that she'd go to the authorities.

Charlene had the latest mobile phone with every app available. Feeling somewhat sad, she accidentally stumbled upon Andy's commentary "Compassion in Contemporary Virtual Society" while searching the words "human beings." Although she thought the title didn't make much sense, Charlene stopped to read the piece anyway. Afterward she thought about the quote cited from Betty Smith's book. She could not get it out of her head:

"They learned no compassion from their own anguish. Thus their suffering was wasted."

Charlene repeated Smith's sentences out loud, over and over again, as if it were her newly discovered mantra. At that moment she cried. All of a sudden an instant noticing message popped up with a reminder. Hesitant and not expecting anything, Charlene opened the communication anyway:

"Slutty fuck me-whore tonight at Charlene's house with BJs and free samples," followed by her home address.

Charlene, who didn't even know what half of the disturbed phrases meant, remembered the agreement to tell her mother if something like this happened again. Well, here it was. Before long, feelings of guilt and sadness swept over her as she angrily threw the phone to the ground. She didn't know why this was being done to her.

Charlene couldn't mention it to her close friends because she would probably wind up suffering additional ridicule. She couldn't let her dad know about it because he was barely in her life as it was and an incident like this could keep him away from her for good. She had no siblings or relatives living nearby to confide in and telling a teacher was out of the question.

The only alternative was to go ahead and tell her mother about it. That or keep suffering the anguish knowing other people saw these terrible things. Charlene thought about the boys she had a secret crush on and how they would look at her now. Mortified, though it felt like the world was coming to an end, she went to mom anyway.

The minute Mrs. Delaney knew about the latest incident of cyber bullying she contacted the Red Rock Place Police Department, commonly called the "PPD" by locals. 48 hours after Mrs. Delaney filed a lengthy complaint, the police arrested two boys who were classmates of Charlene.

Chase Bailey, 13 and Del Whittier, 12, were picked up on multiple counts of cyber bullying. Bailey, from an upstanding middle class family, didn't seem to grasp the severity of the situation when he sarcastically hollered, "Peace man" and "Go Braves!"

Whittier, who was raised by a single mother and never knew his father or any other positive male influence, simply stuck his tongue out when reporters asked why he did such a thing. Paparazzi and journalists from all corners surrounded the area outside of "PPD" headquarters. Numerous cameras and satellite trucks clogged the streets and parking lots. Besides that, hordes of temporary food and t-shirt concessions lined the street as if it were a festival.

Charlene Delaney and her mom attended the arraignments of Bailey and Whittier, which were done simultaneously. Charlene, with short blond hair, big brown eyes and a thin build, was always sincere and somewhat shy, a perfect match for the media's voracious camera lenses.

With the Honorable Howard J. Everett presiding, Charlene and Mrs. Delaney stood on the side of the courtroom as the defendants entered, one after another. When all was quiet, without warning or permission, Charlene suddenly bolted past the bailiff toward the elderly Judge's bench.

"You're Honor, sir, you're Honor sir!"

"Order, everyone order!"

"Your Honor, I am not pressing charges."

"Sir, I'll remove her from the court immediately. Sorry for the delay."

"No sir, please, I just don't want these boys to go to jail. I read 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn' and I've read Mr. Stone's column. Please don't put them in jail."

"See here, what is this?"

"Come 'ere little girl."

"Please Judge, I read about compassion. It says:

'They learned no compassion from anguish, and um, um, their suffering was, um, wasted. You see, I don't want them going to jail, your Honor'."

"I'll take care of her your Honor."

"Hold on a minute bailiff. Young lady come over here... what is your name?"

"It's Charlene, Charlene Delaney sir."

"Well Miss Delaney, what's this about 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn? I happen to be familiar with that book but I don't see how it could possibly be connected to this proceeding. Can you explain the connection?"

"Yes, I can Your Honor. You see sir, I suffered too sir, when these two boys sent me those things it made me feel bad, very bad. It also made my mom feel really bad."

"Your Honor, this is highly..."

"Pipe down Mr. Prosecutor. You are in my courtroom and this little girl has a vested interest in this proceeding. So put a lid on it...now, Charlene, um, I might be an old man, but I still fail to see the connection!"

"I can explain your honor."

"Please proceed."

"Well sir, Your Honor, since I already received some pain and hurt from the two boys, then I guess I have a duty to learn from it, at least according to 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn,' and Mr. Stone, that is. If I can stop these boys from going to jail then that means I learned from my pain. Maybe they can learn something too, sir."

"But Charlene, there's a chance these two boys may have broken the law. Then what will we do with them?"

"I know they were bad, but You're Honor, they still deserve another chance, sir. Maybe if you talk to them they'll listen."

"Are you the girl's mother? Bailiff, bring her over here...Mom, how do you feel about the matter?"

"Yes, Your Honor. I'm Charlene's mom, Marcy, and I want them prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law Judge."

"Mom, please!"

"That's what I thought. And Charlene, who is this Mr. Stone you spoke of?"

"He's the one who wrote the column, where I read about 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.' You know, it's in the blogosphere. It's called, a, um, it's long. I think it's 'Compassion in Virtual,' no wait, 'Compassion for Virtual Society," no wait, I can't remember it now. It's on, yeah, on Newswonkers."

"You see, Charlene, I too found that book to be meaningful. I won't go into that now, but tell me, what makes you think that these two boys won't do this to you again?"

"I don't know they won't sir, but they still deserve another chance. It's kind of like those outdoor shows on television. Sometimes they have lions on and they eat some of the other animals.

That's not fair to the animals that got eaten. They should have been given a chance to get away. We're kind of like them. If we don't give those boys another chance it will be like the lions who don't give the other animals another chance before killing them. It's almost like the same thing. But we the humans have a chance to learn from it, like in 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn."

"I see your point Charlene. I also see that you're wise and you're going to go very far in life."

"Thank you, Judge."

"Charlene do you know these two boys?"

"They go to my school, sir."

"Have you had any other problems with them?"

"No sir."

"And you feel strongly about them getting a second chance in life?"

"Oh, yes sir. It's like the book says, sir."

"Yes, like the book says. I wish I thought of that when I was attending law school....well Charlene, I'll certainly consider your recommendation. It has been a pleasure speaking with you."

"And you too, Your Honor."

"Charlene, the bailiff is going to take you to get something to eat and drink while I discuss things with your mom and the lawyers."

"Okay, sir."

When all was said and done, the judge went easy on Bailey and Whittier. Each was sentenced to three years' probation and five hundred hours of community service, at local nursing homes and hospitals. It was a first offense for each of the boys. If they stayed out of trouble, their sealed criminal records would be placed into storage permanently. The pair was also required to transfer to another school. Charlene never heard from either of them again.

As the courtroom saga came to a conclusion, the Delaneys were deluged with all sorts of media requests and offers. Legions of journalists descended and camped out in front of Charlene's home just to steal a peek of the modest heroine. She was viewed as a champion of sorts. Since the legal formalities in the courtroom were a matter of public record, the happenings were fair game for every professional and amateur camera bug and cheap reporter in the area. Privacy policies didn't matter here.

With an environment so electrically charged, on advice from counsel, Charlene and her mom decided to pack up and make a beeline out of Red Rock Place. They headed out for another community, somewhere more accustomed to such goings-on. That place was Los Angeles, California. They never looked back as Red Rock Place faded in the dry Georgia dust.

Meanwhile Andy's writing generated page views into the high five figure category following Charlene Delaney's media appearances. Suddenly his name was hot. He never met Charlene Delaney but that didn't stop the media from pursuing him. One morning Andy decided to go into town for a long overdue haircut. As he opened the front door to his apartment, a sea of microphones and camera flashes completely took him off guard.

"I'll see ya' later Kim, whoa, whoa, hey, hey!"

"Mr. Stone, I'm with the 5 Arts Network. When did you first read Betty Smith's 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn'?' Tell us, was it a favorite of yours growing up?"

"Yeah, um, how come you're here asking me about Betty Smith? Who are you?"

"Jasmine Ali-Khan here, Mr. Stone, your article about compassion and how it affected Charlene Delaney, when did you first read 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn'?"

"Um, who did you say?"

"Charlene Delaney sir, you know, the cyber bullying case."

"Oh yes, you must mean the girl who moved to Beverly Hills after that cyber bullying case?"

"Yes, Mr. Stone. I'm Delilah Johnson and our readers want to know if you've spoken to Ms. Delaney?"

"...Mr. Stone, I'm Narmeen Choudury, Indian 1 Entertainment News Channel, can you give me 15 minutes of your time?"

"Andy, this is Steve Gutierrez, Sports King TV and we think you would be a great college football commentator..."

"Mr. Stone, Bobby Jones, I'm with The Word. Mr. Stone did you or are you aware of the fact ..."

"Andy, hurry up and shut the door."

"What the hell, where did they all come from?"

"Shut the door... what were they saying, oh no, Andy, it's not the resignation thing again? I thought that crap simmered down?"

"No, no, it sounded like it was about that girl who was cyber bullied, in the news, the one in Georgia that mentioned me and 'A Tree Grows in Brooklyn'. They weren't being mean or anything, only leeches. Someone named Steve Gutierrez said something about college football or something, I dunno. Where in god's name did they all come from?"

"She was big news recently. Every single interview she did went viral so I'm not surprised they finally got to you. She mentioned your name."

The attention caused by Charlene Delaney settled down after a few weeks. Even though Andy received requests for interviews, he declined them. His written word had become a credible, reliable and candid source of original content. He had gone from being a scourge, following his civil service career, to being a trustworthy writer whose opinion was valued. Some would have said he verged on the edge of being a media sweetheart among journalists. Andy thought Americans do have short memories. He still had no privacy policy.

Chapter 9

Though his savings account dwindled, Andy continued to draw cash in order to keep his pot stash filled. He heard writers of all types in Hollywood smoked weed in order to induce creativity. Since he was working at home and not a big drinker, Andy thought marijuana was an organic and peaceful way of encouraging imagination. It stimulated a different part of the brain than alcohol. The substance certainly shouldn't carry legal penalties for it use, purchase or sale, be it dried, planted or otherwise.

Andy considered the scores of people who were involved in violent crimes and accidents everyday where alcohol and prescription drugs were to blame. He came away non-judgmental on the topic of cannabis.

For the last four years, his pot connection was a friend of Kim's, named Jesse. On this occasion, Jesse had some disturbing information to offer about her own source.

"Hello, hey Jesse, what's doing? Yeah...Okay...sure...in about 15 minutes...yeah okay...hey Kim, that was Jesse, she's coming over. She said something about the end of the trail? I don't like the sound of that."

Knock, knock.

"Hey Jesse, what's doing? Come on in."

"Hey Andy, hey Kim, how are you guys doing?

"Good, we're fine."

"Good. Well I'll tell ya, things are getting a little tight."

"What's the matter?"

"I had to go to a different person because my guy got nailed. I'm not going back to him, of course. You see, if you're not careful, they'll get ya...ya gotta keep your mouth shut. Here Andy, here it is...thanks Andy. "

"Thank you for going, but tell me what happened?"

"Well, the person I usually go to, for the last seven years, was arrested with a large quantity of weed. This was before you called me. I haven't seen him in a month, but I'm not going back there. I told him to be careful but he has a big mouth."

"Why, what prompted this?"

"Because they were tapping the phone lines, I should have said 'again'. I know the government has to fight terrorism and I don't want anything to happen to anybody but enough with the eavesdropping on regular citizens. That's how they got him, from the phone tapping. He's not a criminal and he has no history. He sells pot to sick people because they have cancer or their pills don't work or something and there's nothing legal that helps 'em."

"How do you know it was the phone?"

"He told me so. His lawyer found out. You understand that my guy is nobody. How did he even get onto the cop's radar? The answer is, under the guise of keeping the country safe, by way of phone tapping, without a warrant."

"Ah yeah but you're my only connection. You're the only person I have."

"Yeah well, 'Big Brother' is everywhere. Of course we're not allowed to say that publicly."

"Aren't you worried, Jesse?"

"Yup, but I never talk business openly on the phone. I told him to watch out for the cops or whoever is listening. He didn't realize they can do anything they want these days. They don't need permission in writing from anyone anymore. At least years ago they needed a warrant."

"My friend says the same thing about where he lives in Maryland. It was never like that before."

"Andy, as long as I can get weed, you can get weed. I'm not going to stop anytime soon. Hey, I'm gonna go for me and my friends and that's it. What's the big deal? I'm gonna put my feelers out for a new source. It's kinda hard right now, you know, it's a bitch everywhere."

"It's all this privacy shit, it makes the citizens controllable."

"Yeah well it all stinks."

"Um, you're still gonna get it from somewhere, right?"

"Of course I am. Let me look around. I'll get back to ya. Let me go. I'll see ya Kim."

"Man things are getting shitty. I can't afford her prices anymore. I'm gonna have to call 'Money Man'."

"I hate when you call him...he's all the way in another county and its dangerous."

"Oh it's not dangerous. If it was I wouldn't go. Remember how it works? I call him and he sends me to a street...all of a sudden he comes walking along the sidewalk and just gets in my car. It's quick and easy, no fuss, no muss.'"

"I still don't like it. How do you know this guy, all the way out there on 164th Street?"

"Henry introduced me to him, many years ago. Someone in the electrician's union told us about him. I can't believe I have to go all the way there, just for some damn weed, a thing that grows out of the friggin' ground."

When his pot supply ran low, Andy called "Money Man." His longtime customers referred to him as just "Money." On this night "Money" threw Andy a curve. They were to meet in room 41 at the Shore Stop Inn, a traveler's motel located on the north shore of Tricester County, near the city border. "Money's" modus operandi was to meet his customers in their parked cars, usually at some heavily trafficked thoroughfare. This particular rendezvous, at a motel room, seemed quite odd.

Knock, knock.

"Yeah...hey Andy my man, is that you?"

"It's me 'Money'."

"Hold on, I got it locked. There we go, hey Andy man, good to see you. Hey Andy, this is my girl, 'Lucky Sam', you know, she's a Samantha."

"It's nice to meet you, 'Lucky Sam'."

"What can I do you for tonight, Andy? You know you're lucky, Tuesday is my night off. But for you Andy my man, the door is always open. Sam, you see this guy here? He visited me in the hospital. Andy's a good guy. Hey man, take my new business cards, they have my availability listed. Okay, so I know you wanna get down to business."

"Yeah, um, 'Money,' you got an ounce?"

"Ha, that's a good one. Do I have an ounce? It's more like do I have something as small as an ounce. Hah! For you Andy, it's anything."

"That looks cool, very cool."

"Take a look, its Lime K'ush."

"Nice, the price is right."

"Of course it is, you're dealing with the 'Money Man'. Do you wanna hang with us some? She has a friend coming over to get high. We're just gonna catch some TV action."

"Oh, no thanks man, I'm outta here. I have food waiting for me back at home. Hey, are you using motel rooms on a regular basis now?"

"Yeah, I'm here for now."

"Okay then, I'll see ya 'Money'."

"Don't be a stranger Andy, my man."

The next morning Kim noticed a news story while perusing the online headlines over breakfast. The New York Sun/Gazette ran a banner that rang a familiar bell:

"Money' has a 'Shore Stop' with death"

"Andy, get over here, now! Look at this, holy shit, Andy!"

"What's wrong...Oh my god, I just got goose pimples."

"That's the same guy you went to for pot last night, isn't it?"

"Let me make sure, hold on let me read some of this...Kim...yup...its 'Money Man'...he was at the Shore Stop Inn...that's him."

"And you were just there?"

"Well, yes...Kim, look at this, it says two guys tried to rob 'Money' out of room 41. I was just in room 41, less than 12 hours ago. When did this happen, let me see..."

"It says around ten fifteen."

"I was there at nine o'clock."

"Andy, the article says "Money Man' cut the ear off of one of those guys who tried to rob him. That's disgusting. He's dangerous."

"As long as I've known him, 'Money' never messed around. It was clear if he didn't like you. Look, it says, 'two guys were there to buy pot.' Are you kidding, look at this, 'on his night off.' According to the story, 'the two robbers didn't know his girlfriend, Samantha Germani, 16, was in the back room calling 911'. That's hysterical, the drug dealer's girlfriend called the police."

"Yeah, but Andy it's not funny. Look here, 'One of the two drew a .45 caliber automatic which misfired twice.' It looks like after they tried to shoot 'Money' he took out a knife and oh my god, 'sliced the ear off one of the alleged perpetrators which sent them running out into the street'."

"It was probably the commando knife that he keeps nearby. It's more like a small machete or something. Can you believe I was there an hour before this happened, in the same room and everything? And he wanted me to stay and watch television."

"Oh my god, you even know about this weapon?"

"Hell yeah, I've held it in my hands many times before but that was a few years ago, when he first got it in Jamaica."

"Do you see what could have happened to you? I knew it was dangerous. I never liked you going there. Well that's it now, you're guy is done."

"Probably so, it's just that he knows a lot of policemen. That's how he stayed in business for so long. Oh man and a load of lawyers...one time I drove him on his delivery calls when we went to Terrace Springs. We delivered to a criminal court judge there. I just stayed in the car."

"Yeah well he's done for the time being and you're not to contact him. If you have to, call Jesse from now on."

"Wow all this. Imagine the headlines. I could have been involved in some kind of hold up or killed or some other bad shit! Damn!"

Chapter 10

In order to avoid creating unnecessary awareness around such a perennially divisive topic, Privacy Allocation had always been surreptitiously pinned onto the coattails of The USA Patriot Act, regularly referred to as the "Patriot Act."

Each time the Patriot Act came up for renewal, Privacy Allocation was approved by both Republicans and Democrats. Everyone from President George W. Bush to the late great Saturday Night Live comedian and once junior Senator from Minnesota, Al Franken, signed off on the order. By an official Act of Congress, The Patriot Act was put into law on October 26, 2001. Its child, Privacy Allocation, soon followed.

If there is any hesitation about the political climate that produced Privacy Allocation and its demon seed, privacy policies, one need not look any further than The USA Patriot Act. The corrupting influence of absolute power within government was apparent for anyone who paid careful attention. As an example, take a look at the acronym for USA PATRIOT:

"Uniting, Strengthening America, Providing Appropriate Tools Required to 'Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism'."

In addition to tapping citizens phone lines and reading their non-threatening emails, the Patriot Act's so called "Appropriate Tools" included shoring up the walls of freedom against dangerous terrorists by ushering in obligatory government issued privacy packages, of course under the heading of Privacy Allocation. They've remained mandatory ever since.

Are privacy packages purely a bipartisan power play? Many believe the answer to that lies in the cold hard facts, located on the Declaration Sheet of every privacy policy sold in America:

"The federal government is not required to offer the same premium to all applicants of the same age and location. Citizens over the age of 21 are required to purchase individual privacy packages. Any citizen bound by age who does not own a privacy package must purchase an approved policy or pay the prescribed penalty unless waived by official authority;

Individuals of families living at or below the poverty line are not exempt. Low income persons and families may be eligible for sliding scale premium rates at a cost of no less than sixty six and two thirds percent of yearly income;

Firms employing fifty or more people that do not offer individual plans will also pay a shared responsibility requirement left to the discretion of the Privacy Allocation Office. Smaller businesses will be eligible to purchase plans only through an appointed broker representative;

Employers and individuals over the age of 21 are required to spend a percentage of premium dollars on privacy policies and/or appropriate packages. If an employer or individual over the age of 21 fails to meet this requirement, a rebate must be issued by the applicable government office to the authorized Privacy Allocation representative;

Additional support is provided for Privacy Allocation research, as a tool against domestic terrorism. The Act's provisions are funded by public taxes and policy premiums;

Adults with pre-existing conditions, i.e. a criminal history and arrests, disciplinary actions or any other activity deemed subversive to the state, will became eligible to join a high-risk privacy pool, which will be subsidized with public taxes;

Members of Congress and their staff will be offered the utmost privacy coverage or plan, at no cost to them, paid through public taxes otherwise established by the Privacy Allocation Bill;

The Privacy Allocation Office will receive compensation equal to the aggregate amount of any federal tax credits for which its residents and employers would have been eligible under the Privacy Allocation plan, but which cannot be paid out due to the structure of the state's plan;

Undocumented immigrants, the incarcerated and citizens with no cyber history will be eligible for individual privacy plans.

There is no premium cap on privacy policies and no age limit."

That doesn't include the language in the fine print or the policy amendments. Such lingo would disarm any lay person into submission.

Who is responsible for overseeing the trillions of dollars that are collected in the name of Privacy Allocation each day? It's The Privacy Allocation Office, of course. Each privacy policy is payable to the Privacy Allocation Office, or PAO for short. Though the PAO has subpoena power, there is no brick and mortar workplace and its only physical address is a postal box. The organization's website leads back to an error page.

There are a number of high profile politicians from both parties who sit on the PAO Committee. Conversely under the Patriot Act, the names of the people on the Senior Advisory Board of the PAO Committee are kept secret. Those are the people who hold all the power behind the scenes. Attempts to identify the officials who sit on the board have been thwarted in the name of national security.

Since the Patriot Act has been around they say, "Nothing in life is certain except death, taxes and Privacy Allocation."

Considering the government's brilliant greediness, in a society where privacy was both bought and sold, the stupid feds never took into account the identity theft phenomenon, which grew to epidemic proportions. To combat the trend, national laws were passed rendering the crime punishable with a prison sentence fixed for life. Parole became a possibility only after the first 25 years served. Thereafter, identity theft became a negligible statistic.

In order to ensure enforcement with federal laws, the Privacy Allocation Police were created. These are federal plainclothes cops with Peace Officer status who are armed to the hilt. The "Privacy Police" call themselves "auditors" and carry .357 magnums loaded with lethal "dum-dum' laser bullets. Privacy cops drive unmarked cars and have a low profile but don't kid yourself if you don't see them around. They're everywhere. The minute someone fails to buy a privacy policy or is delinquent with a premium payment, the Privacy Police are either knocking on their door or swiftly kicking one down.

The process of paying for a privacy policy is ongoing for life. Starting at age 21, premiums are structured according to each citizen's reported earned income. The more you pay, the better the privacy plan. Any item that is to be kept confidential has a related charge, based on a schedule of fees set by the federal government.

The super-rich can pay to have most of their personal items kept hidden from public view. Since the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act (HIPPA) was tossed out many years ago, for residents who can't pay the exorbitant privacy policy payments, information about their health and just about anything else not covered is frequently available for everybody to see on the Internet.

First and third party claims can be charged against a privacy policy when some or all information about a particular person, which is not supposed to be disclosed, is accidentally or otherwise released to the public and exploited in some way. Good luck to those who file a privacy claim because they are seldom paid and there is no appeals procedure. There are no "privacy adjusters" and no "privacy court." Since the federal government typically cannot be sued, the Privacy Allocation Office, its agents and representatives cannot be held liable.

In any given situation, if one party agrees by contract, to hold another harmless for any conspicuous act or violation, with or without notice, liability for privacy policy premium payments is not shifted. Legal liability can be transferred but the responsibility to pay for a privacy policy may not be shifted or excused.

Presently, the United States is trying to get other countries to do the same and stop giving away privacy for free. Some economists suggest American politicians are trying to "game" the privacy system, which is the very scheme they created. A Privacy Allocation slogan was developed in order to help promote the government's perverted narrative:

"This is our country, see my privacy."

Wall Street has no stake in the privacy business consequently major opposition to the Privacy Allocation movement is forever scarce. Beyond Wall Street, there is no money to fund any resistance. As a result, the general blow back outside of Washington is weak.

Theorists surmise the current state of affairs, regarding Privacy Allocation, is actually a reflection of things to come. Other nations toy with the idea of controlling privacy as a way of reigning in any dissenting citizens. No matter what it's used for and by whom, Privacy Allocation is an American invention, just like baseball and apple pie.

Chapter 11

Every year on the anniversary of September 11, 2001, the community of Ocean Inlet holds a memorial service in honor of the men and women who were killed on that tragic day. It's a solemn jam-packed ceremony that begins with a sunrise service on the beach, presided over by local area politicians, government officials and various religious leaders.

Ocean Inlet lost an inordinate amount of residents on 9/11. Owing to the proximity to Manhattan, many of its inhabitants were employed in New York on that fatal day, as fire rescue workers, police personnel and financial professionals. They were, most importantly, innocent people who had their lives taken away.

A graceful ice sculpture, in a miniature form of the ill-fated Twin Towers before they fell, is traditionally brought in and placed near the water's edge. When the day begins, the statue appears like finely cut crystal with daylight shimmering on its sharpened edges, no matter if the sky is blue or overcast gray.

As the observance proceeds the replica slowly vanishes, shrinking ever so graciously, sadly, into the damp sand. With the same spiritual gravity conveyed in the often repeated words "and unto dust they shall return," water, from the once frozen ten foot high statue, trickles down into the sandy pebbles and eventually flows out into the amniotic ocean.

Widows, neighbors, sons, daughters, high school athletes, children, local merchants, cousins, nieces and nephews, aunts, uncles, mothers, fathers and general onlookers tie up the streets of Ocean Inlet for miles in order to get close to the somber remembrance of the fallen. For the hundreds who are left outside the seashore ceremony, due to overcrowding, a cellular simulcast is available at no cost by calling a particular number and then entering the designated PIN.

September 11th has always been a somber day for Andy and Kim. Because they live close to the tribute area, every year the couple gets up before dawn in order to retain a spot at the 9/11 honors, an outdoor affair which is held rain or shine. On one of those occasions, Andy was told by his uncle Paul about three unfortunate people who were killed on that tragic day. His Uncle knew the victims personally.

Though the destruction of the World Trade Center happened many years ago, classmates never forgot about their high school friend, Tim. A blond haired wise-ass character who was an absolute whiz in calculus, Tim, or Timmy to his friends and relatives, loved playing golf and listening to classic old countryish tunes, like "Panama Red," from the New Riders of the Purple Sage and Little Feat's, "Willin'."

At first Timmy and Uncle Paul weren't close as teenagers, but familiar enough that the two sometimes got together and talked about music. When Timmy discovered Uncle Paul liked this one particular band, he gave his friend some authentic rock memorabilia, individually signed by the artists in the group. It turned out that Timmy's sister was engaged to the lead singer therefore, he had a unique connection to the band, a topic near and dear to Andy's Uncle Paul. For the next four years of high school, they were good friends.

Uncle Paul didn't know at the time that Timmy would lose his life in such a horrific manner, leaving behind a beautiful wife and three children. Andy's uncle also couldn't have known that another acquaintance, Gerry, would meet his death on that same brutal day.

Gerry, with light brown hair and a slight paunch, was a sloppy jack-of-all-trades. Among the many jobs he held was deli clerk, investigator and then finally the insurance position in lower Manhattan, where he just started working prior to September 11, 2001. Probably nothing was more important to Gerry than his two daughters. They were young and he and their mom had some problems, so Gerry didn't live at home with the family.

Uncle Paul worked briefly with Gerry. When Paul and Gerry bumped into each other in the office it was usually just a quick "hi" or "hello." That is, unless Gerry was speaking about his daughters. If asked, he could go on all day about his girls. He always came equipped with plenty of photographs of them.

Well regarded by many and liked by all, Gerry was willing to do whatever it took to help his children get ahead. If that meant accepting an assignment in Manhattan, so be it. The salary there was unrivaled. Regrettably, going to New York proved to be a fatal move for Gerry. It was also lethal for Uncle Paul's boyhood pal, Martin.

Dark hair with a fair complexion, Uncle Paul knew Martin from the social club for boys and girls over in Creek Beach. In little league, Martin, a righty pitcher for the Pirates, would always take the mound against Uncle Paul, a left handed first baseman on the Cubs. Besides that, the two regularly competed against each other in ice and street hockey games and sometimes in fishing contests at summer camp.

Martin, from an upper class neighborhood in Riverton, was never afraid to mix it up with anyone. Tragically, Uncle Paul couldn't predict Martin would be cut down on September 11, 2001.

Uncle Paul didn't immediately know about the three fatalities when they happened. As time went by and the clouds dissipated, he realized these were three people that died on 9/1 who defined chronological parts of his life; boyhood, teen and adult.

He was always flooded with nostalgic thoughts of an earlier period after pondering the trio of his friend's names. Even though Uncle Paul had not seen these three fellows in a long time, they remained a part of the inner core of who he was. They deserved his tears because they were his comrades. All three remained in his memory for eternity. He was extremely sad upon learning the awful news about Timmy, Gerry and Martin because he felt they didn't deserve to die in such a dreadful way.

The poignancy of Uncle Paul's stories brought tears to the eyes of Andy and Kim.

"When I think about my Uncle Paul and his friends..."

"Me too...and I don't even know these people. We'd better never forget about what happened that day. What a loss for everyone. No one should ever forget."

"When I think about what's happened to us since September 11th...you don't have to have a suspicious nature to realize a lot of our basic civil rights have dwindled away under the Privacy Allocation thing. It's basically made employment suicide, like mine, nonchalantly accepted."

"I know. You don't have to tell me."

"I mean Uncle Paul's buddies were innocent civilians who got killed not too far from here and in return we lost our privacy. Go figure. What's wrong with this picture?"

"It's sad about those poor innocent people."

"Did I ever tell you about the relatives in our family who were killed back in World War I?"

"No I don't think so."

"Yeah that's why there's a 'Stone Street' in Sea Cove, that's for my family."

"You mean the 'Stone' in 'Stone Street' is your family?"

"You got it."

"What happened?"

"Back in World War I, two brothers were killed on my father's side of the family. I remember reading local history records that said they died on separate days. The sad thing is one brother died on the eve of an armistice and the other passed away right after a ceasefire was declared. There was some kind of flu outbreak, like a pandemic and each brother caught it in the fox holes."

"That's really incredible."

"You know about those trenches. It was supposed to be clammy and muddy in there with lots of dysentery plus they had mustard gas back then."

"I bet your family was devastated."

"Probably, there was just the one brother left after that."

"I see why the whole privacy thing and losing personal freedom strikes such a loud chord with you."

"Yeah, I mean, why did all those people die? Then we lost our freedom to speak and to write and live life with some human dignity. It's not a political issue either. It's a matter of wanting to have a respectable level of civil rights that will foster a fair and trusting society, no matter who you are. That doesn't seem to be the case anymore and it hasn't been for a long time."

Chapter 12

Kimberly Ann Thompson, or Kim to Andy, family and friends, was born under the astrological sign of Leo. With grandparents from Central Asia, Poland and Brazil, she excelled in foreign language skills. Though only a few credits shy of earning her Bachelor's degree in Business Management, Kim never went back to complete the required full course of study needed for a diploma. Nevertheless, with keen acumen and personal charisma, she created WAVES LLC, a successful marketing and public relations company located on Long Island. Though the business was small, with eight employees, it managed to thrive in a severely harsh economy.

Kim first met Andy met while working in a temporary civil service position at the county's Department of General Services, or GSS. Before founding WAVES LLC, Kim was a full time employee at GSS who ultimately decided to pursue more out of life by way of the private sector. After a while the two often wound up huddled in a rear stairwell, making out at lunch hour and talking about their future. In a short time it was as if their two hearts beat as one. On a recent night out with the girls, Kim was overheard saying, "Being with Andy is like hot coals on fire, but don't tell him that."

After dating for six months or so, Andy gave up his tiny abode on the north shore and moved into Kim's roomier Ocean Inlet apartment. From there it was no looking back for either of them. Once, a sourpuss supervisor at GSS bellowed, "Forget them, those two will probably be together forever, ha!"

Andy and Kim were out to prove her correct.

A strong woman with many causes, at home Kim was supportive and she encouraged Andy's writing. An excellent writer herself, she was also Andy's chief proofreader and editor. Andy always said, "He had the ideas and she had the punctuation."

In the absence of having connections to any relatives, from either side of his family or a close circle of friends, Kim was Andy's entire relations and support system.

Next to 60s and 80s rock music, whole wheat pasta and Disney World in Orlando, Kim adored cats, any kind at all, especially rescued ones. She enjoyed anything having to do with cats. Often spotted wearing a set of feline themed earrings, every now and then, she showed off her unique diminutive stripped leopard print pin. Any time a cat crossed her path, for her it meant good luck, especially if the critter was black.

Unlike Andy, Kim maintained a constant relationship with her mother, who she categorized as typically overbearing. She was also close to her brother, Ryan, a successful businessman from the Midwest with a wonderful wife, Charlotte, two teenage boys and two small girls. Kim's dad, George, passed away three years ago.

During the holidays everyone got together at her mom's house. Kim usually whipped up her famous spicy potato salad, slow roasted chicken and pineapple upside down cake. About five years prior to meeting Andy, she turned totally pescatarian. Since then, at Thanksgiving, alongside the traditional bird, Kim has served a delicious barbequed salmon along with meatless apple stuffing and sweet potato casserole. As a remembrance to Mr. Thompson, an empty chair, a complete place setting and full glass of cider sit forlorn at the head of the table.

In the couple's apartment, directly over the television, is a single photograph of Kim and her dad, swimming at a lake in upstate New York. It rests untouched covered in dust. Though she currently has dark hair, as a little girl, Kim's Shirley temple-like qualities always brought a smile to her father's face.

At the moment, when she was not calling on potential clients, networking, putting together a monthly newsletter, drawing up proposals, keeping various websites up to date and working on different spreadsheets, Kim's weekly agenda included the typical hair and nail appointments at a small salon in town. Her schedule also included dinner, with a few close girlfriends. The local diner or a preferred sushi restaurant was the norm for that.

Andy was at all times sure how he felt about Kim. He pictured them sailing off into the future together. He knew she played a tremendous role in his life. Since his resignation from civil service, Kim was everything. Andy paid his bills largely with Kim's earnings; she assisted with his articles, consoled him when he was down, treated him, a Sagittarian, to an expensive birthday dinner every December at the best steak house in town; she was the only one who stuck by him. Without Mrs. Stone around, Andy knew life would be pretty empty. That's why he married her.

Time and again Andy said to himself, "Everyone should have a 'Kim' around."

She maintained an up to date privacy policy.

Chapter 13

For residents and politicians in Tricester County, this was an election year. Both Ocean Inlet and Tricester were mired in debt along with having municipal bond ratings that couldn't get out of junk bond status. Yet the County Executive, Albert Novak, whose four year term was also up for reelection, managed to have a referendum placed on the ballot that would have had residents digging deeper, much deeper, into their pocketbooks and wallets.

The objective of the referendum, financing a new soccer stadium, at a projected price tag of seven hundred-fifty million dollars, would potentially cost each household an extra twenty-five hundred dollars per year. Many could not afford such an increase. County officials seemed to forget their electorate was already exceedingly taxed.

Adding to the outrageousness was the fact that there was no professional soccer team in Tricester. The county would have to find one or else risk building a stadium with no one to play there. Plus a number of entertainment celebrities and professional athletes openly backed the suspicious proposal, though poverty in the area was running at an all-time high.

As for William Prober's state cronies, the political bunch were not up for reelection though it wouldn't matter anyway because they had never been moved out once placed in office. Electioneers, including governors, came and went but Prober's people somehow managed to stay put. For the moment, they had no vested interest in Novak's local referendum.

Six months prior to Election Day, advertisements promoting the public referendum were blasted all over television, radio and the internet. Every street corner was cluttered with flyers about the divisive topic. Opponents quickly questioned the legality of such an action, if public money was spent in an effort to persuade electors to vote yes. An inquiry, brought about by Novak's challengers, cleared the County Executive's office of any wrongdoing.

Both major political parties came out swinging with contrasting viewpoints about the need for a new sports facility. The Republicans were pro while the Democrats con. Previously, about a dozen local architects, engineers and bankers put together a proposal for a new stadium to be paid with private money. Under the arrangement there would have been no cost to the taxpayers. Though it sounded like a solid plan, officials overturned the idea based on what appeared to be trumped up issues.

One Democratic spokesperson said, "Borrowing at taxpayer expense for a new arena was not needed," and "We have private industry backers waiting with baited breath."

On the GOP side, a supporter of the referendum noted, "This was a chance to build for our children's future."

What neither let onto was that only a preferred group, along with their minions, stood to gain millions if the new soccer field was built. But only the wealthy could afford such a tax increase if the county borrowed the $750 million for the proposed stadium. Hence, Andy began writing exposes about the controversial referendum on a trendy political blog called Mr.Revere'sRaiders.com. Andy's page, "One If By Land...,"featured a fresh 400 word article every week.

The first commentary, "Soccer proposal: Answers to questions are missing," addressed the troubling lack of transparency about the future project. Andy cited lingering questions about specific issues that should have had replies before the public voted. There was not much feedback from readership.

That piece was followed by, "So how much will a new soccer stadium cost?"

According to the County Executive's statements, the outlay for a new structure kept changing. When it finally hit $2,500 per household, he issued no further comment despite the fact an overall price tag was never established. People started to sit up and take notice.

PayPal deposits into Andy's account increased from the added SEO traffic, which meant many more people had been clicking on his articles.

Leading up to the election, Andy's critiques consisted of headlines like, "County spends millions to force stadium victory" and "Editorial presents vague message about referendum."

Suddenly page views went through the roof. Before long Andy started to receive verbal jabs, in the form of emails, from the County Executive's unofficial lackeys. They inferred Andy had an ax to grind and that he was probably writing these things because he was a Democrat. Novak even got the Veterans involved by attempting a boycott of Mr.Revere'sRaiders.com including "One If By Land...." Ironically, none of Novak's gofers ever denied any of the points made in Andy's columns.

Meantime, residents slipped into dire fiscal straits prompting a financial takeover by the bipartisan State Regulating Committee, SRC. From now on, no matter who was elected, the SRC had the final decision on all county monetary matters. Novak looked far removed from the people of the county going into Election Day, which prompted an amped up response from his supporters. On the eve of going to the polls, Andy countered with another entry:

"Is this soccer stadium vital to Long Island?"

When the polls closed and it was time to announce the results, the contentious referendum was laid to rest with a resounding "no," cast by a majority of the voters. Novak was reelected.

Andy quickly followed with another piece that began:

"When voters turned down the referendum that would have allowed local government to borrow $750 million for a new soccer field, it should have sent a message about how rigid the government has become."

The viewpoint was summarized with the following:

"At the end of the day, did the referendum ultimately represent the best deal for all of the people?"

Following Election Day, special interests seemed to run rampant within county government. When January first rolled around Novak privatized the county's lone hospital, conveniently selling it to his cousin's debt collection firm for a nominal fee. Property tax assessments rose by ten percent. Blown street lights were no longer being replaced, the grass was not getting cut and plaintiffs who won judgments against the county could not collect on their settlements. Most alarming were the goings-on at the District Attorney's office and the County Medical Examiner.

Funded and operated by the people of Tricester, the County Medical Examiner's office was shut down by the FBI due to shoddy operating procedures, missing and tainted evidence and a general breakdown in communications.

For three years the District Attorney's office, headed by Andrés Sorgenson, received viable information that the Medical Examiner was dysfunctional, yet nothing had been done. The local Bar Association discovered the problems and ultimately had the inept department shut down. The county wound up firing the Chief Medical Examiner, buying out his contract and hiring a provisional one until another could be officially appointed. The whole affair cost a pretty penny not to mention the professional and ethical violations that occurred. And it didn't end there.

Ahead of that, District Attorney Sorgenson created an infamous online billboard that was supposed to be accessible only by department employees. Nicknamed "Big Billy," the contentious website featured unflattering head shots of men and women arrested on drug charges. They all looked inebriated. The photographs were posted on the billboard before they went to trial. Notably, a few defendants were later found to be physically challenged with established medical diagnoses including multiple sclerosis and asthma, which arresting officers failed to see.

At one point, for those who pleaded before a judge and were found not guilty or else guilty of a much lesser offense, it was too late. All of the names and photographs that were supposed to be inaccessible to the general public had been leaked onto the Internet. Though removed from the internal billboard, defendant's personal information and images were never completely eradicated from the memory of the information highway.

After a while, civil rights groups realized most of the pictures on "Big Billy" were of Latinos. A disproportionate share was represented when compared to the general population of the county. It reeked of discrimination. Mockingly, for years Tricester was known locally as "Whitelandia."

Andy found out about "Big Billy" but before addressing it on "One If by Land...," federal human rights authorities and the FBI stepped in to ensure "Big Billy" had been closed down.

To Andy's benefit the articles he wrote about Mancini's fiefdom gained exposure and notoriety beyond the local area. Some of his items were displayed on the national landing page of three different e-zines. He still didn't own a privacy policy.

Chapter 14

Andy supplied original content to a bunch of different Internet sites which had editors who constantly reviewed the writer's material. During the course of normal business, a chief journalist from one place was bound to come across another who knew Andy Stone. When the publishing supervisor of ChatterTalk.com had a few drinks at an industry networking affair with the editorial director of Mr.Revere'sRaiders.com, sure enough Andy's name came up. Behind two dry vodka martinis, the pair decided Andy was a terrific writer who had proven he could attract page traffic to any site that simply carried his articles. Both wished he supplied work to their own sites exclusively.

As his writing grew in popularity, various people started contacting Andy in order to have him write something about their careers. On a local level he was "in-demand," so to speak. As a result, he penned an assortment of items. One of those articles was for a young rapper who had a solid regional following, "Hip Hop Culture in the U.S.A. - 'Slammin' Sammy's' '4 you'." Andy wrote:

"'Slammin' Sammy's fresh new single, '4 you' is a potent rhythmic blend wrapped in a traditional hip hop design. Style abounds in 'Slammin's' debut effort, '4 you'. 'Slammin' Sammy,' who hails from Compton, doles out lyrical observations by way of an original American approach."

Slammin' Sammy loved the piece so much, in addition to paying the normal writer's fee, he also sent Andy a case of genuine Cuban cigars, long banned in the United States.

Another up and coming star, Noreen Merriwether, better known in the clubs as Nora, asked Andy for a review of her latest fist pumping, hip shaking single, "Southern Belles (Getting Filthy)."

For Nora, he did his best though dance music was not Andy's strong suit:

"Southern Belles (Getting Filthy)', a fresh new download from Nora, delivers sonically smooth tremors by way of a convincing four-four beat. A fresh sounding hip hop artist who hails from South Philly, Nora has created an engaging tune that stays true to the elements of the street. The three minutes and six seconds of Nora's 'Southern Belles (Getting Filthy)' are a deft production of danceable electronica, semi-suggestive of the legendary group Tangerine Dream or perhaps the celebrated performance art of Lady Gaga."

Nora used Andy's blurb on her next album, which sold well over 100,000 downloads in the first two months since being released. Andy's name became noticed a lot. Almost immediately, promotional managers and publicists approached Andy about their clients. One of them, Jackie Giuliana, of JG Management Inc., asked Andy to listen to one of her acts named Delia Parker. He complied by posting a blurb on Parker's official website, which also served as an advertisement. The headline went, "Adult Contemporary treasure: Delia Parker's 'Passageways Home'."

For this artist he spread the article thick with praise:

"Delia Parker's 'Passageways Home' is a memorable selection featuring sweeping vocals amid a captivating design. A sophisticated artist who calls St. Louis home, Parker successfully mixes her remarkable range with affectionate song lyrics and a lyrical jazz-pop complement in 'Passageways Home'."

Andy's reviews took off. Before long, a well-known social media site came knocking on Andy's door with an opportunity. The company was looking for a writer who could evaluate an innovative music artist who only existed virtually. The site's producers were familiar with Andy's work and thought his observations might attract a different demographic.

The response turned out to be a rousing success. Pretty soon another assignment came in and then another. Andy gained personal integrity. His opinion was becoming a valuable and sought after service.

With that said, commercial television had always tried to remain relevant by copying the characteristics of different online success stories. One local cable television news show reached out to Andy and asked for his view about the political state of affairs in Tricester County. Seeing that it was just a two minute taped segment, he agreed. To say he was excited would have been putting it mildly. Both Andy and Kim were ecstatic about the opportunity.

Andy had no prior experience making personal appearances, especially before the media. The producer at Hyper Local 17 News assured Andy it would be a comfortable experience. The two minute portion of programming they were aiming for required four hours of shooting, which would be done in Andy's living room. By the end of the prolonged telephone conversation the show's producer laughed because no matter how she tried, Andy couldn't relax. He was extremely anxious.

The next morning at six o'clock sharp the news crew arrived, one cameraman and a reporter, newcomer Judy Parker. Kim was also there for moral support and as a curious onlooker. After a strong cup of coffee and a short rehearsal, the camera was ready to roll. If Andy was nervous, it didn't show.

He sat calmly in a straight back chair and spoke about the failed referendum to build a professional soccer stadium in the midst of record setting unemployment and exorbitant housing costs. After a little give and take, Judy Parker let the viewers know where they could read the rest Andy's opinions. Suddenly the camera lights went off and the two person news squad scrambled. After gathering their equipment, they bolted out the door. It was almost as if they were never there.

Later on Kim and Andy watched the segment air on television. They made it a small party celebration just between themselves, with warm artichoke dip, salted pita chips, shrimp cocktail and Caesar salad. Both the meal and Andy's interview turned out to be a success. He and Kim were pleased with the outcome.

Though it was a smaller cable station, Hyper Local 17 News played to a larger heavily concentrated New York market so many television viewers saw Andy's piece. As a result, his online perspectives gained readership. Many concluded Andy's body of work reflected a sincere and honest voice, not corrupted or owing to anyone. Such traits were highly valued, like a tangible commodity that could be regularly bought and sold. Before Mr. and Mrs. Stone knew it, their telephone was ringing off the hook.

"I like that we have some added income now that...Kim just turn that phone off. It never stops."

"Yeah, but the message box is filled up."

"Just like my emails. I've gotten so many that I just delete them no matter who sent them. Better do the same with the phone."

Knock, knock.

"Don't open it, see who it is first."

"Andy it's a woman, a pretty woman, wait...she's holding a microphone...it looks like there might be a news van parked across the street."

Knock, knock.

"Oh shit, here we go again."

"No here we go again, not this time. Do not open that door-shhhhh, I mean shhhhh, do not open that door!"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know the routine. Don't open the door...don't answer the phone...don't go to the store...we can't leave the house...yeah, yeah, yeah, I know the routine."

Kim's frustration reminded Andy about the need for having a good reputation in life. That led him to wonder if his social standing could be salvaged after all. An indication that it might came a week after his brief appearance on the cable news program. An overly aggressive traffic control officer attempted to issue Andy a parking ticket while parked outside of the supermarket. As soon as the policeman read the driver's license and found out about Andy's identity he refrained from writing the summons.

The cop told Andy, "We need a good voice around here, one that we can believe and you are it!"

With that, the officer closed the ticket book, put away his pen away, shook Andy's hand and went on his way.

"Hey, thanks a lot officer. I appreciate that."

"My pleasure Mr. Stone, keep up the good work."

Chapter 15

"I'm glad we came here, Andy. Are you having a good time?"

"Oh man! Are you kidding me? This is fantastic! I'm seeing a Yankee game on the road in Baltimore. I've never been to Baltimore. This is excellent. What a great way to spend a spring night."

"Do you like the seats?"

"First base side, not too far up so I'd say these are perfect."

"We needed to get away from all the stuff at home, just for a little while. I know you love the Yankees so I said to myself, 'Where can we go that Andy doesn't need to fly?'"

"You better believe I'm not flying anywhere, no how, no way, not now. I don't know how I ever flew to Florida all those times and California twice. It's bad enough with the turbulence and the terrible air quality inside the plane but those small seats, the whole thing is so uncomfortable."

"It is uncomfortable and I don't like it either. That's why I have to be medicated but I still do it."

"Yeah, but on top of that you have to go through all those people searching you here and then coming back. That happens before you even get on the plane. No friggin' way."

"That's why I made the reservations on the Acela to Baltimore. It's quick and nobody hassles you."

"This is fantastic. I'm sitting here watching batting practice before a Yankees-Orioles game, on the road in Baltimore. I love it. You know what else? I love getting away with you. Kim, you were right."

"See, I told you. We need to get away, every once in a while for just a short respite. Now you can get your steamed crabs while we're down here. Oh and don't forget, we're gonna have she crab soup."

"I can't wait to taste 'em."

"You mentioned Baltimore before, are you an Orioles fan, because I thought you liked the Yankees?"

"Oh, I'm a Yankee fan, but I like the Orioles because they're also in the American League. They've had a few good teams, let's see, they won the World Series in '66 and I think in '70...maybe '83 too, hey I just thought of something. During the seventh inning stretch I want you to take my picture standing next to the number thirty-three monument and take a picture of those buildings where we walked today. Their silhouette looked like a chevron."

"Okay, you got it."

"Andy, did you know there were so many Greek people in Baltimore?"

"No, but I loved the diner we ate at this afternoon. That had to be the best chicken souvlaki and tzatziki sauce I ever had."

"We still have to go down by the water and do a little shopping, grab a bite to eat, take some photographs...I heard of this restaurant down here called Ray's. It's supposed to have the best seafood around. I think I'm ordering steamed shrimp when we find it."

"I'm having a really good time. I love the hotel room and walking around. The people here have been so nice. It's a little weird because everything is so agreeable."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Walking around, not being bothered by anyone and moving around freely without any problems...no one is knocking at our door and eating at the restaurant was relaxing, this is how it should always be."

"I know what you're saying, it's nice just going in and out of the stores at a leisurely pace, stopping to get a cup of coffee or just sitting and watching the people. That's a peaceful easy feeling."

"Yeah, a far cry from where we live. I'm serious. Remember before I resigned from civil service and nobody knew I existed. I didn't have a privacy policy yet no one bothered me. I had a job, a pension, health care and a secure or relatively secure job plus peace of mind."

"That might be true but you were always working beneath your skills while there and you never thought you would ever be promoted."

"Not as long as Prober that dirt-bagger was there. He ran everything. How did it get like that anyway?"

"I don't know but as it turned out, you had no one there that would back you up."

"I know. I was thinking of it more along the lines of solitude. Before I resigned, there were no reporters or cameras, no Internet articles about me, the telephone wasn't ringing off the hook and the apartment manager never used to talk to me. Now he's always snooping and asking questions and there's no serenity."

"Yeah, but I think you're missing the mark on this one Andy. You've already gotten some of your dignity back. Remember, you took the very thing that was used against you and spun it in your favor, which is now creating articles for the Internet."

"Do you mean I'm nasty and venomous?"

"No silly, I mean they tried to fix your ass by publishing false accounts about you. But here we are and you've taken to writing your articles, the kind of things that hurt you...well...that and libelous people like Prober and Edwards."

"I never thought of it that way."

"Yeah, and ironically, now people ask you to write about them. You've gotten your name out there and they've heard of you. Not many people can get on the cable news the way you did."

"All that's great and I appreciate it but there's still the privacy thing. Good, bad or indifferent, it's there. No matter if you're an angel or a devil, the media is out there in droves. There's no time alone anymore."

"I know."

"Can you imagine a time when everyone didn't have to buy privacy policies? What, did everyone just wake up and realize their right to confidentiality when Privacy Allotment was enacted? How ridiculous is that? Where was it before, hiding under a rock?"

"It was hangin' out."

"Very good, then you get my drift."

"I do but we're here to enjoy ourselves. There's plenty of that for when we go home. Right now, let's enjoy the moment."

"Okay you're right. Oh and don't forget, I wanna buy an Orioles hat while we're here in Baltimore. I think I'm getting a t-shirt, too."

"Andy, what time does the game start?"

"First pitch is at seven o' five."

Chapter 16

Andy's work was mentioned in quite a few places online and in some of the relevant print journals that still existed. He also offered comments twice a month on his gig at cable television's Hyper Local 17 News show. Readers grew to respect him. Had he climbed to the very top? No, but Andy's name was becoming a potent regional brand.

In addition he was nominated as a "Sweepstakes in Writing Winner" on ChatterTalk.com. Andy was chosen because the publishing supervisor thought his articles "Brought veracity to the site while maintaining the highest journalistic standards." A cash prize of five thousand dollars went along with the award.

What's more, he was asked to provide occasional editorials for a broad range of subject matter, including arts and entertainment, music, guitars, socio-politics and sports. He could be found on a diverse selection of websites. About Andy's writing, one popular blog mentioned "he was a good influence on modern cyber writing."

Locally, he accumulated so much sway that a couple of other writers used the phrase "Stoneyism" to describe his personalized style of communicating. He was never sued for slander or libel and perhaps just as important, Andy never betrayed a confidence. He gained Internet leverage from his integrity and all of the hard work he did. His negative post-resignation civil service days were gone.

A good standing meant everything. After being canvassed for his support, Andy proudly joined a number of charities, including the neighborhood chapter of "The Big Kids Club" and the Countywide Literacy Organization, a private funding agency that provided reading services to the community. Andy volunteered at the organization's annual board game fund raiser, which was played with real people who posed as life size game props. Seeing how he often found himself to be a defender of the downtrodden and a cheerleader for the underdog, Andy enjoyed participating in the not-for-profit work.

When he was at home writing, his humble but efficient base of operations was the couple's modest two-bedroom apartment. The dining room table, a beaten-up kitchen chair and his laptop computer served as the nerve center. One day Andy received an odd telephone call from a friend who still worked for the state, in Centerton, right in the same place as he did:

"Oh my god, Danny I can't believe you called, I haven't heard from you in so long...yeah, fine...aha...good...yup...and how's your family...good. Yes...I know...yes...yes...oh man that doesn't sound too good. What are you guys going to do...Oh I dunno...whaddaya mean...when...what...get out...when...that sounds strange...nah, I'm done with all of that...nah...I dunno...Whaddaya mean? I know...I know...really...yeah I know...hmmm...I dunno...I do remember...yup...yes...yup...no way...really? Him too and her...what the hell is going on around there... yeah...nah, nah...you mean for you...yes a time...yeah well I suppose...yeah...okay...okay...okay...yes, I know. Okay. okay. What time? Yup I'll talk to ya' then."

"Who was that?"

"Oh man, that was Danny Champion, from work. I haven't spoken to him in so long."

"You haven't heard from him in all this time, what did he want?"

"It was kind of a peculiar conversation. He wants me to have coffee with him at Pete's Diner. He said work was really fucked up...He knows how I feel about that place but since he brought it up I know there's something brewing. Danny was my friend, one of the only people at work to stand up for me against Prober. I owe it to him to hear what he has to say."

"What does he want?"

"I don't really know. He mentioned Prober but that's natural because he still works there and Prober's such a shit head."

"I'm not sure about this. It sounds a little fishy if you ask me."

"I know you're right but I owe it to him just to listen. Maybe he's in trouble and needs some kind of help or something, I don't know."

"That could be."

"We're meeting at Pete's, Tuesday morning for breakfast. He's taking a day off from work."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

"Nah we're going to meet up at nine so I should be done way before lunchtime. It sounds a little fishy, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, I think so, duh."

When Tuesday rolled around Andy eagerly headed out to the diner to meet his friend. It was about a ten or fifteen minute drive from home. Danny Champion lived about half an hour away.

Danny, 28, was a serious fellow. Slightly overweight with short cropped black hair and a well-trimmed beard, he and Andy hit it off when they discovered a mutual interest: NHL hockey. Though soft spoken, Danny had plenty of opinions about the world at large. His French family roots included a lineage of African ancestors who assisted in the American Revolution though for some reason, everyone mistook him for being Latino. Dwight Edwards was his supervisor, similar to when Andy worked at the Centerton facility.

In his freshman year of college Danny married Soledad Wallace. He then left school for a civil service position and an immediate paycheck. They didn't have any children and he had no plans to return to school. Being a person of integrity who didn't like seeing injustice, Danny provided a written statement at Andy's employment hearing which strongly contradicted William Prober's and Dwight Edward's falsehoods. With a strong knowledge of civil service regulations, he knew exactly how to word his declaration in order to call Prober and Edwards liars but in a roundabout way.

Civil service was Danny Champion's life. His mother and dad, who both collected public pensions, encouraged him to follow a similar career path. Lately that was difficult because it sounded as though things had gotten out of hand under the reign of William Prober and his court jester, Dwight Edwards.

Similar to Danny, William Prober was a lifelong civil servant. Having previously spent 18 years in the U.S. Navy as a Master-at-Arms, he was presently in his sixth year with the state. This was a second career and it meant another pension.

He was an unapproachable man with very little charisma. Andy wondered how it was that Prober came to be in charge of everything at work considering his terrible rapport with people. Then it dawned on him; Prober must have been a political animal with fangs that reached far into the flesh of state government.

Prober barely had time to squint at anyone through his chunky black frames and thick coke bottle lenses. Anyone who was ranked less than a supervisor did not even warrant a grunt from him. And his personal hygiene was atrocious. He never wore deodorant, seldom bathed and though the man was said to have been married, nobody ever reported actually seeing Mrs. Prober at any time. If there was such a person, she had become invisible.

Prober was such a miserable person that a story circulated around the office about a kitten he adopted, one that was rescued by a local animal shelter. After keeping it for two weeks he finally gave the tiny Tabby back to the shelter. It turned out he didn't want to spend so much money feeding the kitten. Rumor has it that he was overheard saying, "I didn't realize cat food was so expensive these days."

Between 8:30 am and 4:45 pm, if Prober saw anybody smoking cigarettes closer to the building than the designated minimum distance, he would snap their picture and then send an official copy to Human Resources in Albany to keep in their personnel file.

Though it was against the law to maintain a secret file on any employee at any time, Prober kept tabs on everyone. Sometimes he would build a thick dossier, usually on someone below management level and then fill it with negative reports. He felt any worker who was not for him must have been against him and then needed to be dealt with accordingly.

He would regularly pull out an undisclosed profile assassination list and then proclaim somebody to be "a problem member of the staff." He maintained a tight grip on the labor force by using this method. It was never questioned by anyone in the capitol, any state agencies or the labor union. It was no wonder why Prober hung a couple of pictures on the wall behind his desk that featured two deceased dregs of society. The first was a photograph of disgraced Wall Street financier, Bernie Madoff. The other was a stylized horror poster of Jack the Ripper. Under each one was a cloth banner inscribed with the caption, "My Hero."

When it came to disciplinary matters of its employees, the state secured a complete perimeter of concealment around all issues. The goal was to prevent the media from finding out about any potential news worthy stories. How did the state do that? The answer is with the Governor's Office of Personnel Privacy. Prophetic or not, everyone just said "GOOP."

The agency was created under the pretext of claiming to be extra sensitive to those facing punitive employment measures. In fact, the exact opposite was true. GOOP was the state's way of staying in front of so called "complainers."

First a representative from GOOP, which was centered in Albany, calls and conducts an intake conference with any staff member who files a complaint. There they feel out the irritated employee. A GOOP emissary then takes the worker into their confidence by using all sorts of inappropriate and misleading tactics. Lingering over the process is the idea that this is the governor's office, the highest in the state and nobody could go any higher with their grumbling. From the outside looking in, it looked like GOOP was legitimate.

After a one-on-one discussion with the concerned staff member, GOOP's emissary would then speak with the affronted worker's district manager and human resource representatives behind closed doors. Before the employee knew it, they were placed on administrative leave without pay. A hearing arranges final termination which almost always results in employment separation.

At Andy's old job, coworkers knew the process was insidious but they figured there was nothing with which to fight back. Though everyone at the Centerton facility was a union member, nobody interfered with Prober in any way. If he wanted someone out, it was a done deal.

Though Prober smelled and looked weird, he was not an idiot.

Neither was his henchman gofer, Dwight Edwards. Prematurely bald with a persistently runny nose, Dwight Edwards was a little anti-social and extremely overweight. Edwards, 33, was single, unattractive and probably never had a date with a girl in his entire life.

He drank a gallon of diet soda by lunchtime every day before becoming wired and slightly paranoid. He lived in a basement apartment with only a single room. He had no pets, no television and no radio, though he was a computer wizard who, when not sucking the pus out of the pimples on Prober's ass, was engaged in fantasy online role-playing games in his dimly lit grotto. He drove to work every day in an outmoded jalopy that was completely rusted, with one broken window.

As two-faced as they come, Dwight Edwards would tell Prober every little thing that went on at work. Greasy and always unshaven, Edwards wore the same worn-out pair of pants every day. God only knows if he owned any sanitary underwear and socks. Though, he did have the courtesy of changing into a clean shirt three times a week. When Edwards and Prober were together in the same room, the pong was nauseating.

Edwards, a perennial front line supervisor with little chance for promotion, would stab anybody in the back if it made Prober happy or if it meant getting ahead. On one occasion, Edwards tripped as he walked down the hall by Andy's desk at work. Edwards subsequently reported that Andy tripped him deliberately.

On the word of Edwards, Prober conveniently swung into action and attempted to discipline Andy for committing violence in the workplace. Andy's coworkers eventually stepped forward to say Dwight Edwards seldom tied his shoe laces and was frequently falling down due to his own fault. When it leaked out that the incident was caught on a security camera, Dwight immediately withdrew his claim.

Andy met up with Danny at Pete's. He was already waiting in a booth. The hostess smiled as the two greeted each other for the first time in a while. The waitress thought they were relatives.

"Hey Danny, it's good to see you. You look good, just the same as always."

"Hey, you too Andy, still the same, still working out and keeping fit I see."

"Thanks Dan. Yeah, I'm still working out, trying to at least."

"I just grabbed this spot, you don't mind, do you?"

"No, this is fine. I wanna hear what you have to say."

"Hi guys, can I take your order?"

"Hello, yeah I think we're ready, right Andy?"

"Yeah, I'll just have toast and coffee, rye, buttered."

"And for you sir, what would you like?"

"I guess I'll have the same."

"Thank you."

"Hey Andy, I think I caught you on the cable news a few weeks ago. Plus didn't I see your articles on some site about politics or something?"

"Yeah, I do a little two minute segment every now and then for cable news."

"I saw your articles, too."

"I'm glad you saw them. I hope you liked them."

"Oh, they were great."

"So Danny, tell me, what's going on with you, what made you call?"

"Well, I have to say, things have gotten pretty bad at work. I know what happened to you was terrible but Prober is crazier than ever and now he's sucking a lot of money out of us."

"Whoa, slow down there, Dan. Say it again, what's going on?"

"You see Prober is ten times worse now than he was when you resigned. I know that's hard to believe but it's true."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, he's got all these required contributions and we can't afford to pay them anymore."

"Do you mean the birthday club?"

"No, no that was old stuff. We have to contribute to the birthday club, that's still going on. For one thing, he's now got this mandatory life insurance coverage on top of what we already get from the state. Everyone in the place has to buy it. We have to pay him five thousand a year. Guess who gets the commission?"

"Do you mean Prober?"

"Of course, who else would it be?"

"Did anyone complain?"

"Yeah but you know that goes nowhere. When GOOP got involved that was the end of that."

"What did the union say?"

"Are you serious, you remember the union? They suck."

"Yeah, I know, but you still need to go through the motions."

"We filed grievances, just like you did, but they went nowhere. This has been going on for almost seven months. The union collects our dues and then does nothing. They don't care what's going on as long as they get their money. I swear I saw Prober and the union guy at a restaurant having dinner together."

"You're not really telling me anything new. But you said there were other things."

"Oh you better believe there are other things. Did you know he went on a rampage putting harmful production reports in everyone's files? Then he had each supervisor write a negative review on all of the rank and file. You know why? So he could deny giving anyone a promotion in order to make way for his nephew, good old Parker Prober. We already gave the scum his nickname, "Sparky" and you know he just loves the name, "Sparky," ha, ha, ha."

"So his nephew was brought in?"

"Yup, Parker, no experience and never worked a day of public service in his life."

"Wait a minute, how can that happen?"

"You see Prober brought him in as a provisional employee. He didn't need to take a test. Once he was in the position for 60 days he became eligible for a promotion. Prober created a supervisor vacancy and since everyone in the office was disqualified, due to the bad production reports, he gave the opening to his nephew. No questions we asked. The union could not give two shits."

"I can't believe this, man! And nobody wants to do anything about it."

"Everyone's afraid."

"What else is Prober doing?"

"Since you left he's fired Keith, Maddy, Rebecca and now Lindsay. He caught Rebecca doing drugs in the parking lot so that one was easy. Prober got rid of Keith for insubordination and Maddy for not being able to do her job right."

"What happened to Lindsay?"

"He said she was a trouble maker who was inciting the other workers. That was three weeks ago."

"Get this. Prober wants each of us to kick in a month of pay to be held in some kind of state account until our retirement."

"How did he justify this one, you didn't go for it did you?"

"He told everyone that it should have been done when we were hired and that it's done in other state offices. We couldn't find any, we had no choice. So you know what happened? Our office now has the highest absentee rate in the entire state. He shortened our lunch to thirty minutes without notifying the union."

"Prober's a fucking asshole."

"Oh, you're not going to believe this one, something I forgot to tell you, something big... Did you know Selena committed suicide?"

"Lord no. Are you serious? Wait a minute, Selena?"

"I'm very serious."

"Oh man, Selena! What happened?"

"It was really strange. She told everyone she was going on television. When she didn't show up for work the next morning and didn't call in, they contacted her father. They went to her apartment and found her hanging from a sheet, tied to one of those Casablanca fans. She wasn't wearing any clothes."

"Oh my god, this is terrible."

"Yeah and at the same time she was on suspension from work. Prober thought she was a psycho. He might have been right about that but he also didn't do anything to help her. He made her worse."

"This is fucking ridiculous that no one stops him."

"There is one funny thing though. Since we started calling his nephew 'Sparky,' a new name has come up for Prober...His head looks like a circumcised penis with the foreskin pulled back so we call him "Penishead'."

"'Penishead', that's great, 'Penishead'."

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's have a hand for 'Sparky' and 'Penishead'."

"I love it, 'Penishead'. I'm glad you can get a laugh out of it because I couldn't. Maybe it will do you some good."

"Yeah, I hope so."

"So Danny, what's up? How come you gave me a call? We didn't meet up just to talk about Prober."

"Prober is now talking about upping the coverage on our individual privacy policies. He's going to advise us of the proper coverage we should be carrying...of course he's a registered privacy broker who stands to gain commission on every upgrade...it's gotten way too outta hand now."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"I wanted to ask you, well, we all got together at work and thought maybe, well...would you try and help us?"

"Help you? Help you do what?"

"Help us get Prober."

"Help you get Prober? Are you crazy? Oh no, I'm done with that shit."

"Seeing that you've written about politics before, we thought you could write about Prober and what he's doing at work. We saw those things about County Executive Mancini. Couldn't you do the same thing with Prober?"

"Absolutely not, I'm done with that stuff."

"Yeah, but you could just do what you did with some of the other stories you wrote."

"No way, I could get in a hot water all over again. That's all I need, for the state to come after me a second time, those scumbags!"

"I know, it's just that me, Tim, Justine and Rahema thought you could help us. We don't know where it's going to stop with him. Now that 'Sparky' is here it's gotten worse."

"That means you want me to fight City Hall and I don't want to do that. It was bad enough the first time around."

"I just thought, well, you are all we had left. Andy, you are the only person who stood up to Prober."

"And did you see what that got me? Did you forget?"

"Yes, I know, but you're the only human being on the planet who had the balls to try to report him to other agencies. Did you really call the FBI on the guy?"

"That's a whole other story."

"You see, we need you. We have nobody. It's either quit or put up with this crap. That's not right. Plus I heard other things."

"What other things did you hear about?"

"Oh I dunno, things like he might be collecting bribes from others at work."

"Wait a minute. No one would step up on behalf of the workers, after all of that, not the union or some other agency? Did you try the police or maybe a union lawyer?"

"Nope, we could not get an employment attorney and no one would tell the police. I have a lawyer that I'll use for my medical claim if I pursue one, nah, that's different. We don't have anyone helping us with Prober's extortion."

"At this point, I don't know what you could do, Danny."

"You can't help us, huh?"

"Not really."

"Okay then, let's have our toast and coffee. I'm your friend and I want it to stay that way. I don't want you getting in trouble with the state again."

When Andy went home he considered Danny's dilemma. He hated Prober with a passion and let the thought of payback seep deep into his consciousness. He fantasized about publishing thinly veiled articles about Prober's outrageous shenanigans. They would be the kind of criticisms that wouldn't mention anyone specifically by name.

He felt strongly about Prober and his hatchet man, Dwight Edwards. Andy ruminated over the idea of going after Prober in a series of articles, but what would that be unethical? Considering what Prober did to him in the past, along with the current disgraceful bilking that was going on, it would not be unprincipled to hope for justice. Andy would be ecstatic if he could get back at Prober for everything that had been done.

Prober was an unscrupulous civil servant who should be reported, but to who? When you're an unconnected schlub, like Andy and now the others, who is there to confide in? Prober's feelers extended into every administrative office in state government and beyond. Andy thought about conducting indirect written attacks on Prober because they'd be on the Internet permanently. Maybe that was the answer.

In the overall scheme of things, Andy thought publishing pieces alluding to Prober would be wrong. That was quickly countered with a practical assertion involving an ax to grind.

Before long, Andy made a telephone call.

"Hello Danny, its Andy...good...how ya doing...good...I was thinking, you wanna have breakfast at the diner tomorrow, say nine? Good, I'll see ya then. Take it easy."

This time Andy was waiting for Danny when he arrived.

"Hey Dan, I grabbed this booth."

"Sure, that's great."

"Hello gentlemen, what would you like this morning?"

"Two coffees and I'll have two eggs over easy with toast but no potatoes."

"Thank you and sir, for you?"

"I'll have the same but give me his potatoes."

"Thank you."

"So Andy, what brings you out this morning? You seemed excited when you called me yesterday."

"Did I really?"

"Yeah, so it must be something good."

"Well I thought about it...I think someone has to stop Prober because it's not right."

"Yeah I know, no kidding, but how?"

"Dan, my man, I was thinking...what if I said to you, 'veiled articles'."

"I dunno...I'm not sure...about what?"

"Veiled articles are like disguised roundabout ways of saying things."

"Go on."

"We, or rather I, could publish a series of exposes about Prober. But he would never be mentioned by name, or the Centerton facility. Nobody's identity would ever be posted publically but we would still mention the things that Prober did."

"I like the sound of this."

"You are the only person that I'm going to deal with. YOU CANNOT TELL ANYONE ABOUT THIS! Because I'll know you leaked it...no one else will be aware of what I'm doing so I'll know it's you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I do Andy."

"You're gonna provide me with particular things about Prober and I'll take care of the rest. But you cannot tell anyone, especially no one at work. Just gather the information."

"How should I get it to you, in person?"

"No, I think email is probably okay. But you know we'll still have to meet in person so I can get full updates. Definitely don't send any emails from work. Maybe we'll call Prober 'Mr. Penishead' for code. For the state, let's call it 'The Firm'...oh, I thought about it, we're not gonna' risk any video chats either."

"That's cool, 'Mr. Penishead' and 'The Firm' and no video chats, got it."

"Now listen, I'm only going to deal with you. I could run the risk of violating someone's privacy policy. You know, Prober may be a public employee but he's also a private citizen."

"Okay Andy."

"Danny, I was thinking that I shouldn't do this on anybody's website. I don't want to use someone else's name while secretly going after another person. I think I'm gonna' do this on my own blog. I should get enough traffic for the articles to be relevant. I'm gonna call it 'The Last Laugh'."

"I see you've been thinking about this already."

"Well now, I guess you got me into it, didn't you."

When Andy told Kim about his plan her only reply was, "You better know what you're doing, Mr. Stone."

"I hope so too, Mrs. Stone."

Chapter 17

The first email communiqué came in from Danny:

"Mr. Penishead is squeezing for the extra treatment we spoke about...."

That's all Andy needed. He wasted no time getting to work on the disguised narrative about William Prober. All of the material would be published as entries on Andy's personal blog, "The Last Laugh." Commentary from readers was disabled so that nobody could respond to the articles and controvert the matters at hand. At this point in his career, readership was at its highest; Andy hoped there would be a sufficient audience to generate some sort of public scrutiny.

The next day the first installment was posted with the headline:

L. I. Papa Bear: "I want more honey"

Then the narrative:

"Once there was a group of bears who lived and worked for a firm in a forest on Long Island. It seems this group was led by a Papa Bear who wanted to collect more honey than he had already hoarded. This particular ursine did not want to work for his share of the honey like all the others did. Instead, Papa bear suggested that he take a little bit of honey out of each of the other bear's jars seeing that it was such a small amount.

Papa Bear told the other bears, "You should let me take a smidgeon of honey from your jars each week and in return I will protect you from the wild cats that prey upon us all. They are dangerous and can kill us at any time."

One of the bears decided to speak up and question Papa Bear.

"But Papa bear, we live in a cave where the big cats don't dare to venture. They know we outnumber them and would never attempt to do such a thing. Besides, cats don't eat honey. Giving you some of the hard earned honey from our jars, for something we don't need, does not seem to make sense."

"You forget little bear, I am Papa bear. If you wish to stay with us, here in the safety of the cave, it would be best for all not to make such big waves."

"Yes, Papa Bear."

From then on, Papa Bear visited the other bears every Friday evening, just before dinner, clutching his large wooden ladle. He would scoop out one measure of honey from each of their jars and deposit it into his own.

Following each of Papa Bear's withdrawals, he'd always say, in a snide manner, "A pleasure doing business with ya."

None of the other bears attempted to stop him...

Andy's story contained a total of four paragraphs. He would keep all of the Prober articles to four hundred words or less. This one was 398.

Over the next four weeks the stats for "The Last Laugh" blog were not impressive. Hits were below normal and the subject matter didn't seem to garner much attention. Danny asked to meet with Andy in order to see how things were going. They convened at the usual spot, Pete's Diner.

"Over here, Andy."

"Hey, what's going on Dan?"

"Not much."

"Good morning, what'll be gents?"

"Coffee and toast, white."

"What will it be for you sir?"

"Make it two scrambled, toast and coffee."

"Thank you."

"So Andy, tell me how it's going, I mean the articles? I like the thing with the bears. It's like I know who it is and its right out there in the open but it's also a secret, all at the same time. It's hilarious."

"You like that, huh? Too bad I checked the stats and it looks as though the piece hasn't gotten the attention we had hoped for. The numbers were still respectable though."

"As long as you think we should keep doing this I'm okay with it."

"Shit yeah, I think we should keep going. It's only been a month. However long the bug has been in there, that's how long it may take to get rid of it. That's what my family doctor told me once when I had a lingering case of bronchitis."

"You know what, Andy? You're the writer. Whatever you say goes for me, too."

"Have you heard anyone talk about the Prober article at work?"

"Nah, not yet...I was kind of hoping Dwight would have seen it, considering he eats, drinks and breathes with his computer, but nothing yet."

"That's all right. We'll just keep forging ahead, as long as you can give me some fresh info, I can relate it to our 'Long Island bears'."

"Don't forget about the jewelry guy. Imagine an unlicensed vendor being allowed to sell unmarked jewelry on state property during working hours with just a wink and a nod. There are no taxes and it is completely off the books."

"Danny, does Prober get any kickbacks from that vendor?"

"Word is that the guy pays Prober a percentage of what he brings in. It's been going on for years. Prober allows it...I don't know if it's his relative or not."

"Okay good enough."

"Oh and there's that parking lot deal with Prober."

"Yeah I got it."

Chapter 18

"What the hell is going on over there? I'm trying to get Prober's next article done and it sounds like the time trials for the Indianapolis 500. Lately it's every day."

"They're doing some work on the building."

"Living next to that building has become a pain in the ass. Everything was fine. All of a sudden they're doing an awful lot of drilling and hammering."

"Yeah, but if it's gotta get done?"

"One of those workmen is freaking dangerous. When he drives his truck down the street, look out. He's gotta be going 60 when he blows through the stop sign at the end of the block. I'm not kidding you. He almost ran me down. How about when the crew almost burned the building down, yeah, they're not dangerous."

"At least they posted a note about the noise."

"I suppose so...uh oh, listen to that, it sounds like a jackhammer or something over there. I'm trying to get this thing out on Prober and I can't even hear myself think. Do you know what it's like trying to concentrate with all that constant pounding going on?"

"Well, this probably isn't a good time to bring it up but Erica, from the building manager's office, left a note in the laundry room."

"Oh yeah, let's hear this one?"

"I guess you haven't seen it yet."

"I haven't seen what?"

"It says something about only doing laundry between 9 am and 5 pm. It has something to do with conserving water or something."

"What? Are you kidding me? They only want the wash done during business hours? Suppose someone has to go work early in the morning? Then when are they supposed to do the wash?"

"I don't know."

"You know, I always get up really early. I think they're crackpots. You watch. What suddenly changed? I think that conservation crap is just an excuse."

"I don't know."

"I know what it is, but they're fucking nuts!"

The next morning Andy was up his at his usual 5 am. It was a quick breakfast and later a kiss goodbye to Kim as she left for the office. In an effort to help out around the house, he planned on getting a load of wash done before she came home. It would be much too late for her to do the wash, plus the clothes hamper was overflowing. He thought with an early start there would be plenty of time to sit down and finish his article.

When he walked downstairs to the laundry room, Andy noticed the sign that Kim mentioned. He proceeded anyway. When he was done loading the washing machine he turned to go back to his apartment, only to find Erica Borden, from the apartment manager's office, waiting outside the laundry room door.

"Andy the sign says '9 am to 5 pm only' and that applies to everyone. We want to conserve water."

"Hi Erica, oh, okay."

"It's not 9 am. Why are you doing you're wash so early? Who does their wash at this hour of the morning?"

"What was that?"

"I don't understand why you are doing the wash so early. Who does wash so early in the morning? Why are you?"

"I dunno, I just wanna get a jump on things before I sit down, wait a minute, what is this all of a sudden, Communist Russia? You mean I can't do the wash when I want to, like I always have?"

"No, you shouldn't be allowed to."

"Are you kidding me or what?"

"It's a matter of conservation. It's not you, per se."

"Erica, I get up early in the morning. I didn't make any noise. There's no problem here."

"I shouldn't have to tell you again. It's a matter of conservation."

"So let me get this straight. No wash before 9 am? Then what about the tenants who have to leave early, before 9 am and then get home after 5 pm? When do they do their wash? Why is this now a problem? What's changed?"

"I just think you should do what I ask, out of courtesy for your neighbor, that's all."

"But this is an inconvenience for a lot of people who live here."

"It's water conservation, okay Andy?"

"Okay, let's see. It sounds like you're saying, 'tough on the tenants'."

"You got the message. No wash before 9 am. Don't let this happen again."

"Okay. Goodbye, Erica."

Slam.

A few minutes later Kim unexpectedly returned. Andy told her about his brief encounter with Erica.

"Hey, what are you doing back here so soon?"

"You know that prop that I had done at the printers, for my presentations?"

"Yeah I know, the big blue one, right?"

"Yup, well I forgot it. I had the radio on when I remembered it was sitting under the bed. The traffic isn't that bad today so I turned around. Let me grab it and get outta here."

"I just encountered Erica Borden while I went to the laundry room."

"Uh-oh, that sounds like trouble."

"Yes, Erica is very much trouble. She told me I shouldn't do the wash before 9 am. All of a sudden there's a problem if we do our wash too early. I was just trying to help out around here a little before sitting down to write."

"What did she say?"

"Erica feels that it's a matter of conservation."

"She said conservation?"

"Yeah, you know water conservation."

"That's all she said?"

"Yup, but she sounded pissed off."

"Listen Andy, Erica is from the building manager's office and we're just renters. Do you understand? She can complain about us to the apartment board. They have the power to get rid of us. Tell me what else she said."

"There was nothing else, just about not doing our wash too early in the morning. I told her that it was an inconvenience for most of the people who live here. I can't believe this, over me simply doing wash. She's a troublemaker anyway. I mean, what the hell, doing wash?"

"Oh boy, she's a pain in the ass."

"You know there's no problem. No one complained or anything. So why is she doing this?"

"You said water conservation."

"With the racquet that we put up with here, apartment manager or not she has some nerve. And now she wants our residents to abide by business hours. Between that and the friggin noise it's getting hard to concentrate around here. I haven't even been able to sit down and get some writing done."

"I wonder what's gotten into her. Did she say anything else?"

"She asked me why I had to do the wash at seven o'clock and I said something about getting early jump or something."

"They could get rid of us if the wanted."

"Now all of a sudden we have to abide by some nutty whim. What about living like normal humans who do their wash when the clothes are dirty?"

"I just don't want to get evicted. We're renters here but the apartment manager has considerable sway. I'll have to go over there and run interference before she complains and writes a letter to the owners."

"Will you say something about the residents who leave before 9 am and get home after 5 pm?"

"Uh, no, well maybe, if I can."

"Does everyone in the building who isn't an apartment owner have go through this crap? It's a little like be held hostage in your home."

"I dunno. In this building, renters and owners are supposed to have equal standing."

"I don't want us to get kicked out either, but all I did was some dirty clothes for god's sake. You should be the one who goes over there since the lease is in your name. It's better if you're the one who says something about it."

"I'll go over there now. I'm already late, so what the hell?"

Thirty minutes later.

"Okay, all done."

"You spoke to her already?"

"Yup, all done."

"What's the deal?"

"She claims the water bill for the building has skyrocketed. She's just following orders and they want to conserve water. That's not hard to understand."

"We should be able to do the wash anytime as long as nobody minds."

"Nevertheless, she would appreciate it if we'd try to do the wash after 9 am. She thanked me for coming over. Oh, and she has a sister named 'Kim' just like me."

"Okay. So if we have a hamper that's full of dirty clothes I can't do the wash until nine."

"That's right."

"Okay, in order to keep the peace and us from being evicted, I'll abide by these crazy rules. This is whacked out. Let's just hope it stops there and there are no other decrees. You and I both know there's nothing wrong with doing the wash early in the morning."

"Yeah well, we'll see but for now the situation is fixed. I've seen other tenants using the laundry room early in the morning so will Erica have a conniption about them as well, I don't know."

"I realize that we have to be good neighbors and remain flexible in order to get along with everyone, but not being able to move about freely in your own home, to think they could force us out into the street, over doing the wash."

"Yeah, but Erica has a big mouth."

"Lately it seems to be par for the course. The general state of satisfaction everywhere seems to have deteriorated. Now it's the dirty wash. Kim, sometimes I feel like all that's left is the air that we breathe."

Chapter 19

Another message from Danny:

"Mr. Penishead stickers, everyone is 7-5, to park..."

In his latest wild handed antic Prober forced the employees to purchase an annual $75 parking sticker at work even though the lot was not intended or designed to charge a fee. He used state amenities to print up the bogus decals from which he personally pocketed all of the proceeds.

Andy was ready to go with new caption on the "Last Laugh" blog:

"Bears charged fees while they work"

Then the plot:

"The infamous Papa Bear strikes again on Long Island. Is there no end to the 'Boss Tweedlike' subterfuge he inflicts on the other bears while they work for the firm in the woods? Now, amid his many other sources of seedy revenue, Papa wants to charge others a fee for parking their honey jars in the forest while they work.

"But Papa Bear," one of the workers exclaimed, "Why do we have to pay a fee just for leaving our honey jars while we work? We've always brought our pots to work and were never charged a bill. That's basically how we get our honey to and from work."

"'I am Papa Bear and I'm in charge of this part of the forest. I think there should be a payment for bringing your jars to work each day, in order to raise profits for our honey comb facility. One spoonful of honey each year shall be collected by me as a parking fee for everyone's jars..."

The other bears were up in arms about Papa Bear's pronouncement. The rank and file paid union dues but that didn't seem to matter much in the overall scheme of things, at least in this patch of the forest. It was going to be Papa Bear's way or get the hell out of this region of the woods, which was somewhat akin to a bear's 'Hobson's Choice.'

The others were fed up with Papa's burdensome taxes. He was clearly taking advantage of them but how could they respond? Though Papa Bear lost favor among the workers, he retained a lot of connections around the firm in the forest. He could crush any other bear that got out of line. Until they came up with a solution, the others had to pay his demands..."

By now, Andy's discourse on the "Long Island bears" aroused the suspicions of more than a few curious residents. For those who read Andy's work on other sites, his email address was readily available. Soon he started receiving mail that pertained to the bears. Questions like, "Hey Andy, who's Papa Bear?" and "Will the real Papa Bear please stand up" started showing up in his inbox.

Things really started simmering. The head of a local veteran's organization, Joseph Schlatz, contacted Andy asking, "Who is Papa Bear," and "Could he make an appointment in order to speak with him."

After googling the man's name, it turned out Mr. Schlatz was from a politically active group that supported local Republicans, including Albert Novak. Most likely, he was on a fishing expedition. Even so, Andy came back with a specific date and time for an assignation with him.

Though nobody responded, this was good news. It meant people in general were taking notice.

Out of the blue Andy started receiving invitations from the Ocean Inlet Democratic Committee. For some reason, neighborhood politicians automatically thought his cryptically written features referred to local Republicans. That was despite the fact that his efforts had nothing to do with bipartisan influences. The Democrats memo was short; probably system generated, all the same,

Andy never received something like this before:

"Dear Andy,

I have attached the summary of the auditor's report which details how the opposing administration wasted a $7.4 million surplus and ended the last year with only $100,000 in the bank. After that, the administration ran out of money and had to borrow to make payroll.

Tomorrow night at 7:00 p.m., at the Town Council meeting, auditors will be present and you will have an opportunity to ask questions, such as where did the money go? What are the Parks, Fire and Police Departments' actual expenses? Why are these expenses so over budget? And how can Ocean Inlet improve its practices so this does not happen again?

The entire audit should be available on Ocean Inlet's website. Please try to attend the Town Council meeting.

Sincerely,

Brad Parson

Committee Chair"

Ironically, at the end of the memorandum was "A STATEMENT OF CONFIDENTIALITY" warning:

"The information contained in this electronic message and any attachments to this message are intended for the exclusive use of the addressee(s) and may contain confidential or privileged information. If you are not the intended recipient, please notify us immediately by email reply or telephone to Red, White & Black LLP at (800) 100-2800, ext. 1000, and destroy all copies of this message and any attachments."

Lately, politicians weren't the only ones contacting Andy. It seemed like everyone had crawled out of the woodwork recently, including his cousin, Marissa:

"Andy,

I found your email address online. I don't know if you remember but I'm John Carlyle's daughter, Marissa, your cousin. I live in Phoenix. I wanted to contact you to find out more information about the Carlyle family. My brother, Sam, died four years ago from brain cancer. I wondered if anyone else had this same tragic illness. Maybe this is a lot, everything all at once, after so much time but I'd like to find out more.

Do you know of any brain cancer on the Carlyle side of the family? It would be greatly appreciated. I'm still out here in Phoenix with my family. How are you doing? Take care.

Your cousin,

Marissa Carlyle Wells"

After reading the correspondence Andy prepared a response but then second thoughts intervened. He never sent it. He had not had any contact with Marissa in a number of years and was not entirely sure of her motives. At the same time, he was pleased to hear from someone else in the family. Though not sent, Andy's message to Marissa went like this:

"Dear Marissa,

It's nice to hear from you. I offer my condolences about your brother, Sam.

I easily recall you and your family. The very first time I ever went on a long vacation is when we visited you in Phoenix. I can't recall the year. My mom and brother were there and your parents took us all out for a spicy dinner. I remember Phoenix was beautiful. Plenty of hot desert air and lots of friendly people stick out in my memory.

But enough of that stuff for now. Unfortunately I don't maintain communication with my mom or brother, nor do they with me. I suppose it may have something to do with my father coming back into my life after a number of years, only to pass away. But that's a story for another time.

As far as medical history goes, I'm afraid I don't know much and there's not a lot I can say about the family. I believe grandfather passed away from liver cancer but again I'm not 100% clear on that. I don't know of any other medical histories.

As far as life goes, I still live here on Long Island. I hope this helps somewhat. We'll keep our fingers crossed for you. I've talked your ear off, so for now, good luck!

Sincerely,

Your cousin Andy"

Chapter 20

As Prober moved his nephew Parker into place at work, Danny Champion kept the tidbits coming:

"Sparky now wants to sell sea shells by the sea shore without working, resembling Mr. Penishead, like we discussed..."

Apparently Prober had an agreement with his nephew that he could keep anything collected from employees who were delinquent on insurance payments and parking sticker fees.

While Prober doled out his scheme Andy had the next blog entry ready to go with a heading in place that read:

"It's all in the Family"

As always, the message was oblique:

"Which Long Island Papa Bear brought his nephew 'Sparky Bear' to work at the firm in the forest this week? Rumor has it Papa ordered the other bears to deposit honey into his nephew 'Sparky Bear's' jar, the same as they do for him."

Andy wrote, "A hush fell upon the group as Papa gave his directive."

Then he gently described one of the bears as he stepped up and dared to question Papa's dictate.

"This is totally unfair and uncalled for," cried the little bear. He continued, "Papa Bear, it's a terrible thing that we have to pay you alone but now we have to contribute to Sparky Bear too? He steps in here with no experience and gets promoted ahead of everyone? Papa Bear, there's something wrong here. It's not fair to the rest of us."

"You know, I checked your personnel file in Human Resources, little one. It appears you've had a bit of a production problem lately. You don't want to be known as a problem bear, do you?"

"No, Papa Bear I don't, but I barely have any honey left over after you and Sparky take your shares."

"Well, I also see that there have been some other negative reports about you, it looks like tardiness here and something else there..."

"Papa Bear, you know that I'm never late. In fact you see me coming and going each day. Where would the negative reports come from?"

"Your supervisor, Sloppy Bear filed them."

"Sloppy Bear did that? Now why would he go and do such a thing? Oh I see...well now...ah...um...ah...yeah...Okay, Papa Bear, I'll pay Sparky bear. What do I owe?"

"You're a smart little bear..."

Some of Danny Champion's coworkers noticed Andy's story. Danny arranged to speak with Andy in order to let him know, this way they would both be on the same page. The duo convened at Pete's.

"Andy, you gotta see some of the people at work, they're talking about your bears. It's hysterical."

"What are they saying?"

"Of course Mark from IT saw it. He mentioned that I should check it out. Then he sent me your link. It's the same with Olivia Johnson. She was looking up a bedtime story for her son when she came across 'your weird little bears' but she didn't think it was about bears at all. Oh and shit, I forgot to tell you. Dwight, you know, 'Mr. Computer-role-play', saw your latest blog. How could I forget to tell you?"

"Wait a minute. What happened?"

"I overheard him telling Kirsten at the front desk that he thought 'Andy's bear story is very strange,' and 'why would a grown man write about bears?' As soon as he saw me coming, he clammed up."

"If Dwight saw it then he must have told Prober, who in turn must have told his nephew Sparky. Ah-ha, so the plot thickens."

"When you put in the part about 'parking honey jars,' well that tipped off Olivia. I almost pissed in my pants but she went around telling everyone, 'see, you see, see what Andy wrote, we're not the only ones, you see, he used to work here...'

"That's funny, I love it. But we have to get some of the authorities outside of the state looking into the matter. The state will just cover it up since it's their stuff and Prober is the state. It would be the state investigating itself. How fair is that? Damn, I just don't know who to trust."

"You're doing' a pretty good job so far, Andy."

"Nah, it hasn't gotten where it should yet. What's our objective here anyway? I want to at least stop Prober from charging everyone all those crazy fees. In order to do that he's gotta get into trouble, but how?"

With that in mind, Andy's next blog entry rolled right off the keyboard:

"The weather outside is warm but Papa's thermometer says $"

Similar to a court calendar, William Prober had full control over the digital itinerary of Centerton's disciplinary hearing schedule. The amount of time it took to set an employee's hearing date was totally at Prober's discretion. Of course as always, this too was up for grabs to the highest bidder.

If Prober despised an individual he would maliciously try to starve the employee, literally, by way of a delayed hearing. While waiting for adjudication, worker's salaries are customarily suspended until all issues are completely resolved. Filing for unemployment insurance benefits during the suspension period is prohibited. Prober knew all of this. Furthermore, how is an ordinary staff member expected to pay bills with no paycheck coming in? Should the employees who are on leave with no pay look for work elsewhere while they wait for a resolution? Prober uses the system to torment workers.

Hearings came up sooner than later for those who could fork over $1000. Even if an employee had legal representation, the same held true. No questions were ever asked. Those who could not cough up the bucks, their cases would fall into computer limbo. This provided fodder for the "Last Laugh." Andy alluded to Prober's calendar-driven-money-grab in the body of his latest installment:

"As the nicer weather descends upon Long Island, a certain Papa Bear's thermometer is reading $. Which Long Island Bear Boss is selling time slots on his firm's hearing calendar? It seems no one is patrolling the forest while innocent, hardworking bears have to pay an under-the-table fee to Papa bear in order to have their employment cases heard..."

This was enough to stir things up plenty. Through Danny, Andy learned that Prober was going to meet with his nephew and Dwight, privately. Apparently Prober's secretary didn't like the boss very much, seeing how she gave up information about his office schedule to Danny Champion with no questions asked. She also had a habit of listening in on Prober's private get-togethers, typically through leaky door spaces or the quiet two-way intercom system.

Dwight Edwards considered himself to be Prober's "golden boy" until the boss's nephew showed up looking like a human monkey wrench that was just thrown into the works. Prober and his nephew were completely aware of Dwight's feelings, however, they knew he was spineless and would not object to the recent developments. And he didn't. Being a supervisor, Dwight carried a special rancor about Prober promoting his nephew so soon out of the gate but he didn't make it known at work.

The pompous spoke softly to his two civil service minions behind closed doors:

"Men, I think we'll hold off on collections from employees right now. We're not going to pursue the delinquent insurance and parking sticker fees for the present."

"How come, Uncle Will, what happened?"

"Nothing happened. We're just looking out for our interests and in order to do that we need to be smart. So from now on, I'm telling you, don't pursue any employees. Leave 'em alone. I'll deal with them personally if need be. Anybody who complains, send them right to me."

"Mr. Prober, have you seen Andy Stone's blog? Does this have anything to do with that?"

"Yes, Dwight, I'm aware of Andrew's blog. Why do you ask?"

"It's just that I heard some of the staff mentioning it, I guess because he used to work here. I wasn't sure if you saw it or not."

"What have you heard, Dwight?"

"I heard Olivia and Danny saying something about 'Andy's bears.' Olivia said 'she didn't think the story was really about bears at all'."

"What do you think?"

"Well...I think...that...that Andy Stone...is...when he worked here, well, I didn't like him very much...I mean I'd chat about hiking the Mount Washington up in New Hampshire, but that's about the extent of our conversations."

"How about you, nephew of mine, do you have any thoughts about this? Have you heard anything?"

"Uh, no, not really...I didn't really work here then so I don't really know the dude."

"I went and reviewed Andrew's blog entries. I'm not sure what he's up to yet."

"I'll let you know if I hear anything else, Mr. Prober."

"Me too, if I hear something I'll tell you."

"Good...now coincidentally we're also having a few problems on the floor with some employees so I felt this would be an appropriate time to back off of them as well. Oh and if anyone pursues getting their money back, send them to me. Okay that's all for now. We're done here. Good day gentlemen."

Despite deferral of the collections, Prober's poor treatment of the employees and his crooked system of extortion had already created a hostile work environment that was starting to come apart at the seams.

One of the administrative associates, Chelsea Fox, who worked there for ten years, filed a psychological stress claim due to on-the-job anxiety. She began a regimen of prescribed mood enhancers and sleep aids. Though her case was pending before state authorities, Chelsea told friends she would never return to work there. She wasn't the only one.

Peter Varos, a senior clerk with the state for the past 12 years, also left his position, citing high blood pressure brought on by stress at work. Varos, a military veteran, told coworkers "he had enough of the bullshit."

According to personal physicians and their lawyers, neither Fox nor Varos had any prior medical problems that were related to their symptoms. Were the two psychological stress claims an indication that Prober's fiefdom was slowly falling apart? One thing was certain: Andy's articles were the last thing that Prober needed, especially with everything else going on.

Over the next few weeks, Danny gradually came down with severe headaches and a bout of insomnia. After a trip to the doctor, they discovered extremely high blood pressure, unusual for someone Danny's age. After a round of blood work and a cardiac stress test, he was told to drop some weight and see a psychiatrist for the insomnia, which he did. A regimen of talk therapy and anti-anxiety drugs were initiated.

Shortly thereafter an ambulance was called to the Centerton workplace. Immediately after receiving a failing progress report from Dwight Edwards, Danny's coworker, Olivia Johnson, fainted in her cubicle. She was rushed to the hospital emergency room. The diagnosis was exhaustion; she only missed two days of work. That didn't matter to Prober. He hated the added attention on the facility. The state eventually made arrangements for Olivia to attend an independent psychological exam and medical tests, which made her go ballistic. The only thing wrong with her was coming from the daily barrage by William Prober and Dwight Edwards.

As a result of things at work, Olivia contacted her favorite uncle, who just happened to be a federal court judge. The Honorable Thaddeus J. Owens was appalled at the treatment his niece was receiving. Owens had close ties within the state legislature and the police force. He wouldn't hesitate a moment before contacting them if Olivia needed.

As the walking wounded added up under Prober's watch, Danny felt pressure from being involved in such a big mess. He made plans to speak with Andy at their usual rendezvous, Pete's Diner.

"How are ya doing, Dan?"

"Hey, how's it going, Andy."

"Okay, how about with you."

"Not bad. Hey, I like that shirt. I have a similar one."

"Yeah, it's a Guess shirt. I like that western style with the button sleeves. So tell me, what's doing?"

"Prober hired a couple of new people at work and they aren't even his relatives."

"Go figure."

"Um...you know...I started doing therapy, so I can get rid of my insomnia. He gave me some medication...hey, Andy, how long do you think we'll be doing this, I mean about Prober?"

"I thought as long as it takes. But let me ask you, is this making you sick, the articles?"

"Sick, no, but it's on my mind."

"Danny, I'm not trying to be altruistic here, meaning I'm not doing it just for your benefit alone. You see, by going after Prober with these articles it gives me a unique chance to help you and get back at him all at the same time."

Andy could not express strongly enough his urge to rectify a bad situation. How, from time to time, he found himself looking at the world through a lens of good versus evil. What happened to Andy has now happening to others and nobody was going to do a damn thing about it. In his mind, he had a duty to help the others. He also had to work things out for himself and this was one of the ways he was going to do it.

How could Andy tell Danny that he didn't want his friend or former coworkers to be alone in their distress without appearing trite and off base? He knew being alone is a tough state of mind. Andy also knew that generally speaking, even when alone, humans had a tendency to be good toward one another when the worst struck.

"Danny, are you having second thoughts?"

"No not really. I just wish Prober would have gotten nailed by now with all the shit he's done."

"Hang in there because things look like they're heating up, but I do have to say, it's not worth your health. Your health is way more important than getting back at Prober."

"Nah, we can't stop now. We gotta get this guy. We're gonna keep going, right Andy?"

"I want to, but not at your expense."

"Nah, come on, let's keep doing it. We need to nail his ass."

"I like that kind of talk. Hey, my friend's father told me something. He feels that when it comes to working in government, the best branch is local, like town or county. The second best is federal. According to him, and he was a court clerk for 35 years in the system, the absolute worst place to work is the state. And of course, where did I used to work and where do you presently work?"

"Yes, we've both worked for the worst employer, the shitty, fucking state."

"Can you imagine what would happen if the public knew what went on in state government."

"Shit man if the general public knew how taxpayers were footing the bill for all of Prober's unlawful activities...I know it's not funny but 'it's the people's hard earned dollars at work.' Hopefully your articles will do something about this."

"Hopefully, they will. Keep your fingers crossed anyway."

Chapter 21

The condition at Danny's job was volatile, like a smoldering powder keg ready to go off in a moment's notice. Hard to believe but even William Prober was starting to show signs of bewilderment. During a mid-morning coffee break Prober lost it, which was something unusual because he never operated openly in front of an audience.

He lost his sense of judgment and temper with a part-time secretary named Sarah Seslowe. It seems that Seslowe mistakenly sent a delicate email to the wrong party, a politically active attorney who then grumbled to Prober in response. The complainant promptly suggested "It figures, all civil servants are boobs." What's worse, he meant Prober and not Sarah Seslowe.

But as they say in civil service tradition, "shit rolls downhill." When Prober chewed Seslowe out in front of her coworkers, he exclaimed, "You're only one step above a monkey; however, the monkey would work cheaper."

His eruption resulted in Seslowe running off into the ladies room crying. When she got back to her desk, runny mascara and all, Prober was waiting, ready to pounce like a hungry cat on an injured mouse. At the end of an extremely degrading invective, Seslowe went home for the day. She never stepped foot in the office again.

Thanks to Danny, an additional nickname for Prober began to circulate about the rank and file. Being an extremely knowledgeable film buff, when Danny saw Prober on the floor yelling at Sarah Seslowe, he was reminded of a Hollywood classic, "The Caine Mutiny," featuring Humphrey Bogart as the insane Captain Queeg.

William Prober, who was in the Navy just like the mentally ill protagonist, had an eerie resemblance to Bogart's fictional character. On celluloid, Queeg was incapable of performing his job as a military sea captain and could no longer manage the ship he was assigned to command.

In real life, employees started asking the same thing about William Prober. Was he also mentally ill and unfit to lead?

When the boss was away, instead of hearing "Prober," now "Crazy Cap'n Queeg" echoed humorously underneath the lunchtime din of the employees' cafeteria.

Though Sarah Seslowe was a part-time temporary worker, her complaints about Prober reverberated up the New York State Thruway all the way to Albany. The single mother of two, a victim of domestic violence who was working her way through school, had no particular gripe with Prober when she was hired. She came in on a public assistance program and the governor didn't want any kind of bad publicity as a result of William Prober's erratic downstate deeds.

The incident with Seslowe proved to be something of a tipping point because important people in the state began looking in on Prober's facility. Furthermore, out of the blue, Prober, a man who hardly missed a day of work, was unexpectedly called away for important business elsewhere on a number of occasions. Nobody was supposed to know about that but Danny confirmed it by way of Prober's secretary. "Crazy Cap'n Queeg" was quietly meeting with GOOP in Albany about the Seslowe matter.

It turned out Seslowe knew someone in Albany, who in turn knew somebody else who worked in the state legislature, who then contacted somebody in the governor's office. Seslowe was pissed off and hurt and was not about to accept abusive verbiage no matter who was slinging it, not even William Prober. After GOOP got involved, Sarah Seslowe was promoted to supervisor at the Brooklyn facility center. She jumped three pay grades.

Following the Seslowe incident, the state immediately set up a team-building workshop designed to foster camaraderie and self-esteem among the workers. GOOP also thought it would be a good way to diffuse the tension in Prober's office. Attendance to the three-day seminar, done onsite in Centerton, was mandatory for everyone except Prober. Nobody was surprised.

Upon completion of the course, participants were then presented with embossed certificates.

Afterward, to the dismay of the presenters, a customer service associate, Francis Morrelle, who allegedly suffered post-traumatic stress disorder from an unidentified military conflict, started hearing voices in his cubicle. He subsequently went on indefinite sick leave. Was it a coincidence that Morrelle worked for Prober when he succumbed to his psychological difficulties? The answer is, probably not.

Right after the training Danny Champion was called into William Prober's office. It turned out he had been reading Andy's "Last Laugh" and thought there was a odd but proverbial ring to the goings on in his column. As a result, Prober thought there was a potential "leak" in his ship at Centerton and he was going to find it, come hell or high water. Paranoid as he may be, in this instance "Crazy Cap'n Queeg" was correct. Of course there was seepage; it was Danny.

Prober started interviewing employees in an attempt to find the individual who was giving away the company secrets, so to speak. He started with the people who sat nearest to him in the main office. Danny was in that group.

The interrogations lasted approximately 15 minutes. When it came time for Danny's questioning Prober was quite aware that that he knew Andy but so did most of the 67 other employees there in Centerton, with the exception of the new hires and "Sparky," his nephew.

When asked who alerted him to Andy's articles, Danny lied. He said Dwight Edwards was the person who brought it to his attention. Prober didn't pursue the matter. Following Danny's grilling there was no mention of production reports and no complaints about his employment habits. It looked like he escaped the wrath of Prober, at least this time. However that didn't mean his underwear and t-shirt weren't soaking wet when he was done. Later on at lunch Danny sat alone in his car trying to regain his composure. That's when it occurred to him that he probably needed a break. It was all getting too heavy and he was feeling quite smothered.

With a diagnosis of insomnia and migraine headaches to back him, Danny was prepared to call in sick for three consecutive days the following week. He had the causally related medical that connected his illnesses to the job however a formal worker's compensation claim had not yet been filed. By law he was allowed to miss up to three consecutive days of work without having to produce a medical note justifying the absence.

Sure enough, when Friday afternoon arrived, Danny was elated because he was not going back to work until the following Thursday. Counting Saturday and Sunday this was going to be five solid days of not seeing Prober or anyone else from work. It felt like a much needed reprieve. Danny was all set to watch a bunch of movies, eat a ton of junk food and catch up on his sleep, the three things he wasn't able to do much of since the events at work unfolded. His physician would probably disapprove of the way Danny was spending his leisure time but who was going to tell him?

Would there be anything ominous waiting for Danny when got back to work? That didn't matter this time. He had plenty of accrued sick days and no backlog at work. He was willing to take the risk and call in sick for some valuable rest and relaxation.

Seeing how he was so superstitious, it was no surprise when Danny got himself a small voodoo doll made of cloth which resembled William Prober. After naming it "William the Tyrant" he stuck several small straight pins into five strategic areas of the doll's body. Besides that he wrote William Prober's name on a little piece of blank white paper and then threw it into the back of the freezer in his kitchen.

While on his unofficial holiday break from work, Danny played 2D video games, equipped with a virtual automatic rifle therefore he could hunt down and kill his human quarry, appropriately nicknamed "Proby the Menace." He also sat around watching vigilante themed movies, like the first Death Wish, starring Charles Bronson. Vicarious thrills coursed through his veins when Paul Kersey shot up the bad guys, simply because he thought they deserved it. So did William Prober.

As Danny stretched out in front of the television screen eating fried potato snacks of every variety, his friend Andy was home drinking a shot of single malt scotch and playing his custom electric six-string. This was not Andy's regular modus operandi, however he needed a breather. As a blues enthusiast he took pleasure in playing authentic tunes, like Elmore James' "Sky is Crying" or Robert Johnson's "If I had Possession over Judgment Day." He played with reckless abandon while trying to forget about William Prober.

Though he wasn't conscious of it at that moment, Prober was still present, lurking in the dark crevices of Andy's mind every time he turned the volume up on his amplifier. He thought, "What was the next headline going to look like? What would the next story be about? Did Prober know the bear stories were about him?"

Questions like these lingered around Andy's string-bends and over his pulsating guitar vibrato. Soon the shot of whiskey he drank, albeit early in the morning, was simply not enough. It was time to smoke a small bowl.

At the same time Andy took a deep hit on a bowl of weed, Prober was miles away in the parking lot at work, chain smoking Parliaments. A recently reinvigorated habit, it had been ten years since he took a drag on his last cigarette but things were a little different now.

While Danny watched movies and Andy played guitar, William Prober deliberated important personal questions amid exhaled puffs of light grey smoke:

"Why was Andy Stone writing those stories on the Internet? Why did he bother? Those blog entries may have resembled things in Centerton but were they really about the office? If they were, then somebody had been talking to Andy Stone, but who?"

As Prober speculated, Dwight Edwards sat inside his cubicle gaping out the window. He knew instinctively there was a good chance that Andy Stone was giving Prober payback. It made perfect sense since Andy was no pushover. He used to work there plus he was still friends with Danny Champion. Dwight had a suspicion that it was all tied together but he didn't know exactly how. In the meantime Dwight scratched his balls and then smelled his fingers as he pondered future concerns:

"If Prober was caught doing anything improper or illegal would he ever be arrested? Who had the authority to go after him, the cops? Could criminal charges ever be filed against Prober? What about me?"

Closer to home, Kim was on her way to a potential client's office in hope of getting some more work. As she drove down the expressway, Andy occupied her mind:

"How long was he going to publish those articles about William Prober? Was Andy ultimately going to get in trouble? Was Danny going to hang in there and help Andy? How about William Prober, was he finally going to get his comeuppance? What about that grubby bastard Dwight Edwards? Who was going to get him back for doing Andy dirty?"

The following week, when Danny returned to work from his self-imposed holiday, there was no retribution waiting, just the expected build up in his queue. Management was aware of the fact that Danny was not required to supply a written excuse for his time off, provided it was sick leave. Instead, he told them verbally that it was a severe attack of asthma. No further questions were asked.

While Danny eased back into his work routine, Andy sat in the bedroom where he finished the last four bars of an improvised solo to Muddy Waters' "My Love Strikes like Lightning." Then it was onto another article. As he sat down to type on his laptop back in Centerton, William Prober finished the last pack of Parliament he had. Dwight Edwards merely sat and stared aimlessly out the window.

Unfortunately for the Stones, Kim never wound up getting any work from her prospective client. On the brighter side, she had a pleasant surprise when she stopped for coffee that day. She met a woman in the deli who knew her from a previous networking function. The woman was looking to do some marketing for her company. They exchanged business cards and as a result Kim arranged another prospect appointment.

The edgy state of affairs at the Centerton facility hung in everyone's mind like a dark cloud. They were all thinking of it, from Prober and Dwight Edwards to Danny, Andy and Kim. Seeing how the topic of bears was embedded in everyone's psyche, logic would have it there must have been others who read "The Last Laugh" and were wondering about those same things.

Chapter 22

While meeting his writing obligations on other websites, Andy also maintained up to date blog entries on "The Last Laugh." Soon he ratcheted things up a bit with another headline:

"LI firm doles out honey for settlement again and again!"

Andy's didactic narrative, hidden within a fairy-tale, was an effort to bring forth the cost of Prober's exploits:

"There exists a working sleuth of bears on Long Island that is just trying to make ends meet in the forest of life. However, a certain Papa Bear has made the environment at one particular firm so poisonous, it's now causing the bears in that area to pay more in the way of honey. Papa seems to be tormenting the bears at this firm..."

The article contained three hundred ninety-one words of implied references to the money that's been paid out by the state in order to settle a variety of flagrant employment claims that were clearly prompted by William Prober's unchecked behavior.

Soon after the latest yarn was published, Dwight Edwards paid a visit to Danny's cubicle while the other employees were out at the coffee truck on a scheduled morning break.

"Hey Danny, did you see the latest on Andy's blog?"

"No."

"You have to check it out. I recommend it."

"Okay."

"Tell me, Danny, do you keep in touch with Andy?"

"You asked me that once before. I told you no."

"Well that may be, but I have a hunch you've spoken to him since his departure from here."

"What are you trying to say Dwight, spit it out?"

"Oh, nothing...it's just that Andy Stone hasn't worked here for a very long time yet he seems to be aware of everything that's going on in the office, at least that's what his bear stories look like."

"How do you know those stories are about us? That is what you're saying Dwight, isn't it?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. That latest bear story sounds a lot like what's been going on around here."

"That's what you say. It doesn't look that way to me."

"I think those stories are about this office. I imagine Mr. Prober thinks so too."

"Oh, so you talked to Prober about this?"

"Just briefly, because I don't have much to go on but I will and then you'll see, you'll see."

"Keep on dreaming, Dwight. I think you're doing too much role-playing on the computer. It's clearly affected your brain."

"We'll see."

Alarmed and panicky, Danny contacted Andy. They met at Pete's Diner after work.

"Hey Dan, what's going on?"

"Hey Andy, oh man, Dwight was blabbing."

"Here you go gents, two coffees."

"I ordered coffees for both of us."

"Great. So what's doing, it sounded like you're ready to explode."

"I am. Dwight came to my desk, on break...he doesn't have anything more than a hunch but he insists you're writing about the office."

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, oh no, don't make me laugh, shit, ha, ha, ha, ha."

"Andy, what is so funny?"

"He's such a dick. I could hear him now, 'Ah, Dan, ah, have you been reading about the bears, ah, yes, the bears, ah,' what a dick. That's good he noticed the article. Let them squirm a little, they deserve it."

"Yeah, but it feels like it's gonna come down on me personally. Don't forget I'm the one who's been funneling you all of the info...if they find out, oh man, they'll have my ass so bad. Are you sure we're not violating anyone's privacy policies?"

"It's like I told you, Prober is a state employee but he's also a private citizen so the lines are a little blurry. We're approaching it like he's a civil servant and maybe there's a taxpayer problem here. Hopefully no one else in the office will come forward and claim to be a character in the stories. Wouldn't that be terrific?"

"Dwight said he's been talking to Prober about your bear stories. I've been having pretty painful migraines from all the shit at work."

"Danny, I told you, it's not worth your health, I mean what you and I are doing."

"I know, it's Prober...all the stuff he's done to us at work, it makes everyone feel like shit. There's no possibility for advancement and then on top of that he takes our money...and the fucking union won't do a goddamn thing!"

"That's why we started this whole thing, remember, so Prober could get nailed."

"He's such a fuck. Um, if I do go out on sick leave, how will you write your articles?"

"Danny, you've given me so much shit that I could write another seven or eight articles easily. Don't worry about that."

"Hey you know we have a lot of strange people roaming about the office lately. I haven't been able to find out who they are yet. I think they might be from Albany."

"You may be right."

The next morning, at 9:45 am, Danny was unexpectedly called into William Prober's office. To say he was nervous would be putting it mildly.

"Daniel, thank you for coming in."

"No problem, Mr. Prober."

"Daniel I brought you in here in order to verify that you have no current contact with a former employee here, Andrew Stone."

"Sure that's true...Why?"

"We have reason to believe somebody has been passing information about the office along to Mr. Stone. I'm just trying to get to the bottom of this and verify who that might be."

"Okay."

"So you haven't spoken to him at all."

"That's right."

"You know Mr. Champion, I noticed your recent production reports were slightly down-oh that's right, you were off for a few days."

"What do you mean my production has been slightly down...Mr. Prober, it hasn't been down? I was out on sick leave."

"Well now, according to Dwight Edwards..."

"Oh, Dwight Stone, according to Dwight Edwards...I see."

"Don't worry, Daniel, they're only a little off....well now, I also see your privacy policy is up to date."

"Yes it is."

"Looks good, Daniel. We'll just have to keep an eye on things for now."

"You mean Dwight will be keeping an eye on things now."

"That's correct, he and my nephew...Well Daniel, if there's nothing else..."

"No, Mr. Prober."

For Danny the handwriting was on the wall. He was on Prober's radar, most likely due to the efforts of Dwight Edwards. Danny's blood pressure shot sky high and his head throbbed due to a considerable migraine that started to take hold. He was afraid of Prober now that the warning signs were there.

Danny was not about to be Prober's sitting duck. The only strategic option to take was a position that showed he had been injured at work from hostile conditions. Danny's physician assured him of his cooperation if it was needed down the road at an employment proceeding.

His physician would make sure the medical records indicated Danny was being treated for insomnia, migraine headaches and high blood pressure, each brought on by threatening surroundings at work. Moreover, he could provide notes from a licensed psychologist suggesting an array of mental illnesses with specific DSM codes, all attributable to the job. Danny's theory was that if Prober and the state knew there was going to be pushback maybe he could make it work to his advantage. The plan of action was clear. That's because from any vantage point, it looked like Danny was in danger of losing his job. He discussed the matter with Andy while they ate dinner at Pete's Diner.

"I love the turkey and stuffing here, oh and the gravy. It's that nice dark brown velvety smooth kind, a real mushroomy, earthy taste. Mmm, I love this stuff."

"This burger isn't too bad either. The fries are really crispy."

"So Dan the man, what's your plan, mister?"

"I'm gonna' go outta' work for five days."

"Ah, a little vacation."

"Yeah right...this is how it'll probably go... Once I hand over the medicals that say my illnesses are job related, then a worker's compensation claim will be set up. The thing is, if lost time is five days or less, no payments are due under the law in this state. The government considers that to be minimal job loss. But while no monetary benefits will be owed to me, they will pay for the medical bills because it's such a small amount. It's in their best interest not to deny my medical treatment right now. Then the ball goes in their court and it will be up to Prober and the state whether or not to escalate my injury claim."

"I see what you're doing."

"Listen if they begin picking on me, then I'll start losing time from work and go back to the doctor more often and my condition will get worse...but if they leave me alone, then my injury will stay as is. You see, hopefully this will give me some kind of leverage against Prober. I'm gonna say that I have insomnia and high blood pressure, diagnosed by my doctor. I'm not gonna say anything about my psychotherapy, at least not yet."

"Danny, you don't think you might be making a bad situation worse?"

"Not really. I figure Prober already let me know, in his own unique way, that he's coming after me. What do I have to lose? Once my injury claim is set I'll see about filing with other public agencies, you know, the Division of Human Rights, stuff like that. That's if Prober and the state come after me."

"Nah, I went that route. It's the state investigating the state so nothing will ever happen to him. You'll have to find a place outside of the state to listen to you, either local or federal. Then you'll have your claim looked at by an independent source."

"Yeah, but If Prober and the state are aware that I have the ammunition for a viable injury claim, maybe they'll cool down if it doesn't escalate...just the way Prober sent me a message I'll send my own message back to those fuckers. Of course I have an attorney waiting in the wings for when things get really ugly."

"Now it sounds like you're the one with the plan. Hey, good luck. I'll help in any way I can. It's a good thing you have all that sick time accrued."

"That's what it's there for."

"Your privacy policy is paid up, right?"

"You bet."

Being a man of his word, Danny went through with the plan. He missed five days of work and then returned. Just like he predicted, no cash benefits were due. His medical bills were paid with no questions asked however the state did throw him a slight curve; because there were no outstanding issues to adjudicate, a worker's compensation claim was not formally indexed. As long as his medical treatment wasn't being denied and he had no lost time from work, Danny didn't press the issue.

For now, Danny's idea worked just as he had imagined. William Prober and Dwight Edwards were leaving him alone.

Chapter 23

Drawing attention to his former boss, by way of veiled articles, was more than a just a testosterone laden pissing contest between a couple of pig headed jerks. For Andy, it was like a primordial confrontation of right versus wrong, pure greed and corruption. It was rotten stinking graft. As Prober carried out his wickedness, he was also evil itself. It was time for his insatiable appetite for malice and money to be eradicated. How much more damage was he going to be allowed to do? It's like Edmund Burke once said, "All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."

As a professional writer, with a sense of fair play and journalistic standards, Andy reminded himself again and again, "It was not unethical to hope for justice."

Then, as fate would have it, an email arrived about twenty minutes later which had prophetic overtones. It was a message from the "Freedom of the Pressers," an industry group made up of dedicated journalists intent on protecting the right of free speech in the media. The communication was brief:

"Dear Andy,

About those weird little bears of yours, I'm not quite sure what they are all about yet but I do know that in the end, it should be 'good.' Keep up the fine work. You are doing a great job.

Best wishes,

Steven Tully

President, Freedom of the Pressers - Keepers of the Media"

Though he may or may not have agreed with the group's political views, Andy felt that this strangely timed email was a much wanted injection of ego juice which is just what he needed. People had read the articles about Prober and on some level the words were honestly making an impact. How timely.

For Olivia Johnson's uncle, Judge Thaddeus J. Owens, he didn't need any "ego juice" when it came to William Prober. That matter boiled down to the same thing as it did for Andy Stone; a question of malevolence.

Dismayed by the treatment his niece received, while at the Centerton facility under William Prober, the Judge never let his resentment go. Though Olivia was ultimately promoted and received other favorable compensation for settling her employment and discrimination claims against the state, "Uncle Thad," as she liked to call him, remained dead set on pursuing William Prober. He felt the man was malicious and went far out of his way to make Olivia look bad.

Civic minded and ethical by anyone's standards, Judge Owens was stuck with principled questions like, "Had there been other employees in Centerton who were treated as badly as Olivia? If so, how many were lucky enough to have a federal Judge looking out for them?"

He figured for Prober, it was probably like shooting fish in a barrel when it came to picking on workers or anyone else for that matter. Everything was at his whim.

Judge Owens didn't like that he had never been able to review Olivia's personnel file. Especially after she told him about the gossip among staff members, about how Prober was conveniently creating fake employment documents and then using them at a later time.

Months ago, when Olivia fainted that one day at work, her personal physician diagnosed a case of dangerously high blood pressure. It was alarmingly elevated, most likely brought on by sudden stress, à la work.

At the time, in an attempt to smear Olivia, Prober and the state charged her with having a temporary mental illness, though the initial accusers lacked an appropriate degree in medicine or psychology. Some of them only had a high school GED certificate.

The allegations included dereliction of duty and insubordination. She countered with claims of discrimination. Since Uncle Thad was a judge in the same federal district court where Olivia planned to file her lawsuit, the state attorney general suggested settlement before that case went any further.

After dickering with state representatives, in exchange for dropping her allegations, Olivia agreed to accept a manager's position and salary at another facility in Queens County.

The location was acknowledged to be a kind of safe house for employees who were on the outs with the state. Plaintiffs, whistleblowers and staff who didn't fit in elsewhere could come to work without being under constant attack. If one could weave their way through the misplaced anger and dour complacency, the experience was doable. Camaraderie was also there to be found, nestled amid the misery loves company campaigners.

In reality, very few found the place to be a stepping stone to bigger and better things or a positive career move. Nevertheless, it was a last resort, short of resignation.

Olivia may have settled her claims of gender and employment discrimination but that did not mean she was cleared of the hateful lies that had been lodged against her. While she gained a new title and the corresponding wages to go with it, her employment file still contained the falsehoods and inaccuracies previously flung by the state. Judge Owens thought it was time to clean up Olivia's file as well as her name.

In an age of "Privacy Allocation" and "privacy policies," Judge Owens issued a demand for Olivia's complete employment file under a rarely used law. The Freedom of Information Act, referred to as the Freedom of Information Law, or FOIL for short, was at one time a potent weapon often used against government secrecy.

Though hardly brought into play anymore, FOIL was once a practical means of securing covert information by means of filing legal paperwork. It was still active and officially on the federal law books. Judge Owens knew jurisdictional law like the back of his hand. He realized federal directives superseded state protections when it came to information requests, electronic or otherwise. Prober had to comply with the demand for Olivia's personnel file, regardless of Privacy Allocation and privacy policies.

With the protections, loopholes and penalties associated with Privacy Allocation, FOIL eventually became obsolete. Though in this case, since the FOIL request came from a federal judge who was still on the bench, it was taken seriously by his law clerk and staff.

Uncle Thad, who was from a long line of highly influential African-American trial attorneys, wore stoic tenaciousness all over his face whenever he thought about the law. Thaddeus was married to Michelle, another successful lawyer. They were both Christians though not Baptists. Thad and Michelle were Catholics whose families haled from Alabama.

In his spare time, Judge Owens enjoyed chess, golf and restoring V-8 muscle cars from the late 70s. He relished a sip of Dahlwhinnie single malt scotch every now and then while listening to classic George Clinton, Parliament Funkadelic or one of many Bootsy Collins ancient solo projects. Olivia was treated like she was the daughter that Thaddeus and Michelle never had.

The judge was a competitor who by no means ever ran from a challenge, legal or otherwise. Prober was not about to get in his way or the proviso regarding Olivia's complete personnel file. Owens recalled that Prober allegedly maintained some sort of private files on his employees.

Apparently he was falsifying paper documents and then having them secretly scanned in between the pages of the original digital content. He found a way to fool the time clock into thinking the false documents were originals. Then he had them date-stamped in order to reflect an older creation date. No matter how he pulled it off, no one suspected anything was wrong.

Creating and maintaining private employment files on others is unlawful. Perpetrators are subject to penalties that are not protected by federal privacy policies. Some things in this world were stronger than William Prober and Olivia's Uncle was going to find out if he was one of them.

For months Judge Owens played tug-o-war with the Attorney General's office over Olivia's file. The Attorney General represents all state agencies when it comes to legal matters. Owens was alarmed by the thickness of the civil service "wall of silence." It was something he had seen before, akin to the Italian mafia's code of "omerta." But this happened to be funded by the taxpayers of the state.

The FOIL requests regarding Olivia's personnel file were completely ignored. Judge Owens personally spoke with the opposing attorneys on several occasions by telephone, when they assured him of their cooperation. It was obvious he was getting the run around. The state may have been eager to settle Olivia's discrimination claims but they were not so fast to hand over her personnel file. The next step was a subpoena.

Seeing how he was the bench, Judge Owens retained subpoena powers. In this case he went to another federal judge and explained the situation his family was up against. Shortly thereafter, a subpoena was issued for any and all personnel records pertaining to Olivia's Centerton employment. They were deliverable to Judge Owens' part in federal court.

Judge Owens contacted the state's legal team and informed them that he would enforce the subpoena, if need be, by finding William Prober, the Human Resource Director, mailroom supervisor as well as their lead attorney in contempt of court for violating a legal order.

Additionally, he would be more than happy to "duke" it out on his home turf in federal court if that's what the state preferred.

Upon review of the sparse personnel material that did make its way over, Olivia informed Uncle Thad that she had previously signed off on a progress report that cited her excellent leadership and team building skills, though it was nowhere to be found.

Owens knew this was a peculiar situation, when a mid-level state employee like William Prober was not being forced to cooperate with a federal subpoena. How far was the state going to go to protect one of its own?

Prober could also find protection behind other laws because he was technically considered a public officer. As such, he was insulated from being sued. Throw in Privacy Allotment issues and suddenly Judge Owens became conscious of another proposition, that he might only be able to take this so far without ruining both Olivia's reputation and his own, all at the same time. He didn't want either of them to be cast into a negative public light even though their own personal privacy policies were intact.

Judge Owens was powerful but not influential enough to sever Prober's connections in the governor's mansion. Prober had recently proved to be an annoyance to the anointed ones in Albany but it was certainly not a case of persona non grata.

Owens, an aged but still cunning legal eagle, remembered an old investigator's saying, "Let the damages dictate the effort." With that in mind, he asked himself, "What were Olivia's damages?"

The answer was there weren't any, not since her previous settlement with the state.

Then what were we talking about here? The state was not handing over Olivia's personnel records. Prober was not headed up the river just for that. As it played out, what was going to be the totality of Olivia's evidence?

On one side, she pointed to several articles that were missing from the record and a few, which although produced, had never been seen before. On the other hand, William Prober and the state, who will claim Olivia is not correct and even worse. It will be a case of mudslinging in the form of "She said" versus "He said." In this instance, the "He" was William Prober, the embodiment of the state. She didn't stand a chance against him without having any other fish to fry.

The Judge was not going to press criminal or civil charges, both of which would be all too messy. The media would peck every piece of tabloid meat off of Olivia's bones if he did that. What's more Prober was not an attorney so Owens had no grounds to complain about him to the local Bar Association. In addition, since Olivia previously agreed to drop all federal claims of discrimination, there wasn't much ammunition left. Plus there was no proof of any other wrongdoing.

An adage ran through Judge Owens' memory bank:

"Revenge is a dish best served cold," which was countered by "dig two graves when seeking revenge, one for your target and one for yourself."

It was clear to the Judge that it was time to make a decision. After a few skillful video chats, Judge Owens persuaded the state to destroy all the documents in Olivia's personnel file pertaining to the fainting incident, including the independent medical exam, appointment letters and reports, supervisor's opinions, negative production rankings, everything.

Owens was cognizant that particular information was never entirely removed from the state's computerized central storage unit but at least the data wouldn't be a part of Olivia's personnel file. If anyone referenced the material once it was removed, that would be grounds for an entirely new claim which could prove to be detrimental to the state.

As part of the resolution, Judge Owens wrote a formal complaint letter to the Division of Human Rights, the federal office of the Equal Employees/Employers Commission, or EEE and GOOP, notifying them "of a hostile work environment that presently existed at the Centerton, Long Island facility, a situation that was not going to change anytime soon..."

Though agitated about it, ultimately Judge Owens recognized he was unable to oust William Prober from his domain. While it's true Prober was read the proverbial "riot act" when it came to creating sham personnel documents and handling divisive dilemmas with employees, the matter was eventually forgotten. Or so it seemed.

The story about Olivia's personnel file quickly oozed out to Andy, which made for irresistible fodder in the "Last Laugh." The blog entry read:

"LI Papa Bear escapes justice"

The veil on Andy's ursine anecdotes was wearing thin with each new saga. The latest article began:

"Which Long Island boss continues to wreak havoc on the bear bunch who works under him, without ever having to pay a price?

As is the case with that sleuth of bears which this column has previously reported on..."

Totally frustrated that someone was bleeding information about him and the office, Prober went nuts when he read Andy's newest story. Dwight Edwards and Prober's nephew, Parker "Sparky" Prober, were both called into a conference. Within thirty minutes of the meeting, Dwight began a new round of grilling workers in order to find out if someone could crack under the pressure of fresh a query. The only question:

"Have you spoken to Andy Stone?"

An answer of "yes" would lead to another set of questions, asked in Prober's office, behind closed doors, by the grand inquisitor himself.

When Dwight Edwards finally made it to Danny Champion's cubicle, he was expediently missing from his terminal, occupied in the men's room on a protracted stay in stall number three. Needless to say, nobody admitted to speaking with Andy.

The floor was abuzz with talk about "The Last Laugh." Now, thanks to William Prober, every employee at the Centerton facility and beyond had a reason to read Andy's editorials. In a little while viewership for "The Last Laugh" hit an all-time high.

Olivia Johnson sent Uncle Thad the link to Andy's blog. Judge Owens smiled after reading the column. He recognized what Andy was trying to do and nobody's privacy appeared to be compromised, at least not as far as Judge Owens was going to mention.

Danny told Andy about Dwight's cross-examination of workers at Prober's behest, the excitement that was created by his blog and Olivia's and Judge Owens' positive reaction to the "The Last Laugh." All of this made Andy feel good.

"Kim, I feel great. What do you say we go to that free concert down on the boardwalk tonight?"

"Wow, you must be feelin' good."

"Yeah, I told you...Whaddaya say?"

"We never go down there. Who's playing?"

"Oh man, its 'Anxiety and Illness'!"

"No really, who's playing?"

"It's 'Anxiety and Illness'! I'm not kidding."

"Really, 'Anxiety and Illness' is playing on our boardwalk, right here in Ocean Inlet? Wow isn't that appropriate for you, anxiety and illness?"

"Yes and I feel good. I feel like celebrating because the right people are finally looking at my articles and now maybe something will happen with Prober. 'Anxiety and Illness' is a great way to do it, considering its right in our own backyard on the boardwalk, on our own beach."

"Yeah, but they're a pretty big band, why are they playing here in little Ocean Inlet?"

"They're rehearsing for an upcoming tour in support of their latest album. It's some kind of publicity thing. Someone in the band knows a big shot on the town council, that's how they wound up here. Plus it's close to Manhattan."

"Dontcha get it, anxiety and illness? That fits you so well. How could we not go?"

"There's another band that's opening, called The Racinos. They're pretty good too."

"Okay, 'Anxiety and Illness'! Oh, this should be terrific, getting in touch with our anxiety and illness. Andy, that's so you."

Chapter 24

William Prober, the grand suborner that he was, brought an impressive resume of dishonesty to his civil service position. The long repetitious list consisted of:

A cash kick-back from the contractor who paved the office parking lot and the landscaper who maintained the property; extorted fees from state workers for their vehicle parking stickers; weekly payments from the "off the books" vendor who visited the cafeteria during lunch; pocketed premiums from employees insurance policies, which he mandated; bribes to have employment cases moved onto the judge's administrative hearing calendar; a backhander from the coffee truck driver as well as the snow plow service and those were only the things that Andy and Danny knew about.

Unbeknownst to Stone and Champion, Prober still managed to find time for union enticements and inducements from the floor waxing company, which valued its only state contract. There were the gratuities from potential service providers looking to get their feet in Centerton, silent cash deposits from a well-known law firm in the county and under the table money from the hearing reporters association as well as sweeteners from the candy and snack machine vendors. Prober pretty much had everything in his back pocket.

Then there was the human toll. How do you place a value on the stress people had to endure at the hands of such a malicious despot?

But perhaps things were catching up with William Prober. On one bright and sunny afternoon, following an uneventful day at work, Prober smoked his last cigarette and then walked over to his car, an immaculate navy blue, two-door late model compact.

He always parked in the far corner of the lot where no one would bother his vehicle. He claimed there was a security camera focused exactly on that spot. If anyone touched the car, he would know about it. It turned out he was mistaken.

When he pulled into work that morning there was nothing noticeably wrong with his car. Conversely, at this moment he had four flat tires. They were completely emptied of all their air, like a quartet of large blackened pancakes. Furious, he immediately called his roadside service, which arrived two hours later.

"So, what's the verdict here, what happened?"

"Well it appears to me that you, or rather your tires, have been the target of a large knife blade. It's as clear as day on each one."

"Uh-huh, I know. I just wanted to hear it from you."

"We didn't get any other calls like this today."

After pacing around for 90 minutes, Prober asked, "Yeah well, I guess it was vandals. Did you get it fixed?"

"Yup, we did."

"It's ready to go?"

"Just sign here and we'll be set. Oh and I wouldn't park my car in the same spot if I were you, not if you value those new tires."

"Thank you. Okay listen please keep this extremely quiet because I don't want anybody to know. Get it?"

"Sure, I won't say a word."

The next day, Prober divulged to Dwight Edwards what happened to his car.

"You didn't see anyone snooping around my car yesterday, did you?"

"No sir, I didn't. If I did, I certainly would have told you, sir."

"Keep your eyes open, especially around my car. I moved it to a different spot."

"I saw that when I came in today."

Prober was the target of sabotage at his home as well. A week after the flat tire incident at work, he found graffiti painted on the back door of his house. The words "N-A-Z-I P-I-G" were horizontally scrawled across the screen door in red. The damage was not visible from the street or by any neighbors.

There was an entire can of paint in the cellar that matched the screen door. If he could quickly paint over the claret colored words nobody would notice except the perpetrator and Prober.

Two quick sprays and the words disappeared from sight. Prober wouldn't have to tell anyone and best of all there would be no publicity. Yet the question still loomed, "Who did this?" In the course of his sundry Boss Tweed-like deeds, it was easy to assume Prober had made some enemies along the way. But who painted his door? He didn't want to admit it, but Andy Stone came to mind. He was probably responsible for this provocative act and the tires, too.

While William Prober pondered his list of suspects, Andy continued writing. When he was not engaged in stories for "The Last Laugh" blog, Andy was producing original content for other Internet sites, including "Tongue" Magazine, a socio-political journal. His recent piece, about "Voodoo Brides," garnered attention from one expert who wrote to Andy saying, "Great work. If you need anything let me know. I loved the item."

Andy also penned an editorial about the music industry's war on bootleg sheet music. Though the expected federal jail time for downloading or possessing digital sheet music was at an all-time low of eighteen years in prison, it was still felt to be an outrageous penalty. Those were just some of the things Andy wrote about in between thinking about William Prober.

When word of Prober's flat tires finally reached Andy, the topic went right into his blog. The next rendering was set to go:

"Papa's mobile gets flattened"

After reading it, in Prober's mind the metaphorical reference to his slashed tires, imagined or real, cast a suspicious aura around the person who wrote the story. Prober knew Andy was getting his topics from someone in the office because very few knew about the incident.

Meantime, Danny met with Andy to provide an update. They convened over burgers and lemonade at Pete's.

"You gotta see, Andy, he's been on the warpath. Dwight must have asked five different times if any of us have spoken or even seen you. The mere sighting of Andy Stone could bring big rewards, you know. It reminds me of that motto from the old time west, 'wanted, dead or alive'."

"Hey, don't laugh. Prober would take that. Are you kidding me? He would love to be rid of me...Well, too bad now. He's making my readership go through the roof. I have people emailing me because now they want to advertise on "The Last Laugh," thanks to William Prober."

"There you see. It's a good thing that you helped us."

"Yeah I guess, so but you know what, Danny? Let me tell you. I just did something before you got here that the Pope over in Italy also did today. The funny thing is, the President of the United States did this along with the richest man in the world and William Prober...you know what we all did?"

"What's that?"

"We all took a shit. All those men that I just mentioned, they took farted and took a shit just like me and you. That's because we're all just men. And because we're 'just men', all of us are fallible. The Pope is fallible; the New York Yankees are fallible and so is the President...and so are average people like you and me, we're all fallible. That means William Prober is fallible, but where and how is the question?"

"I don't know and I don't care if the Pope took a dump today but wish I knew how to get that fuckin' Prober. Hey, I got something else I forgot to tell you."

"You're always forgetting to tell me stuff but then when you do, look out."

"No, no, this is nothing like that. It's just weird, when I got here this morning. I was a little early so I sat in my car listening to tunes. This guy, he comes up to my window and asks if he could get his parking stickers inside? At first I thought he was gonna rob me."

"What's weird about it?"

"It's strange because only employees who work at the facility are supposed to buy stickers. It's a made up thing, Prober invented the stickers only for the employees."

"So what, isn't this guy an employee?"

"Nope...and when I told him I didn't know and that he should go inside and ask for Mr. Prober, he thanked me and left. I never saw this guy before."

"Hey, could that be the same person who gave Prober's car those flat tires?"

"I don't know."

"You never saw this guy before?"

"No, never"

"You don't think it could have been a cop, do you, asking about Prober? He's so corrupt, you never know, especially with all the wiretapping going on. Did he look like he could have been a cop?"

"Maybe...yeah, maybe he could have been. Then again, maybe he wasn't."

"Prober must have made some enemies somewhere, with all the coercion and unfair crap he's done. He's lucky he hasn't been sliced up like his tires. Hey man, keep me informed."

"I will, I always do, Andy."

Lately, a couple of cable television reporters and a handful of paparazzi started hanging around outside of Andy's apartment. He never answered the door if anyone came knocking. To Andy, the media were still hungry buzzards; in this case, surrounding a never-ending quarry. They remained undisruptive but always present, somewhat like a threatening mole or an unwanted skin tag. Did they sense something in the air?

Chapter 25

A U.S. Postal Service questionnaire was delivered to William Prober's home at 66 Dubois Place, Miller's Hill, in order to clarify the correct spelling of his name. Mail addressed to "William T. Probert" was previously sent to Prober's house and never returned to the post office for correct forwarding. Though the post office thought the spelling of the two names were similar and probably just some sort of mistake, they sent a feedback form anyway, to William Prober for clarification.

When two attempts failed to produce a response, standard operating procedure kicked into gear, which required the postal service, a quasi-federal office, to turn the matter over to the Inspector General, or IG, of that state. The same protocol was followed with Prober.

In contrast to the post office, the IG took all referrals seriously ever since the days of September 11, 2001. Unlike other public agencies, this was a no-nonsense group. As a matter of routine, clerks at the IG's office automatically ran database searches on all incoming assignments and then forwarded the results to a senior investigator for further evaluation. In Prober's case, it was Thomas Spinnetti.

A seventh generation Italian-American, Spinnetti, on the job for 28 years, came with an impeccable reputation. If he was assigned to the case, there was a good chance it would be worked over with a fine tooth comb. He was known as a "professional's professional."

After rummaging around, the IG clerks consigned to the post office investigation discovered a person by the name of William T. Probert was collecting unemployment and public assistance benefits at the same time, which is fraud. This had been going on for at least the last five months.

Neither William Prober's address nor his name was listed on William T. Probert's application with the state unemployment office. The same held true for the public assistance he was amassing. William T. Probert was the only claimant on file. After checking it out, the IG's office found that the residential street address for William T. Probert was false. His benefit and identification cards were sent to a P.O. Box in a totally different zip code.

The IG, who ran a tight ship in Albany, kept all investigative matters in-house in order to prevent valuable tip-offs from getting into the wrong hands. For the time being, Prober's matter would stay under the authority of the IG until further notice. Though his feelers stretched far into state government, William Prober had no contacts within the IG's office.

Spinnetti decided to keep the benefits flowing to William T. Probert until he found out anything else. Given that William Prober didn't return any of the post office's questionnaires and seeing how they knew where he lived, Spinnetti secured a subpoena in order to go forward with a wiretap of his home and office. Spinnetti had a habit of telling the ordering judge that he had suspicions terrorists could be involved in order to ensure judicial cooperation.

As the IG commenced to scrutinizing Prober, Andy kept the train of veiled articles going with another bear-like barb. First the headline:

"A thorn in Papa Bear's side"

Then the storyline:

"Which Papa Bear continues to hunt down a former worker who is no longer employed in his part of the forest...?"

After that, it didn't take long for Prober to call Dwight Edwards in for another closed door meeting. William Prober was livid. His nephew Parker was not there.

"I don't like those bear articles, do you hear me Dwight? I want something done about it, they're hitting too close to home for me. I don't know how Andrew is procuring his information but it sounds as if his bears work here and I won't tolerate it. Do you hear me, Dwight?"

"Yes and I don't know. I do agree Andy Stone is getting the information from somewhere."

"Something has to be done about his articles sooner than later."

Meantime, the unemployment and public assistance benefits went out to William T. Probert on schedule. The accounts were active at a bank near Centerton. Strangely enough, as Spinnetti started looking into William Prober, withdrawals from the ATM, where the unemployment and public assistance were deposited, ceased. There were no photographs showing who was taking the money out of the account because the ATM camera only saved its images for thirty days and there was no recent activity.

Spinnetti sent a two-man surveillance team to watch Prober at work during the week and at home on weekends. The covert crew used an American made work van as its cover along with a miniature hand held digital motion camera, equipped with a wide angle lens. While in Centerton, the small squad used a still camera parked directly across the street from the front door of Prober's facility. Following that, they pretended to do roadwork repairs on the street adjacent to the site. When they weren't in the van, a secretly tricked-out street rod with tinted windows served as their cover.

Back in the office, William Prober called Danny Champion in for a get-together that would prove to be far from friendly. Prober thought Danny was the closest he could get to Andy Stone. The tidbits for Stone's "Last Laugh" blog had to be seeping from Danny; he was the logical choice.

Prober was so enraged about Andy's written observations it caused him to slip up. Though he always presented a dawdling introspective manner, Prober was never incapable. On this occasion, "William the Tyrant," or as some still called him, "Crazy Cap'n Queeg," was extremely aggressive with Danny, so much so that the younger man started perspiring profusely under both armpits. Prober raised his voice to a volume that others eavesdropping outside could hear.

"Mr. Champion, we've been through this often enough. I'll come to the point. Have you spoken to or seen Andrew Stone recently?"

"No, Mr. Prober, I haven't."

"Daniel, he's been writing assorted items in his blog that seem eerily similar to the goings on in this office. I am convinced that he's writing about us and getting the information from someone on the inside. Is that person you?"

"I told you already Mr. Prober, that it's not me. What more do you want?"

"I just want the truth Daniel."

"Now you have it."

"Don't get flip with me, Mr. Champion."

"I'm not, but I don't understand why you keep asking me this."

"You were friends with Andrew when he worked here. You're the logical choice as the leaker. You're as close to Andrew that I can get right now."

"Well it's not so 'logical' because you're wrong. Now if you have nothing else to ask, I'd like to go."

"For now, I suppose so Daniel. Have a good day."

At the same time Danny was getting reamed by William Prober, the IG's office was digging through the sparse records they located about the Centerton facility. Before long, they stumbled upon a reference to a digital file that had been removed from the state's database. There was enough data available to determine a name, Olivia Johnson.

After that, the IG's office located Judge Thaddeus Owens' formal complaint letter about the intimidating environment at the Centerton facility. Because the Judge's correspondence had been sent to different state and federal offices, it was never completely removed from public view. Though Olivia's personnel file remained secure in its entirety, the Judge agreed to speak anonymously and off the record to Spinnetti. They met at Judge Owens home.

Ripened and straitlaced, Spinnetti was ethical and concerned for others, similar to Olivia's uncle. Also in the vein of the Judge, Spinnetti usually went "by the book" and had a penchant for a nip of alcohol every now and then. Comparable to where the Judge delighted in a single malt whiskey, Spinnetti preferred a glass of old world red as his libation. In some ways, it was as if they were cut from a similar cloth or possibly two sides of the same coin.

When the duo met at Judge Owens' home, they took an instant liking to each other. Judge Owens learned Spinnetti detested William Prober though they never met. By no means did Spinnetti divulge the nature of his investigation on Prober. He told Judge Owens they received an internal complaint from human resources about the turnover at Prober's facility so they were looking into the matter. He didn't know if the Judge believed him or not.

Judge Owens told Spinnetti he thought Prober had allowed a hostile environment to exist and it would be disturbing if employees had been unnecessarily taken advantage of while working at Centerton. He conversed about Prober and then asked how it was for Olivia. While giving him the scoop, at no time did Judge Owens bring up anything that could be construed as criminal. Spinnetti never revealed the wrongdoings he was examining.

Not much came of their talk. Before Spinnetti left, Judge Owens brought up Andy's blog to the investigator. They laughed over a freshly opened bottle of Bola that the Judge received for his last birthday. It was the only one left.

Back in Centerton, William Prober demanded information about Andy from Dwight Edwards.

"I want to know where he lives, what he does, who he lives with, when he comes and goes..."

"Are you planning on doing something to Andy Stone?"

"Only that I want to give Andrew a message about the bear articles, that I didn't like them. There won't be anything physical, don't worry."

Subsequent to the brief visit with Judge Owens, Spinnetti had one of the Probert accounts disabled by the bank in an effort to draw William Prober out of hiding. Sure enough, the bank's ATM service provider received a telephone call that the account was not working. Unfortunately for Spinnetti, that call was traced to a disposable phone. Though the person was not located, the call was transferred via a cellular tower near Centerton. Still, there was no direct evidence that Prober received any of the unemployment or public assistance benefits.

As Spinnetti followed his hunches, Prober took a drive to Ocean Inlet. Dwight Edwards had merely looked up Andy Stone on some old forms and then gave the information to Prober.

Fuming that Andy was writing these articles, Prober wanted to do something about it.

Meantime, at Andy's apartment, recent landscaping closed the rear exit of the property, forcing him to leave by way of the front entrance. Danny Champion arranged to meet up with Andy at Pete's Diner on this day, a Saturday, due to Prober's threatening speech during the week.

At the very moment Andy was turning out of his home to go to the Diner, William Prober was passing the same location. He spotted Andy's vehicle and decided to tail him. The diner was only a ten to 15 minute drive from Andy's house.

When they reached the diner, as Andy turned into the parking lot, Prober drove across the street, behind a row of cars. A few minutes after Andy went inside, Danny Champion pulled up into the same lot. Prober's eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he noticed Danny. This was no coincidence. He parked right next to Andy. Prober almost leaped out of his skin when Danny opened the car door. It was like winning a jackpot.

Though he was not sure of Danny's home address, Prober was certain that it was not near this particular diner. Then in the window, as plain as day and seated on opposite sides of the same table, were Danny Champion and Andy Stone. Prober regretted not bringing a camera.

What were the chances that this would have ever happened, catching them both there at the same time? It was fate, perhaps destiny, but he was not going to stay. That was all the proof that he needed. He would address this head on with Danny Champion on Monday. Prober was not sure if he was going to fire Danny first thing in the morning or wait and torture him.

As Prober left for home, Andy and Danny had their conversation.

"You gotta see, Andy, he's freaking yelling at me, asking if I've seen you. The last time I looked I was allowed to have my own friends, mister friggin' Prober...I fucking hate this guy."

"So do I Danny, so do I."

Yeah, but he's pushed me too far. He's not going to keep doing this to me. Just because no one is coming to the aid of the employee's doesn't mean I have to go to work and put up with this shit."

"Whaddaya gonna do?"

"Starting on Monday I'm going outta work because of my migraines. Man, this guy's a fuck."

"You got everything covered, like you told me?"

"Yup, I do, and the doctor will back me. At least he's someone who will."

When Monday morning rolled around, Prober was beside himself with anxiety. He still was not sure when to terminate Danny. He went to work early with a seething anger.

Afterward, in a momentary lapse of reason and in need of some quick cash, Prober called the service provider regarding an ATM card that was not working properly. The call actually originated on the office switchboard instead of Prober's private line. What the heck was he thinking? He took so much trouble in order to stay very careful, why take such a blatant risk?

Was he rattled by the Andy Stone-Danny Champion connection that was out to get him?

The unemployment and public assistance money that Prober collected were state based benefits. Consequently, he thought his civil service connections could get him out of a jam no matter how serious. They always did in the past.

Although it took another 24 hours, the IG's office traced Prober's call to the switchboard in Centerton. That same morning, one of the vendors left a message on Prober's voicemail at work indicating he could not be at their usual appointment. Somebody else would be "dropping off the package."

Although the words could have meant a number of different things, to Thomas Spinnetti, "dropping off the package" was lingo for a cash payment of some sorts. Using information from the wiretap, the surveillance crew watched as a mid-morning messenger, from the floor waxing vendor, entered through the front door of the facility and quickly exited.

Spinnetti followed his instincts. Before turning the file over to the state attorney general, he was going to find out if Prober was mixed up in anything bigger. The wiretapping and two man surveillance continued.

While Prober waited in his office for the work day to begin, Danny Champion called in sick. He left a brief message with Prober's secretary. Prober almost blew a gasket. It was the same thing on Tuesday, Danny Champion was out again.

Then Wednesday arrived and Danny called in sick for a third straight day. Prober, at his wits end, wanted to fire Champion the next time he came to work. When Dwight Edwards came in, Prober was going to have him call Danny Champion at home. The only problem, Dwight Edwards never showed up for work either. Prober smelled trouble.

Chapter 26

Thomas Spinnetti's ongoing inquiry included a full sweep of Prober's Internet activity. In the midst of intercepting assorted cyber movements at the Centerton facility, Dwight Edwards' name kept coming up repeatedly. When Spinnetti conducted a review of Dwight's online history, under the existing subpoena, it turned out he was constantly going in and out of his email account at home. It happened so often, Spinnetti was compelled to find out why.

It turned out Dwight's digital trail led to a number pornographic downloads. Dwight wasn't watching them at work, he was just checking to see if they successfully completed their transfers to his personal account at home.

The material, which included photographs and video footage of adult men engaged in sexual acts with underage boys, was clearly a case of pedophilia. This was something Thomas Spinnetti had to report immediately, which he did, though anonymously. Spinnetti felt he had to buy a little time in order to wrap up the Prober affair. At any rate, it didn't look like Prober was involved with the pedophilia. In actuality, there were very little Internet doings between Dwight Edwards and William Prober.

After Spinnetti offered up exacting evidence to the police, they moved in right away. The authorities arrived early Wednesday morning as Dwight Edwards readied for work. He just finished downing two chocolate doughnuts and a liter of diet cola when police pounded heavily on his door. The basement abode, dark, dank and dreary, no matter what time of time of day or weather, shook from the vibration.

Dwight was flabbergasted to see uniformed men standing before him, badges drawn in one hand, guns in the other. Five members of the Pine Brush County Police Department, two detectives and three patrolmen, filled the doorway, fully prepared to escort Dwight to headquarters for his arraignment. He was going to be booked on charges of possessing sexually explicit material featuring minor children. If convicted, he would probably spend the next few years locked away. He had no prior record.

While telling everyone he was on the computer participating in role-play games, Dwight was in fact cyber-swapping illegal child pornography, one of the worst crimes against decent society. Privacy Allocation didn't matter when you're tied to pedophilia. Even if Dwight Edwards had the best privacy policy available, this was going to be a matter of public record. Plus his name was going to leach out to the salacious nature of the allegations.

When police announced they had to handcuff him, Dwight broke into a whimper and instantaneously pissed in his pants. He created such a stench the police had to wipe the back seat of their car down with disinfectant upon his leaving the automobile.

The initial media coverage of Dwight's detainment was surprisingly light. Two local reporters caught up with him as he was taken away in a police car. They were too late to catch his "perp walk" into the precinct. At any rate, that didn't matter. In a few hours, the news would be bursting with his photos, provided by a variety of ambitious paparazzi. Accompanying that was a bounty of spicy headlines, penned by a number of ravenous journalists looking for their next meal. Dwight's name was going to be notorious in every corner of the map before the day was out.

By sundown, news of his arrest was carried far and near. Bolded captions appeared, containing words like "fiend," "monster" and "sick pervert." The allegations against him brought tremendous shame upon the Edwards family. The scene at his arraignment looked like a classic Marx Brothers comedy routine, with the gag being how many photographers can fit into one small room. The press conference that went along with that seemed like a staged free-for-all, produced by the District Attorney's office.

Dwight Edwards's parents mortgaged their home and cashed in on a lifetime of savings in order to have their now infamous son make bail and retain a decent attorney. If that was not enough, an onslaught of tabloid press continued a round-the-clock vigil while encamped in front of the Edwards' home, where Dwight was staying.

At work, news vans, satellite trucks, reporters and camera crews gathered outside the entrance to the Centerton facility. When employees came to work they were stunned by the heavy media saturation. Correspondents with microphones hassled workers as they made their way into the office, leaving most breathless and agitated.

Faint echoes of "no comment" filled the air around the front door between 8:30 am and 5 pm. In between, the workplace hummed all day long with excited babble that spewed from every cubicle. Everyone stopped answering the telephones and their emails because they were so charged upon hearing about Dwight Edwards. Two or three workers actually let out a "holy shit" when they learned what had happened. It was the closest the office ever got to pandemonium.

Before the news broke about Dwight, Prober had no idea what happened. Needless to say, he never received a telephone call from Dwight. When he attempted to reach him by way of the emergency contact numbers left for personnel, no one answered. It was the same with emails.

At last, Prober's secretary received a call from human resources in Albany. They confirmed the arrest. It seems there was a delay in communication. Dwight first contacted an attorney through the union, who then got in touch with state authorities. In time, they alerted human resources; in due course, they notified Prober.

William Prober was shaken to the core when he learned about Dwight's arrest. He not only worked with Dwight, he also confided some of his dirtiest dealings to him. Now Dwight was going to be associated with the kind of smut from which people seldom recover. Prober knew he could never have anything to do with Dwight Edwards ever again, no matter the outcome of the pending criminal charges against him.

Still, Prober was left wondering if Dwight going to sell him out in some way. Was he going to spill the beans about the goings-on at Centerton? Beyond that, how could Dwight be associated with such terrible filth right under Prober's own nose? He was alarmed that somebody was able to "fool the fooler" so to speak. On the other hand, Prober never socialized with Dwight outside of work so how much did he really know about him?

After receiving official confirmation from Albany that Dwight was in custody, Prober addressed the rank and file who gathered in the cafeteria. Seeing how everyone was already aware of the situation surrounding Dwight, his arrest was not specifically discussed. Instead, Prober warned each employee not to talk to the media because it could cost them their job or possibly worse, a lawsuit.

Everyone was directed to use the side door, known as the "smoker's entrance," until further notice. It would be off limit to the public as well as reporters. Prober then ushered his staff back to their work stations.

Dwight's name loomed large. In the midst of the commotion, Prober completely forgot about his nephew Parker. He and Dwight were close coworkers. Prober felt it was necessary to speak privately with his nephew about Dwight's arrest. They met in Prober's office, behind closed doors.

"Parker, I assume you heard about Dwight this morning?"

"Yes, Uncle Will."

"You're not involved in stuff like that, are you-I mean, you are on the Internet all the time?"

"Yeah, but that's not what I'm doing. Don't worry, Uncle Will."

"I'm glad to hear that. By the way, I can't stress it enough, please do not to discuss this with anyone and not even your coworkers!"

"Yes sir, I got it, it's loud and clear."

"Go about your business, but I may need you again today."

"Of course, whatever you need, you're my uncle.

"Now, is there anything you want to say as far as what went on with Dwight?"

"No not really."

"All right then."

Prober practiced what he preached. He didn't discuss Dwight Edwards with anybody, unless it was the state's legal staff, who called later in the afternoon. Apparently they were determining the best way to dispose of Dwight as an employee. How this all came about was not pursued. Publicly, as far as the state was concerned, Dwight was nabbed at home and this had nothing to do with work.

All the same, Dwight's arrest managed to get inside Prober's head. As his boss, Prober started thinking about the scenario surrounding Dwight Edwards and how as it applied to him. Was Dwight going to be coerced into talking about work? Dwight was nailed at home but authorities probably snooped around at work, too. Prober had no idea Spinnetti was watching him from behind the scenes.

In the midst of looking over his shoulder, Prober was undeterred. He was merely going to be extra careful with everything, especially in the matter of Danny Champion and Andy Stone, which remained unresolved. Her saw a clear conspiracy between Champion and Stone. There was no other way around it. That's why Danny had to be fired.

After dealing with days of legal department tedium and the personnel department red-tape regarding Dwight's impending suspension and termination, Prober wasted no time returning to his vindictive plan. He was not about to let go of the red hot personal vendetta against Danny and Andy. First, he addressed Andy. For him, no emissary would be needed.

Prober himself was going to send a chill up and down Andy's spine that he would not soon forget. The best way to do that was to strike on Andy's home turf. That would put some fear into him. Prober was simply going to slip a note under the door of Andy's home. He had driven by the building once before and it seemed to be an escapade that could easily be pulled off in secret.

Unbeknownst to Prober, as if divine intervention interceded on his behalf, the surveillance team assigned to watch him was abruptly cancelled. Often is the case when shadowing someone, if after a period of time, surveillance results come up negative, an operation like this is often terminated. In this instance, it was cancelled over Spinnetti's vehement objections. Had it not been for that move, Spinnetti might have developed a deeper perspective on Prober's criminal doings much sooner. Spinnetti felt an innate responsibility to pursue justice on all of his investigative undertakings, although he took a special interest in William Prober.

Now one would be there to witness Prober's clandestine activity, which he had carefully planned out. He'd deliver the note at night, under cover of darkness. Though security cameras were posted in most communities, within this particular neighborhood that was not the case. Being a seasonal recreation area and off the beaten path, funding for security in Ocean Inlet was not a priority.

Prober wore gloves when handling the letter, from beginning to end. He typed it up and then printed the document from a computer terminal in the mailroom at work, one to which everyone else in the department had access. The note contained a brief message:

"Papa Bear doesn't like the stories in the Last Laugh.

Sometimes, a Stone can sink, just like a rock. I thought you might want to know.

Signed,

"A loyal reader"

On a dry, clear evening, Prober went through with his scheme and took a ride to Ocean Inlet. The moon was bright and the night air salty. After a precisely paced drive, he reached Andy Stone's place at about 2 am. No lights were on in the building. After finding a parking spot not too far away, Prober hastily sauntered toward the dimly lit lobby. The lock on the front door, broken for the last three months, provided easy access. On the inside, Prober perused the tenant registry.

Over in the corner he spied a wall of antiquated mailboxes that were still being used, the kind with slots in the top of each little door, just wide enough to accept an envelope. Suddenly, a change in plans ensued. Instead of slipping the letter under the door, he would just pop the secret memo into Andy's mailbox. He would get it as soon as he retrieved the mail.

Within no time and task completed, Prober disappeared into the darkness of the wee small hours of the morning.

Shortly thereafter, Andy and Danny had a chance to speak in person for the first time since Dwight's arrest. They gathered at their customary eatery, Pete's Diner.

"I'm glad we finally had a chance to talk, this shit is big news, I mean really big. I freaked out when I fucking heard about Dwight. Shit, I mean, I thought I was having a heart attack. Oh man!"

"Ha-ha-ha-ha, I know. I got a call from my mother who said one of her friends told her about it. Then she called me. I was like, wait a minute, are you kidding me?"

"Oh man, I almost shit in my pants when I heard."

"Hey, I guess good old Dwight wasn't really 'role-playing' like he said, ha-ha-ha-ha."

"No, ha-ha-ha-ha, I guess not."

"No really, Andy, he was constantly on the computer, all freakin' day and night. Can you believe that shit?"

"Yeah, it's really unbelievable. Like a tabloid TV show or something."

"I wish I was there that day, but no, I had to have freakin' been out on a day when something historic happened."

"Wait a minute. I forgot. You're still out of work? I wanted to know what Prober did after he heard the news, you know, his reaction."

"Yeah, I'm still not back but I did find out what Prober did, which was not too much. Basically he just talked to everyone in the cafeteria, except he never mentioned Dwight."

"Then what the hell did he talk about?"

"He yammered about not speaking to the media, shit like that."

"Hey, how does this affect you personally at work it?"

"Yeah well, it does, considering, well, we don't have to look at Dwight's ugly face anymore so that's great, but then there's still Prober. Maybe this will calm his ass down for once. Other than that, it's probably too soon to say what will happen."

"How long are you staying out?"

"I decided I'm goin' back on Monday morning. Whatever happens happens. I just can't keep sitting around at home, in limbo. If they fuck with me, I'll just get sick again."

"I suppose so. That's a shame it has to be like that."

"You, of all people, should know what it's like...can I have some of your fries?"

"What, oh yeah, go ahead take 'em."

"I knew I should have ordered fries, oh well, next time."

"You know, I wanted to mention something else that, well, you really have to keep quiet about, no fooling around. Something very weird happened recently and you can't say a word."

"Uh-oh, this sounds like trouble. Can I finish the rest of the fries if you're not eating them?"

"Be my guest."

"So what happened?"

"Well, it was the other morning when I went down to get my mail. There was a note in my mailbox, it wasn't in an envelope. It was just the note, folded up, sitting on top of the mail."

"Let me get this straight. There was a note in your mailbox but it wasn't part of the normal mail."

"Yes, that's what I'm trying to say. It got there with no envelope, no postage or anything, nothing official."

"What did it say?"

"You wanna' see it? I can show it to you."

"Yeah, you got it with you now?"

"I sure do, but remember, you can't say anything. I don't know what I'm going to do about it yet."

"Let's see it."

"Here, take a look."

"Now this sounds weird. It's claiming that Papa Bear reads your column, like this person has a personal connection to Papa Bear...uh oh. Who put it there?"

"I dunno. It looks like someone just slipped it into the box. Since it was on top I guess it was done sometime after the last mail was delivered. Whaddaya think?"

"That it sounds bizarre. It's from, 'a loyal reader'. You don't think Prober has anything to do with this, do you?"

"Are you gonna keep posting your stories on "The Last Laugh?"

"You better believe it. There's nothing that can stop me from doing that. I have the next one all ready to go. I keep telling myself that sooner or later Prober is gonna fall. As far as this letter goes, I don't know if it's from a threatening kook or just a plain old run-of-the-mill nutcase."

"Andy, I'd be careful with this. You never know. There are a lot of crackpots out there."

"That's what Kim says. I can appreciate that."

When he got home, Andy posted his next blog entry:

"One of Papa's staff is missing"

Chapter 27

Prober yearned to put some fear into Andy Stone. That's why he gave him the anonymous letter.

To some extent, if Prober's goal was to place chills up and down Andy's spine with a surreptitious note, he succeeded. Although it was actually Kim's backbone that felt his haunting effect.

"Andy I have to talk to you, it's important."

"Well that certainly sounds foreboding."

"C'mon, no kidding, I need to talk to you. Let's sit down."

"This doesn't sound too good."

"Come on. Sit next to me on the couch."

"Uh-oh, now you really got me worried Kim."

"I need your undivided attention on this one."

"Okay, sure, you got it."

"It's about the letter in the mailbox."

"What about it?"

"It's a little creepy that someone was on our property, right downstairs. Suppose they ever tried to come upstairs? Who's to say they already didn't? You mentioned William Prober is pissed off about the articles. You don't think he had something to do with this, do you?"

"Danny asked me that too. I don't know who dropped off the letter."

"It's making me feel unsafe right in our own building."

"Maybe it's one of our neighbors."

"I don't know who it is, but it's leading me down another avenue."

"Which is going where?"

"Do you think you should still be publishing articles about William Prober?"

"Of course I should."

"Yeah, but Andy, that letter is making me feel really unsafe. Do you think there is any danger if you continue posting the entries on the 'Last Laugh'?"

"I'm no prognosticator but I don't see any immediate danger. I would tell you. If there is, I'll go to the cops."

"Are you absolutely sure you don't want to go to the police right now, while the incident is fresh?"

"No not right now. Are you feeling that much afraid? Am I not being sensitive enough to my wife's feelings?"

"Not if you feel we shouldn't be worried. Maybe I'm the one who is being too sensitive."

"No way, not at all, I just hate going to the police. I don't have a privacy policy so you know where they'll be coming from. The cops will say, 'Uh, well sir, since you don't have a legitimate privacy policy, a there's not much we can do about that."

"Andy, are you sure this isn't something the cops should handle?"

"Oh, they would certainly love to jump all over it. Then there would be reporters and paparazzi hounding us day and night. You want that again? I don't want that but I do want my wife to be safe in her own building. Am I overlooking your feelings here?"

"No, you're not at all. I don't want those reporters hanging around here either. But what are people supposed to do when shit like this happens?"

"I don't know. Don't forget, you have a great big privacy policy to protect you."

"Yeah right, but you don't. Besides, we both know those policies aren't worth shit against being raked over the coals in public by the media. Dwight had a privacy policy; now he's a pariah, listed on a great big index of perverts."

"Bingo! That's precisely why privacy policies, at least for everyone who isn't one of the ultra-rich, don't really protect you."

"The point is I don't want to worry about some kind of creep hanging around the building. There's no telling what these crazies might do."

"Let's not scare ourselves half to death. Let's stay levelheaded. It is sensible to worry about something very real, which is the letter. The thing is I don't want to go to the police because of the big fucking deal it's going to cause."

"Whaddaya we do?"

"I don't know, let's see..."

"At the risk of assuming our building super is not the one responsible for leaving the letter in our mailbox, should we tell him to be on the lookout for strangers in the building?"

"Yes, most definitely without a doubt. That's a must."

"He'll ask why we didn't just call the police."

"And we'll tell him why; the trucks, the cameras, the lights, the horns and most of all, we don't want to get kicked out of our apartment."

"Yes and you know it raises another good point. Why don't we have some kind of private security, at least at night? I never see a cop after sunset."

"That's because we're way out here in "Oshkosh" and they don't wanna make the rounds here. It's too far. You're always gonna hear Ocean Inlet doesn't have the money for regular police patrols."

"We'll talk to the apartment manager tomorrow and let him know what's going on. Oh that reminds me, about the front door. The lock has been broken for a while. At the very least, they should fix it."

After making a call to the apartment manager, who must have gotten a whiff of some liability in the air, the building superintendent showed up at Andy's place eager to lend a hand.

"Okay Andy, I'll start giving the building a once over at different times of the day, but at night, that's another story. Only management can authorize nighttime security."

"Oh I understand. Hey, whatever you can do is greatly appreciated."

"Right now I'm gonna do a walk through. Then I'll get downstairs and have the front door lock fixed. It should be completed by the end of the day. Oh and if we get the go ahead from management for the night security, I'll let you know."

"Great. Hey, thanks a lot."

"Andy, tell me why, with that letter you said you got, well, how come you didn't call the police?"

"That's easy. Do you remember when the reporters and the photographers were here?"

"Oh boy do I remember!"

"Do you remember that? Do you remember what it was like?"

"Yeah, that was a real pain in the ass. What a nightmare."

"We just don't want to do that again. If we go to the police, forget it, the media will be here swarming all over the place."

"No, I just wanted to ask, it had my curiosity. I don't appreciate all those reporter types hanging around. They're always sneaking onto the property. I don't like that."

Chapter 28

Prober's feeling of resentment toward Danny moved into full throttle. He couldn't wait to pin a new batch of spurious disciplinary reports on him. First he would charge him with insubordination and hostility then being a threat to others in the workplace. The idea of destroying Danny brought a smile to Prober's face. He was determined to fire him. This would be the end of Danny's civil service career, or so it would seem. Although William Prober didn't know it at the moment, destiny had a different plan for Danny Champion.

Toward the end of the day, Prober received a call from the Attorney General's office. Only this time it was not about Dwight Edwards. Instead they laid down the law to William Prober. They were tired of him ruling the Centerton facility as if he were a civil service despot. Several head honchos in Albany were infuriated with him. The big shots did not appreciate how he was treating his workers.

As a result, Prober was told to cease all firings and any other adverse employee actions until further notice. That gave way to a heated debate between Prober and the state's lawyers. It was settled by way of a video briefing with human resources. Prober was warned by one administrator, "Centerton's had enough goings-on without your added headaches."

Though incensed to the point a vein was now popping out on his forehead, Prober remained speechless. Albany's instructions threw a colossal monkey wrench into his plans. How was he going to stomach seeing Danny Champion five days a week again? He knew what was going on with Danny and Andy but he didn't want things to blow up any more than they did. He had to admit, Dwight Edwards arrest brought enough attention to Centerton for one lifetime.

"Champion that son-of-a-bitchin' bastard."

Prober had to keep reminding himself over and over that Danny was not yet off the hook. At some point he was still going to be terminated, just later rather than sooner. No doubt approval from human resources would be required for such a measure. But for the moment, as far as Danny Champion was concerned, all Prober could do right now was to suck it up and maintain his composure. Could his ego hold out? He still had Andy Stone to deal with.

When Monday morning rolled around Danny Champion returned to full duty capacity. Everyone except William Prober welcomed him back to work. Settling into his routine again felt good; too bad it was with the state.

In between the "hellos" and welcoming banter from friends and coworkers, Danny walked on egg shells expecting to be called into William Prober's office at any moment. When would the confrontation with Prober take place, after lunch or right before leaving? Perhaps there was going to be a negative production report and a few tardiness issues. Perhaps some other made up bullshit, with corresponding spreadsheets to back up all the lies.

Surprisingly, by the end of the day, when Danny and the others bid each other adieu, nothing had happened. Here it was time to go and there had been no conference with Prober. Danny managed to get through the entire day without a single hassle from anyone. It was both a relief and at the same time anxiety provoking. What was going to be waiting tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that?

In Dwight's absence the work flow in Centerton was managed remotely by way of an upstate supervisor, while some of the facility regulars, like Prober's nephew "Sparky" and a few others, kept watch on the floor. Danny was shocked that he hadn't been called in by Prober yet. As a matter of fact, the entire workforce seemed a bit more at ease.

The rest of the week went the same way. There was no detectable retribution from William Prober. The possibility of a surprise attack always existed, but so far it didn't happen. Danny was confused. What was going on here? He was sure there was going to be some type of reprisal for being out of work so long. Plus Prober thought he was spilling the beans to Andy. Just the same, Danny appreciated being left alone at work. As long as nothing happened, he was not going to rock the boat.

While Danny enjoyed a respite from William Prober, Andy received a fresh email:

"I think your 'bears' are about Centerton. Wanna' talk?" It was signed, "Amber Allen Smith."

This was explosive information. Amber Allen Smith, 33, was an investigative field reporter with a small television station on Long Island. Her star was currently on the rise. She knew Andy from his brief stint on Hyper Local 17 News. Apparently she had been following "The Last Laugh" blog.

"Kim, Kim, check this out. We're gonna get him, we're gonna get William Prober."

"What are you talking about?"

"Prober...the reporter, Amber Allen Smith...she wants to do a story that will expose William Prober. He's finally going to get his comeuppance!"

"No way, are you sure?"

"I just talked to her. She wants to do a story about him."

This was terrific news, but just to play safe, Andy proceeded with some caution. Smith provided a valid telephone number and she appeared to be legitimate, so he contacted her. It sounded like she had put two and two together about the veiled articles regarding William Prober. She also seemed sincere about investigating him. Andy always watched Smith on television so he didn't think she was out to screw him personally in any way. He realized if there was ever going to be a time when Prober could get nailed to the wall, it was now. Smith was part of the media and she wouldn't be stopped.

She figured Prober was involved in corruption that Andy probably didn't know about. Sensing there was something else afoot, she was going to dig deeper. As it turned out, Smith was the one who previously sent her man over to Danny, asking about parking stickers at work. In reality, it was one of her camera crew doing a little investigatory work. She had been onto Prober's scent for a while and now Andy merely confirmed the aroma.

Andy told Smith everything he knew about William Prober. She had good reason to believe him seeing how he worked with the man. Besides, all the employees at Centerton would be afraid to speak openly in fear of losing their jobs. Smith just wanted to find out if Prober had been engaged in any other wrongdoing.

While Amber Allen Smith went about her business, Andy continued his normal routine with regard to the "Last Laugh." For now, he was directed to keep quiet about his discussion with Smith. She was not yet ready to go public with anything. She still needed solid proof of Prober's misconduct.

With a cameraman in tow, it didn't take long for Amber Allen Smith to show up in Centerton looking for William Prober. While he discreetly slipped behind his office door, Prober's secretary directed Smith to the state's Office for Press Affairs, OPA, located in downtown Brooklyn.

Smith placed her business card on the desk and advised she was doing a story about civil service. She said she wanted Prober's insight on local affairs. After getting nowhere with his secretary, she quietly left. She allowed her unexpected visit to percolate through Prober's mind before returning a couple of days later.

"I'd really like to speak to Mr. Prober."

"Ah, Ms. Smith, no offense, but you were told to go through OPA. Mr. Prober can't speak to you."

"Suppose I come back when it's a better time"

"Ms. Smith, I told you he can't without OPA's authorization."

"I know, but it's a non-political issue and I thought he would be gracious enough to indulge me."

"No, Ms. Smith, I'm sorry, you know how it is, rules and regulations."

"I know. Suppose I write some questions down and you give them to him. He hasn't answered any of my emails."

"I don't think so. Not without OPA's approval."

An intrepid field reporter, Smith was not going to let go so easily. Following her last attempt to speak with William Prober, she drove to the parking lot of the Centerton facility, three consecutive mornings, in order to establish his daily pattern. Smith was no amateur.

On the fourth day, at 7:15 am, Smith pulled into the lot and then parked her car near the "employees only" entrance of the building, right where Prober usually went in. The cameraman, crouched in the back seat, was ready to shoot when she gave the word.

As Prober strolled away from his vehicle, Smith jumped out of her car and ran toward him with the cameraman trailing. She politely asked Prober if she could have an interview with him.

Without appearing unnerved, he quietly declined. She walked alongside him as he moved in the direction of the doorway. Then she requested an appointment at his convenience though there was no response. As they neared the building it didn't look as though Smith was getting anywhere. Suddenly she told her cameraman, "hit the lights and start rolling."

She figured if Prober was never going to submit to an interview or answer any questions, she might as well get some video tape of him for reference.

"Mr. Prober, you're the program manager here at the state's Centerton facility. Why does Centerton have the highest employee absentee rate in the entire state? Mr. Prober, what do you have to say? Mr. Prober, you heard of an employee named Sarah Seslowe? Mr. Prober what happened to her? What do you have to say, Mr. Prober can you explain yourself?"

He finally reached the door and hastily disappeared inside.

"Okay shut the camera. At least that was something. I'm not sure if it's ready to air but let's see what else transpires. I still need proof of this guy doing something...let's grab a bite to eat."

"You got it, Ms. Smith."

William Prober became absolutely insane with paranoia as i If Andy Stone's bear stories and Dwight Edwards weren't enough, now there was this reporter. Prober couldn't help but feel something or someone was out to get him. One of those people was in fact, Thomas Spinnetti.

Most of the evidence Spinnetti gathered against Prober had been circumstantial. Now he had confirmation from a forensics lab that the signature on William T. Probert's unemployment and public assistance documents matched that of William Prober. Spinnetti also had Prober on tape making arrangements that sounded like some sort of "quid pro quo" regarding a proposed casino.

Once legalized gambling took hold in the state, everyone seemed to want a piece of the action, including Prober. Considering the extensive contacts he had in government, it only made sense.

Still, Spinnetti was perplexed by Prober's voracity for illicit proceeds. Why was he being so greedy? Was it just another case of megalomania in government on its way to making the same old headlines? It didn't seem like that. Spinnetti was reaching the end of his career and he wouldn't mind going out on a bang with a big case.

Officially speaking, surveillance on Prober had ended except there was nothing stopping Spinnetti from tailing him on his own time. From the wiretapping, he learned Prober was going to meet a contact after work and it sounded like the other party had cash to spend. Prober bragged about his ability to influence people in government to whoever it was on the other end of the line.

Since Spinnetti knew where Prober resided, when it came time for surveillance, he simply waited at his home. Prober's shadowing led to "Cobblestone's," a local steakhouse in Centerton. About 20 minutes later, while positioned at the bar, Spinnetti watched a major player, known in casino development, sit down with William Prober and hand him a package. They never did have dinner. To Spinnetti, though he didn't have the exact proof, it looked as though Prober was somehow mixed up in gaming.

Prober didn't have a license to conduct casino business and the IG's office didn't have the funding or the personnel necessary to pursue such a heavy matter, so the case was readied for referral the Attorney General's office.

Prober had branched out into bigger circles. He was peddling his influence to casino hopefuls looking to land a deal within the state. For a fee, he claimed to ensure approval for casino expansion by utilizing his political contacts. He was not a licensed developer or a casino gamer and his deal making was against the law.

Chapter 29

Amber Allen Smith contacted Andy with an update though she didn't have anything new to add about William Prober. She told Andy to wait it out because a guy like Prober was going to fall sooner or later and she would be there to report it. She was also careful about pointing out the need not to overstep the harassment boundaries.

Andy was elated somebody outside of Centerton viewed Prober in the same dark light that he did. His was not just a case of rancorous payback. Amber Allen Smith didn't have a "dog in this fight," so to speak, yet she intrinsically understood Prober to be a real asshole.

Ever since Smith took an interest in the Prober matter, Andy noticed he was sleeping a lot better. Those all too familiar stretches of insomnia evaporated into sporadic episodes of mild restlessness. The intermittent spells of nausea also faded. It was as though he found a panacea for everything that ailed him.

Similar things were happening to Danny. As he got on with his normal routine at work and Prober left him alone, it was like a miracle drug had taken hold of his body and mind. Instead of the migraines coming and going, they just weren't happening. Like Andy, his insomnia also subsided.

While feeling so fine, Andy cooked up another camouflaged piece for his blog, which he then posted. This one caught William Prober off guard. After reading it thoroughly, the article triggered an anxiety attack, which was something new for Prober.

As a copious sweat broke out across his brow, he was overwhelmed with doubt. With his heart pounding like a big bass drum, questions started pouring though his already clogged brain.

"What about the reporter, Amber Allen Smith? What was she up to? Whatever happened with Dwight Edwards? Did he tell the authorities about their underhanded doings in Centerton? What about the note for Andy? It didn't work? He wrote another article so he didn't get the message...what would he do now? Was he afraid? Was anyone coming after him? Was he going to be able to strike at Danny soon?"

Before long, Prober developed heartburn and a loss of appetite. The strain showed on his face. At the moment, it seemed the proverbial tables were turned. He started experiencing the same things that Andy and Danny felt. A trip to his physician disclosed sky high blood pressure, requiring two different medications. But where others would have been slowed in their tracks, Prober merely drew upon his evil core to get him through.

In comparison to William Prober, Thomas Spinnetti was more of a "what you see is what you get" kind of person, though he couldn't get a good night's rest either. He had a sixth sense about the gravity of Prober's criminal dealings but there was nothing else he could do. It was time he sent the case to the Attorney General's office.

Spinnetti laid the groundwork which tied William Prober to unemployment and public assistance fraud as well as possible illegal gaming charges. Most of the evidence was circumstantial, another reason why the case had to go to the Attorney General. They had to perfect their position and decide if there was enough to charge Prober with any crimes. Unlike a syndicate or an organization, Prober appeared to be acting alone. Just the same, Spinnetti was disappointed he couldn't break the case wide open.

When it was turned over to the Attorney General, Spinnetti, eager to hold Prober's feet to the fire, reminded the state's legal team that he was ready, willing and able if called as a witness. He took every effort to avoid leaking a tip in Prober's direction. He advised the state's lead lawyer to watch out because Prober had eyes and ears everywhere within the bureaucracy.

As the Attorney General conducted a confidential intake assessment regarding the William Prober investigation, Kim was sitting in her office feeling ambivalent about the cumulative effect of Andy's blog entries. Secretly she wondered if it was all worth it. Andy now had a television reporter involved in the story; Danny was already caught up in the mess; and even their apartment manager knew the sordid details. Then there was the bizarre letter, not to mention Andy and Danny's health being affected by the whole thing. Yet the whole time, Prober remained in power and unshaken. While Kim thought perhaps it was time for Andy to give his "bears" a rest, she could never tell him so. That would mean undermining him and she would never do that.

Meanwhile, the lawyer in charge of the Attorney General's case against Prober, Linda Liao, was reluctant to charge him with the alleged crimes. Liao, 53, a lifelong civil servant, was not inclined to incriminate another state worker on such weak evidence, let alone William Prober. If the case ever did go to trial, she wasn't sure that a judge or jury would convict him solely based on the available particulars.

Nevertheless, Liao heeded Spinnetti's warning about Prober having contacts everywhere. As a result the internal file was flagged in order to prevent accidental disclosure. Only selected staff members knew about the matter inside the Attorney General's office. One of those was the administrative supervisor, Margret Bettencourt.

Bettencourt, 39, was in charge of dictation and subpoenas. As a supervisor, she had access to confidential material, including William Prober's dossier. At the time, nobody realized Bettencourt was promoted to supervisor due to Prober's help.

Three years prior, when she was employed at the Centerton facility, a supervisor's position became available at the Attorney General's office. The job was close by and very convenient for Bettencourt. When she learned Prober was a man with many connections in government she had no problem greasing his palm with cold hard cash in exchange for some assistance. He pulled the appropriate strings and voila! She had the supervisor job. She's been loyal to him ever since.

When Margret Bettencourt reviewed the newly received list of incoming hush-hush files about state employees, William Prober's name showed up on the inventory. She couldn't believe it. Inhaling deeply, she looked again to make sure it wasn't a mirage. It was no mistake, his name was right there in the caption.

She waited until after working hours to read in detail about Prober's alleged offenses. She was not a lawyer and didn't know if the case against him was strong or not. On the other hand, her allegiances were deep enough that she had to let him know about the investigation.

While working in the Attorney General's office, Bettencourt learned that emails and telephones were rarely secure sources of communication. Instead, she would have to warn Prober in person. The next day she drove to the Centerton facility on her lunch hour, just a short trek across town.

William Prober was glad to see Margret Bettencourt; however, the nervous tension on her face was disquieting.

"Hello Margret, I was just on my way out. You have good timing."

"Hello William, can we speak privately?"

"Of course, come in. Close the door behind you."

"I think its best that we speak outside somewhere, not in your office."

"Ah, this sounds urgent."

"It is urgent, there's no other way to put it."

"We can walk around the building. C'mon."

"Now that we're out of there, what is it you wanted to say? It sounds grave."

"William it is. I don't know how to tell you..."

"Tell me, tell me what?"

"William, we got a new batch of files in and your name was on one of them. There was an investigation."

"Wait, slow down, this doesn't make any sense. Start again, but slowly."

"William, there's no mistake. I looked at the case. It seems there was some wiretapping done, oh you better be careful with the phones, at home too."

"Who was taping my phones?"

"Apparently the Inspector General's office was. I don't know why or what prompted them to do it."

"The Inspector General, what the hell did he want?"

"There were some accounts or something, unemployment and welfare. Oh yeah, they mentioned another name that looked like yours, 'William T. Probert'...William are you Okay? William?"

"What, a yeah, um Margret, what else did you find out?"

"Not much, I'm not an attorney so I can only go so far, you know?"

"Yean, I know."

"The guy from the IG's office, 'Stepantetti' or 'Spagnutelli' or something like that, he was the investigator. It mentioned surveillance but there weren't any reports attached."

"Surveillance too ha...was there anything else?"

"Not that I can remember. I don't know what you can do about it or wanna do about it, but not so long ago, you did me solid. I can't forget that. I think I have a duty to repay you the favor. I didn't mean to bring bad tidings."

"No, no, you didn't. I appreciate you telling me but I'm not sure there is anything I can do about it right now."

"I hope it works out for you William. I gotta go."

"Thanks."

"I'm not sure what happens now. I did hear one of the attorneys mention the word "circumstantial" to describe the evidence, but I don't know if that has any bearing on things. You know sometimes they don't bring charges even after getting the results of an investigation.

Maybe this is one of those times."

"Who knows, maybe it is."

"I gotta get back. Remember, you didn't hear anything from me. If anybody asks about it, I'm just gonna' deny it. You take care of yourself, William. If I hear anything else I'll try to let you know. Oh, a William, no emails or telephone calls, you understand."

"Yes, of course. Thank you."

"Take care."

After Margret left, Prober went back to his desk in disbelief. The Inspector General knew all about the unemployment and public assistance benefits he was collecting. Who knows what else they knew. Then he started to wonder if his recent casino pay-offs were authentic. Already suspicious about a number of other things, Prober was completely immobilized with fear.

In the past, he had always relied on his valued contacts to bail him out. He thought about doing the same thing this time. What else could he do? He wasn't going to approach the Attorney General in order to negotiate a criminal settlement. Besides, that would only let everyone know Margret was the leak in the Attorney General's office. Prober had no way to gauge how severely he was snagged. Then a loud knock at the door snapped him out of his trance.

"Hello, Uncle Will, Uncle Will..."

"Yeah, a-um, yeah, a Parker, yes a come in...huh-um."

"Are you okay Uncle Will, you look a little off. I'm not trying to say anything bad about you."

"Yes, what is it?"

"The IT department said they're supposed to let you know when there's a new blog entry and that you would know what they are talking about. They sent you the link or something."

"A yes, oh yes, yes, okay thank you. If there's nothing else..."

"Nope, that's it Uncle Will. Take care."

"That fuckin' bastard Andy Stone is still at it with those goddamn bears."

He hurriedly looked at Andy's latest article. It was too much for Prober to take. He realized while Andy kept pounding away with his Internet taunts, the Attorney General was probably building a case against him. Who knows how much the Inspector General had gathered? Plus Danny Champion and Andy Stone were scheming against him. That didn't even include that nosy reporter who came sniffing around work. If it was possible, Prober would have self-immolated on the spot. He was having a major meltdown. Though it was only lunchtime, he went home for the day, panic-stricken.

* * * * *

As late afternoon turned to evening, William Prober paced the kitchen floor deliberating the developments of the day. He took the prescribed dosage of blood pressure medication but it still felt as though his heart was going to leap out of his chest. Instead of dinner, he settled for a double shot of Maker's Mark and a Budweiser, though the alcohol didn't numb his angst.

The same line of questions undulated inside his brain all through the evening, from hemisphere to hemisphere. Eight o'clock, nine then ten, it was the same thing.

"What did they know, what was the Attorney General doing? What were Andy and Danny teaming up for? What about this and what about that?"

Before long, his body, vibrating from anxiety, began showing signs of wear and tear. His tongue on one side was rough and bleeding from the frenetic rubbing against two cavity ravaged teeth. Though there was another day of work coming in the morning, there was going to be no sleep tonight.

At the moment, Prober was highly suspicious of everything and everyone. Was his distrustfulness out of proportion to his environment? In this case, the answer was no. There were real people out there with hidden motives aimed just at him. He brought it on himself with his own reprehensible activities.

Prober had always been put-offish but in the last few weeks he was unable to be with others at work, especially Danny Champion. It was his way of not relating to a world in which he was no longer in control.

Feeling detached, unreceptive and isolated, he developed internal distress from everything that had happened to him lately. No matter what he did, his anguish would not diminish. Did he have feelings of inadequacy? No, it was more like a dismal acknowledgement that he had no hope for the future.

Just short of midnight, he briefly fell asleep while slumped in a worn out kitchen chair. Almost immediately his snooze activated dreams of childhood, of playing baseball and going to the beach in the summer. Though everything replayed was not pleasant. He also recalled his father striking his mother in the face with a closed fist. His parents had a terrible marriage. Dad frequently took his marital frustrations out on William by calling him "a little fairy boy" and "mama's boy."

A lifelong union laborer, Prober's dad was a crane operator and mom was an administrative assistant. Prober was a pretty normal kid in his formative years but that died off after a while. He just didn't wake up one day and matter-of-factly decide to be so rotten to people. Instead, it happened over a period time.

Though the night seemed quieter and more desperate than usual he drifted off long enough for a particularly strange dream to take hold. In the vision, a large black and white whale, the kind found in the ocean, bigger than any automobile or truck, chased Prober throughout his neighbor's backyards.

The whale, snapping at his feet, chased him as he ran shoeless and screaming through hedges and over well-manicured lawns. In real life, at that point he woke up, shouting and dripping wet from perspiration. Despondent and distracted, he sucked down another slug of Maker's Mark bourbon thinking it couldn't do any more harm.

Chapter 30

Warm sunshine ushered in the beginning of a bright new day. Kim was already up and preparing banana nut muffins from scratch. While she mixed the batter and brewed the morning coffee, feelings of uncertainty lingered about the articles Andy continued to write about Papa Bear, AKA, William Prober. Though not a superstitious person, lately she had been scared about the future. Kim, like William Prober, had an uneasy night of sleeplessness due to the situation at hand.

Conversely, Andy slept like a baby. The thought of bringing Prober to justice was both energizing and soothing. Andy had no trepidation going forward on a crusade to get William Prober. Like Andy, Danny also got some well-deserved rest, absent any retribution at work.

On the contrary, William Prober stayed awake after his unsettling dream. Exhausted and dehydrated, the thought of being arrested caused him to stir about aimlessly. After a change of fresh clothes, he drove to a local early morning breakfast café for a strong cup of black coffee. Then it was off to the nearest beach, about forty-five minutes from Centerton.

The temperature outside rose as the sun bathed Prober's dust laden car. Strong coffee induced him into wondering about the past. Once again family and friends popped into his head. He recalled not attending his senior prom in high school. Enveloped in regret and drunk with caffeine, he lamented the distant past.

After his early morning jaunt to the beach, he slowly made his way to work, arriving on time. But today, instead of his normal routine, which included checking unopened emails and telephone messages, Prober sat in his chair, staring out the window at the passing traffic.

When the morning coffee break came, as an alternative to documenting the amount of time each employee took buying food from the coffee truck, his typical modus operandi, he just sat there and aimlessly ogled the sky and the clouds.

At home, Andy was well into another article when he received a call from Amber Allen Smith. It was about William Prober.

"Okay Andy Stone, hold onto your hat mister."

"Oh man, this sounds good."

"I don't usually make a habit of talking about secret information over the phone but in this case I don't see the harm."

"About what, what is it Amber?"

"It's about your arch-rival, William Prober. My sources, which cannot be revealed, say that the Attorney General is looking into Mr. 'Civil Service'. Do you know what it means if I say 'somebody dropped a dime on him'?"

"Yeah, it means somebody squealed on him, like a stool pigeon."

"That's exactly it. But this stool pigeon may have been the Inspector General's office. I can't really say much else."

"But why was it the Inspector General's office? I used to do referrals to them for fraud when I was at Centerton. Does that mean Prober is involved in some other kinds of crime?"

"I can't really mention anything else."

"Okay, I'm sorry about that. Really I'm not trying to pry."

"Oh, that's all right. Just don't say anything to anyone yet. When something breaks I'll call ya before I cover it.

"YEAH, you got it Amber!"

"Let me go Andy, I'll talk to ya."

"Okay Amber... Kim! Kim! Kim!"

"What it is, what's all the yelling about?"

"Check this out and keep it under your hat. That was Amber Smith. Now she thinks Prober is being looked at by the Attorney General. He's going down, baby!"

"Are you kidding me, holy shit?"

"I am not kidding, that was her on the phone."

"Oh my god, Andy I'm going to faint. I think I better sit down. Is this true?"

"Well, it's not confirmed but Amber's sources say it's probably so."

"I have been waiting for this. Thank you if there is a god."

"You, I've been dreaming about this for, for what feels like...forever."

"What happened?"

"I don't really know. Don't forget, there's always the chance that Prober will evade trouble, just like he's always done."

"That's right. Never count your chickens before they've hatched!"

"She told me not to go around blabbing but I wanna tell Danny. He is gonna fucking freak out!"

"Yeah, but Andy, if she said not to say anything, should you really tell him."

"I know what you're saying, but this is Danny. He gave me all the info for the blog. Plus Prober made him sick and this will make him feel really good. I'll meet him for lunch out where he works. I'm not going to risk an email or a phone call. I just gotta to tell him, he's going to have a heart attack."

Andy drove out to Centerton and met with Danny for lunch. They ate at a deli around the corner from work. Andy could hardly contain himself before spilling the beans to Danny.

"Andy, this must be big for you to drive all the way out here in the middle of the day. I never thought you'd come near this place again."

"Oh yeah, well this is big."

"I can't take the buildup anymore. You have to tell me."

"Danny, you're going to have to promise you're not going to scream or yell if I tell you something tremendous."

"Oh man, I don't think I can make that promise, just kidding. Of course I'll keep my mouth shut. What is it already?"

"I'm hesitant to tell you because I was told not to tell anyone else and I haven't up to now. Danny, do you promise..."

"Yes, I promise, now get to the point."

"I have a source who informed me that it looks like Prober is being investigated by the Attorney General."

"Are you kidding?"

"Nope, I'm not kidding."

"Whoa, wait a minute. Am I hearing you right?"

"Yes, you are. I'm not fooling around."

"You mean it's finally here? His day of judgment is at hand?"

"You got it!"

"Holy shit, I think I'm dreaming!"

"Shhhhh, remember not to say anything."

"Okay, Okay."

"Can you believe this?"

"Do you mean to say that Prober is finally gonna get his ass kicked? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you."

"Are you sure? He's such a slippery fuck."

"I can't carve it in stone, but yes, I'm pretty sure the Attorney General is on his ass."

"I never get too optimistic until I have absolute proof. If this is true, it's great news. I mean, this is what we've been waiting for, right?"

"I would say so. Has he been at work?"

"I think, but I don't really know. I never see him anymore. He's been staying away from me."

"You're pleased with the news, aren't you?"

"Hell yes, but I'm still going to have to take a wait and see approach because he's such a weasel. You never know with him."

At the same time Danny was making his way back from lunch, William Prober emerged from his office wearing a strange blank stare. He headed toward the cafeteria for a refill on his coffee. Along the way several staff members offered their hellos; he merely continued on, unaffected and zombielike. Inside the eatery, it was the same thing.

When his disposable cup filled with the hot black brew, he reversed direction, going right back to the office. There he sipped his drink in isolation, behind closed doors. Assuming the same position as before, there Prober sat, in his desk chair, staring out the window. New emails remained unopened and telephone calls unanswered. This started to arouse suspicion with his secretary. She was running out of excuses. Finally, she knocked on his door.

"Mr. Prober? Mr. Prober, are you okay in there?"

She opened the door.

"I just wanted to check and see that everything was OK. There are a number of people who are waiting for a call back. I just wanted to make sure you got the messages. Did you?"

"Yes, I got them. Thank you, Charlotte."

"Okay I was just checking. Okay Mr. Prober...Mr. Prober, is everything all right? Are you okay?"

"Huh, yes, yes, I'm fine, thank you, thank you, just eating my lunch."

"Okay then..."

"Make sure you close the door behind you."

When the afternoon break came the coffee truck was a few minutes late, which created a large crowd. As the noise kicked up to a loud clamor, a number of workers realized William Prober was nowhere to be seen. Why wasn't he there to clamp down and restore order? Even the coffee truck driver asked about him.

When the break concluded, nobody wanted to go back to work, especially with Prober being in such a hands-off mode. Danny loved every minute. Believing all good things must come to an end, he was going to enjoy the respite from Prober as long as he could.

It was particularly quiet after the break. Employees grew tired from an afternoon lull as the hum of an air conditioner dominated the setting. Calmness filled the atmosphere on Danny's side of the building. Prober's office was alarmingly hushed, though filled with desperation.

William Prober recognized if he was arrested, the legal system and the tabloids would have an absolute field day at his expense. All the corruption and graft would provide never ending fodder for a deliciously sordid tale. He could never face all of that.

Moments later, out of nowhere, a deafening bang shattered the pleasant office tranquility. At first, some people thought it was terrorists. Others ran out of the building without their car keys and purses. Stunned staff scattered about in a hysterical frenzy.

People started to run past Danny's cubicle toward William Prober's office. A mob gathered in front of his office door. Suddenly, a shrill "AHHHHHHHHNOOOOOOO!" filled the air.

Britney Patel, a temporary worker who just started that very morning, was completely overcome with dread. Danny looked around to see what was going on when he spotted his coworker, Ibrahim Maro, a senior IT supervisor, vomiting over in the corner. The scene was totally surreal.

On the way to Prober's office, bewildered souls were howling in front of a group that stood frozen in speechless horror. As soon as Danny reached the doorway, the basis for the chaos and confusion became all too apparent.

The first thing he noticed was the reddish liquid splattered about the room. The inside of the window pane and wall were covered in a fine spray, like an incomplete pointillist painting. Next to that were assorted images, resembling a Rorschach test gone awry. The ceiling above the desk exhibited thick crimson ooze that dripped onto the floor at a slow trickle.

Danny blinked in order to make sure he wasn't sleeping or hallucinating or maybe watching an Alfred Hitchcock picture; after all, he was a serious film fanatic. Not so this time. He opened his eyes, bit by bit, only to see gooey pink and yellow shards covering the floor and the back of Prober's chair. Danny didn't immediately recognize how bad everything was because it looked a little like something scripted from a science fiction movie he once saw.

While some of the frenzied horde retreated and others heaved, Danny was mesmerized by the hideously shocking scene. While taking it all in, he intrinsically knew not to step any father.

In Prober's chair, drooping to one side was a person. Danny knew it was a human being because he could see two arms and two legs. An entire man was there, dressed in blue pants, a black shirt and brown lace up shoes.

"Is that William Prober," Danny thought, "who else would be in his chair?"

His eyes searched the gruesome spectacle, starting with the damp blood that had collected on the floor beneath the desk. He scanned upwards ever slightly, from the sagging black socks towards the knees and then to the thin russet leather belt. After that it was onto the wrinkled shirt and an immense scarlet stain.

Could it be? Is all of this really blood? Is that William Prober sprawled out behind the desk? Is that his blood?

All Danny had to do was look at the face in order to find the answers. As his eyes lifted, the well soaked shirt turned to burgundy from being saturated like a sponge. Higher and then a little higher, higher...where was it? There's the neck but...but where was the face? The face was missing. How could that be? Overwhelmed, Danny thought his heart stopped beating.

This didn't make any sense. He was confused for a moment. Logic told him there always had to be a face attached to a head. Then it registered; most of the head was gone. Then something else clicked. Danny's intuition told him those shards he had seen were fresh pieces of brain and skull that had been splashed about the room. Some of the remnants were still moist and glistening.

Danny looked away in bewilderment. Is this really what it appeared to be? Could there be a body sitting there, in William Prober's chair, without its head? Could it be William Prober? It couldn't be. He had to get another glimpse.

Yes, the face on this person was missing. The headless corpse, steaming and slightly writhing, emitted a silvery moist mist that shimmered in the daylight. The remains, covered in every shade of red, from scarlet to cherry, looked like a paint bomb exploded nearby.

The lingering mass of soft tissue wiggled as if powered by fading batteries. Rays of the sun baked deposits of blood residue onto the window. Liquid matter, trickling down from the top of the wall, looked like fruit punch leaking from above. When the fluid pooled near the bottom, it turned a dark shade of purple.

Danny had never seen so much blood, let alone a dead body. What had happened here? Did someone come in and attack William Prober? It didn't look like there was any one else in the room.

Lying on the floor at the foot of the chair was a Beretta 92 semi-automatic pistol. The same kind William Prober carried when he was a Master at Arms in the Navy. At that moment, Danny noticed a strange odor wafting about. The room started to smell like something between a butcher shop and a freshly exploded pack of firecrackers. Though sick to his stomach, he was compelled to look again.

But if there was no intruder and the gun was still at hand...that didn't make any sense....could it be, that Prober shot himself? Oh my god, wait...did Prober blow his freakin' head off? Did Prober do such a thing? There was the proof, all around the room and in his office chair. Danny had to look yet again. He still couldn't comprehend what happened.

Then, "Hold it there son, step back!"

The police arrived in full riot gear not knowing what to expect. Danny, entranced by the ghoulish sight, didn't hear the officer speak.

"Hold it there! Get out of the way, now!"

"Huh?"

"Fella, get out of the way now!"

While a patrolman pulled Danny off to the side, another cop entered the office. As soon as he got a glimpse of the bloodshed, he gagged. The first plainclothes detective to enter threw up next to the body. Many other law enforcement officials couldn't go inside the gruesome crime scene. Then, after a two hour search, the immediate area was determined to be safe from any shooters.

Apparently, this was a suicide.

One senior officer said, "It was the worst thing he had seen in the last 15 years."

Throngs of police ensued. Before long the building was cleared of any remaining workers and then cordoned off for investigation. Though interviewed at the scene, Danny and some others were hustled down to the police station for additional interrogations. By that time, an army of news reporters had descended on the Centerton neighborhood in search of eyewitnesses. The entire area outside the facility was a complete madhouse. The deli across the street sold every morsel of food on the premises and then closed early.

About three hours later, exhausted from the ordeal, Danny was finally sent home. He needed an escort for his vehicle due to the heavy concentration of media in the area. Once he did get home, Danny couldn't wait to call Andy and tell him what happened.

"Andy, I got something to tell you man!"

"I already know. It was on the news. I'm speechless. I take it you're okay."

"Um yeah, but Andy you should have seen it. Just for a second, I wasn't sure if it was a movie or a dream or something. I-I-I can't tell you what it was like."

"Dan, you sound upset."

"Hey, I am."

"Take it easy now."

"I'm fine."

"Did you actually see what happened?"

"I didn't see the shooting but I was there maybe two or three minutes later. Andy man, the body was still steaming."

"Whoa, that's wild!"

"You're telling me?"

"The news said he blew his fucking brains out! Is that true?"

"That's exactly what happened. Andy, he had no face."

"Oh man, first it was Dwight Edwards and now this. You're sure it was Prober, right?"

"Um, yeah, the cops confirmed it...Andy, I saw our boss' brains scattered all over the place man. You remember what his office looked like?"

"Hell yeah of course."

"Well then just think of the entire place painted red from blood. I'm telling you, it was like a movie. Except now Prober's dead."

"Danny, I realize we're taking glee in the fact Prober's gone, but I'm kinda' sad that he did it this way. Why did he have to fuckin' take this way out?"

"I don't know. I'm sure we'll find out. I mean he was so corrupt and a dirt bag, but he didn't have to do this."

"What was the place like? Everyone must have been nuts?"

"Um, they were mostly running around and puking."

"Did you puke?"

"No, I didn't but I wanted to."

"Incredible!"

"Andy, he had no face left. I mean it wasn't there anymore. He must have stuck the gun in his mouth or under his chin before pulling the trigger."

"That's what the news said, that he had no face. Why would he blow his head off?"

"I dunno. On man, I can't talk about that part any more right now."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm cool."

"I'm not trying to be macabre or anything, but I feel cheated. I wanted to see him get in trouble and go to jail. I wanted to see that fuck brought to justice."

"Andy, in the end, do you think he was a coward?"

"Without a doubt, I can say yes. He opted out. It was okay for him to destroy people, but when he started to get screwed he couldn't take it. I'm still shocked though."

"We all are."

"I can't believe you can talk about it. Hey, what happened to Prober's nephew, Parker? Was he fucked up about the whole thing?"

"I dunno. The last time I saw him he was being questioned by the cops. He looked like he was in shock or something."

"Danny, after all of this, would you say we've been vindicated."

"I guess so."

"How about you Danny, are you okay?"

"Right now, I feel just so-so. Later on I'm probably gonna' have nightmares....Andy you should have seen it. It was the grossest, most disgusting thing you could ever imagine. It's worse than the movies. And to think, that was my boss not too many hours ago."

"I think that's gonna be all for now, Dan. You need to take it easy. Let me go. I haven't spoken to Kim about it yet. I can't wait to see what she says."

When Kim came home she found Andy was upset.

"Kim, Kim, did you hear about Prober?"

"Are you kidding, everyone is talking about it!"

"Can you imagine, blowing his brains out?"

"I'll tell ya one thing, between Dwight Edwards and William Prober, you and the rest of those workers in Centerton never stood a chance against sickos like that. Do you see how fucked up Prober was?"

"Do I see? Ha!"

"Why did he do it? Give me an answer to that."

"I dunno. Danny said he couldn't imagine Prober doing this either."

"Online reports are saying Prober might have been involved in some big time corruption, not just parking stickers and stuff."

"You know, he didn't leave a note."

"You see Andy. You were right about this guy. Rest assured he was not a nice person and you had every right to publish your articles. What a terrible ending. Danny must be freaking out."

"I spoke to him just before you came home. He saw the body and everything, but not the actual shooting. He got there few minutes later. How would you be if you just saw your boss' body with no head and no face? I think he's in shock about it."

"Oh my god, what a sight, poor Danny didn't need to see that."

"I bet he has a bunch of media hounds surrounding his house right now. Pretty soon he's gonna know how it feels, well, you know..."

"I wouldn't wish the media on anyone."

"How do you feel about the whole Prober thing?"

"Um, I don't think he should have killed himself, if that's what you're asking me. It's tragic. But I'm thankful it's over. I didn't like how things started going so I'm relieved he's no longer around. You know, I still wonder if he had anything to do with that letter we got. We never did find out who did that."

"That's because it was probably some kind of a joke."

"How strange, this, this immovable man, who had his claws in everyone and everything at your job, including you, just for the cash, completely folded up in the end. Somehow, I feel cheated."

"That's what I said."

"Too bad you can't go back and challenge all the things Prober did to you, that dishonest fucker!"

"I wouldn't wanna' go back and rehash any of that anyway."

"What's Danny gonna do?"

"I guess he's going back to work sometime soon. I wonder who's going to get Prober's office."

"Ha-ha!"

"I would guess Centerton is gonna be closed for a week or so, at least."

"Andy, can I tell you something? Greater men have folded under the kind of pressure Prober put you under. But you know what? You have a new career, you're still here and William Prober's body is now cold and soon going in the ground."

"Hey, do you wanna go to the wake or the funeral?"

"Get outta' here, are you cracked?"

"No, I mean it! Do you know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna piss on his grave!"

"That's disgusting. Don't speak ill of the dead like that, its bad luck."

"Does that mean you don't want to go?"

"Ah yeah, and you either! You're not pissing on someone's grave, you lunatic!"

Authorities had a problem establishing Prober's next of kin in who should take responsibility for his final arrangements. After that was settled, a closed casket wake was held near his house in Miller's Hill. No state officials or employees showed up to pay their respects. Few people attended at all. No relatives came.

A short funeral service was held for William Prober at St. George's Church in the center of town. The cavernous cathedral was especially loud because the place was literally empty. Pale rays of yellow light drifted through the eerie multicolored glass as Pastor Peter McManus began the service. His words bounced sharply off the polished wood and marble.

No weeping was heard from any faint hearted souls. Though nobody even lit a candle, the usual rites were still observed. A handful of pallbearers and a single cameraman were the only ones there to listen. No swarm of correspondents hovered and no crowd of paparazzi interfered. In the end, nobody cared about William Prober.

Pastor McManus picked a traditional passage to read for opening of the service, psalm 23:4. In a low and even tone McManus he began:

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow..."

McManus then deftly eulogized William Prober without actually mentioning the word 'suicide'. There was the familiar short pause for reflection and finally a routine closing:

"Grant, O Lord, rest to your servant, William, in a place where there is neither sorrow nor pain."

Afterward, William Prober was buried at the public cemetery, exactly two miles from his front door.

On that very day, Andy penned the last veiled article about William Prober. The final headline was short:

"There is no more Papa Bear"

Chapter 31

A few weeks later, reporter Amber Allen Smith called Andy with some startling information about William Prober.

"Hi, Andy. Well, get ready for some unexpected news about your old boss, William Prober."

"Uh-oh, if you're calling, it's gonna be an earthquake. I better sit down."

"Check this out. I followed up with some tips from my contacts in the police department. We've been looking into the background of William Prober. He had secrets nobody ever knew about."

"What kind of secrets?"

"For instance, did you know Prober's nephew, Parker?"

"Yeah sure, I never worked with him, but I know of him. Why?"

"I spoke to him during an interview. It seems he hated his uncle even though he's the one who got him the civil service job."

"You spoke to Parker?"

"Yes and Parker hated William Prober. At least that's what he told me. I went to his home last week. He talked about an incident with some flat tires on Prober's car..."

"I heard about that."

"We were able to get a copy of the security video which showed Parker hunched down, slashing the tires with a small knife. No one really looked at it closely before because it never looked suspicious, since he was Prober's nephew. But we got him. Then we interviewed him. He hated Prober because of how he treated everyone."

"Wow! He hated how Prober treated everyone. Hey, isn't what he did, slashing those tires, a crime?"

"Yes, but now that Prober is dead it doesn't look like the police will be pressing any charges."

"Damn! His own nephew hated him. "

"We also discovered other things, like there really was a Mrs. Prober."

"No!"

"Yes, there was, many years ago. They got divorced after three months or something. We were able to get a picture of her, too. She's not bad looking."

"You're blowing my mind. There's actually a Mrs. Prober, what the hell else are you gonna' tell me? I guess they had no children, right?"

"Well, now hold on. He didn't have any kids with his legal wife, who was Anna. We found out that he did have a child, a daughter Fortunata, living in Portugal, coincidentally the same place Prober was stationed in the Navy. All these years, he was paying her mother, a woman named Agostinha, to keep quiet about their love child. Of course, Fortunata is a bit older now."

"Okay you're kidding me. A wife Agostinha and a daughter named Fortunata. We are talking about the same William Prober, aren't we? This can't be true."

"Yeah it is, we checked it out but I'm not done yet."

"Excuse me for saying this but Amber, get the hell outta here! I can't believe there's anything else left to tell. What was this guy like James Bond or something, living a double life?"

"Andy, I'm laughing so hard you're making me crack up over here!"

"Amber, this is hard to get my head around."

"You just wait, it gets better. Prober was scamming welfare and unemployment checks plus he was getting money for some casino crap that he wasn't even licensed to do!"

"That greedy mother-but why would he do all that? Was it just for the money?"

"Bingo! Prober was depositing all of the cash and I do mean all of it, into an account in Portugal. It seems your ex-boss was stowing away the loot because he planned to move to Portugal, which we confirmed with Agostinha. When he saved up enough money, he was going to join her there."

"That dead bastard, he was gonna live it up on everyone else's money. So that's why he was involved in so much corruption, he wanted the cash for his Portuguese 'get-away'."

"After talking to detectives, it sounds like there's more."

"At this point, you could tell me William Prober was the son of the man in the moon and Aphrodite and I'd believe it."

"Not quite. But we did find out that he didn't have any privacy policy. Isn't that ironic, working in government yet being left out of a government mandate? Did you ever hear of such a thing?"

"Well, sure, I've heard of that happening."

"Anyway, Prober didn't have a privacy policy so he feared that if someone in the media, like me, found out about Agostinha and Fortunata, he would be hounded forever. His life would eventually be destroyed by the news coverage. Add to that the criminal charges and soon reality set in. He understood his future would be spent either as a convicted criminal, stuck in the back of a concrete prison cell or as a theoretically free citizen, jailed behind closed doors due to the constant media hunt. Don't forget, his personal information was going to be plastered all over the Internet without any recourse. In the end, he couldn't handle it."

"What a shame."

"After the whole Dwight Edwards thing, if Prober got arrested, it would have been a complete circus in Centerton. Hey, I learned William Prober was also Dwight Edwards' supervisor. Wow, I bet Edwards has a couple of stories to tell. What's going on with you people out there in Centerton anyway?"

"I don't know. It must be in the water. It's true, can you believe that, first Dwight Edwards then William Prober?"

"Prober couldn't resolve in his own mind getting caught. He had nothing to hide behind and no protection from the media or the authorities. It was all crashing down around him and he couldn't stand it."

"So he blew his friggin' head off."

"When some people think there's no other way out, they choose the extreme."

"Okay, since you're the expert on William Prober now, when is your book coming out?"

"Gimme a chance, I'm working on it."

By the end of the conversation, Andy was astounded by the information revealed by Amber Allen Smith.

At that moment Kim walked into the room and wildly blurted out, "Hey Andy, now are you gonna' get a privacy policy?"

"Nope," he responded, "I don't need one."

Epilogue

"But in the end, in the end one is alone. We are all of us alone. I mean I'm told these days we have to consider ourselves as being in society... but in the end one knows one is alone, that one lives at the heart of a solitude." - Harold Bloom

End
