Secret Pet

Getting up, I head to the kitchen to put my plate into the sink and grab the cat. As I do, I hear the sounds of Bubby’s friends coming in and taking seats. Some of the voices are familiar and as much as I enjoy seeing my grandmother’s friends — I don’t — I take that as my cue to hurry to the back bedroom and hide.

Chapter Six

Christian

Tony, the elderly security guard, knocks softly at the door to the basement annex causing me to look up from my laptop. I haven’t really set up my desk yet or any of the desks — I just pulled one of the chairs up to the old wooden conference table and have been working there. Originally, I planned on getting rid of the big piece of furniture, but after meeting Mandy this morning, I know that I can’t let it go. I nod to Tony then rub my strained eyes.

“It’s after eight, Mr. Keeley,” Tony barely raises his voice above a whisper. He acts like I was sleeping, not working.

Since I started working at McKenzie Tech two days ago, he has always stopped in to say hello to me and chat. It’s something that I actually appreciate. He’s a decent guy, but a bit long in the tooth to still be working. Plus, with all the cameras and alarms at McKenzie Tech, his job is technically pointless. I think Kane just keeps him on for sentimental reasons.

I smile at the security guard. Tony is one of the few people around here I don’t feel uncomfortable talking to. I’ve been that way most of my life. When I was a kid, it was easier to be friends with the servants than the other rich kids. Kids never got me. I was too mature for my age or whatever. I liked the adults who treated me like an adult. Something my father never understood.

“It’s going to be quite a few hours till I leave, Tony.” I wave a hand at the numbers on my computer screen. “This code is needed for tomorrow.”

Running a hand through his gray hair, the old guard looks at my laptop like it’s covered in slime, not code. He’s more of an active guy; he abhors technology. I don’t think he even owns a cell phone. “I see,” he mumbles. “I’ll leave you to it then. Did Mr. McKenzie give you keys to lock up? I’m pretty hard to find during the night, I like to keep moving.”

I stand up and stretch. The old chair I’ve been using is not great on the back. “I have keys, yes. So, don’t worry about me.”

Tony nods. Giving me one final look, he heads back toward the door. But before he is out of sight, a thought occurs to me. “Tony?” He turns back. “I have to work on one of the computers in the accounting department.” He nods. “Just wanted you to know that you might see me up there.”

He nods again. “Not a problem. Let me know if you need any help.”

I watch his back until he reaches the staircase and disappears through the door, leaving me alone again. I blink at the code on my laptop. It’s pretty much done, so I decided to take a break and look over it again when I get home. It’s as good of a time as any to start on the next part of my plan for my pet. I pack up my laptop, grab the bag of supplies I bought this afternoon, and head toward the elevator.

Up on the fifth floor, as I step into Mandy’s cubical, I take a minute to look around. I just caught a glimpse of it this morning, but now, I want to really study my new pet’s desk area. What people surround themselves with can be a spotlight on their personalities.

The desk is pretty neat, to the point of sparse. She has the cup of lollypops that I indulged in earlier. It’s obviously an attempt to seem friendly. Beyond that, there is only one other personal item sitting around her workspace. It’s a small ceramic cat, orange with darker orange stripes. The figurine is molded at an angle that looks like the cat is ready to pounce. The juxtaposition of the figurine’s paint job and its pose interests me. Gently I pick it up and turn it over to look at the bottom. There is an inscription — Love Bubby. Odd.

As I set the porcelain cat down, my phone rings. Normally I wouldn’t answer at a time like this, but it’s Rodney, who is basically my second-in-command on my team and the closest friend I have.

As soon as I answer the call, he is talking — before I can even say hello.

“What’s the deal, Christian? I thought we were moving this week.” Rodney doesn’t enjoy when plans change. He finds it very difficult to deal with. I can just imagine him, as he is complaining to me, doing his usual ticks — folding and unfolding his arms repeatedly and constantly adjusting his tortoiseshell glasses. “I have my desk all packed up,” he continues. “If you are putting off the move then I will have to unpack and then repack in a few weeks. Why has the move time changed?”