Intimate Relations, Rebecca Forster [best ereader for manga .txt] 📗

afternoon, and he could feel the fatigue of the long night. Mitzie had gone back to her loom. The compound was quiet as people attended to their work. He leaned against the cool concrete wall, and it felt good against his back. Finn flipped a page in his notebook and wrote: how would we know?  Commission? NDA??

The latter he underlined twice. He flipped the book closed and let his eyes wander from one block of buildings to another. Finn thought of what Mitzie had said. No one could know what went on in any of these units and especially in the Cucas’. The building was huge, sound proof, and constructed like a fortress. It was difficult to see through the high windows from ground level. The man who had called 911 had only seen something strange up there. What he saw was indistinct. He seemed surprised that a crime had actually been committed.  Upon questioning, he admitted that he didn't like the people going into the Cucas’ place. He didn't like any outsiders on the premises at night. What he saw in the window was excuse enough to call the police. He figured they would get rid of everyone inside.

Finn pushed off the wall. He checked his phone, saw no text from Cori, and decided to soldier on. The sun was high in the cloudless sky. While it was a pretty to look at, Finn often grew tired of the endless sunshine. His memories of his village's gentle rains and green fields intruded on days like this. He could only imagine how his parents missed their homeland. Now his father was gone. One day he and his brothers and sisters would send his mother back for a visit and Finn would go with her.

Setting aside his plans, he started for the next building only to turn and look at something that gave him pause. It was a small thing that would have gone unnoticed had his mind not wandered. Finn took a step and then two into the common area. He shaded his eyes with both hands to make sure he was not mistaken, and then he smiled.

"Thank you Mother Mary," Finn mumbled.

He dropped his hands, pocketed his notebook, and went on with a spring in his step.

10

"Can I help you?

Finn turned at the sound of the voice. He turned again, and once more as the question was repeated. The voice seemed to come from different parts of the warehouse. He looked up, down, over, and under as he tried to identify a human being amongst the 'things' that crammed the space. He found none. There were boxes that stood higher than three men, and plasma screens wider than ten more. A Foosball table the size of a living room was pushed up against one wall.  It would take giants to turn the handles and make the wooden teams move. This place gave Enver Cuca's workroom a run for its money in terms of oddities. Finn couldn't identify the person speaking, so he assumed he was being tracked by a camera and spoke to the ceiling.

"I'm trying to get to the roof of this building," Finn said. "Can you direct me to the stairs?"

"No can do, bucko. It's private up there," the voice answered.

"I'm thinking, you'll make an exception." Finn lifted his credential. "LAPD. Detective O'Brien. 'Tis been a long morning. I'd be obliged if you would show yourself, and keep me from having to hunt you down."

When the voice didn't talk back, Finn waited. Then he heard:

"Here I am."

Finn looked over his shoulder as the door to a glass booth opened only a few feet from him. He turned and faced the curious thing that emerged. Finn assumed there was a man inside the silver jumpsuit. He hoped there was a human face behind the darkened glass faceplate of the head gear. He imagined normal hands and feet under the heavy gloves and big, sturdy shoes but he could be wrong.

"Have we been invaded, then?" Finn asked.

The face mask flipped up. Beneath the dark glass and the glittering silver was a mischievous young man, no older than twenty or so.

"Wouldn't that be cool?" He had the huge grin and the wide-eyed wonder of an eight year-old. And, like an eight year old, he was as easily dismayed as he was delighted. "Who called the cops on us this time? I swear, this is all above board. Everything's got a permit."

"Do your neighbors complain often?" Finn asked.

"Not too often.  It's annoying when they do," the man said. "You wouldn't think people here would freak out at what we do. Some of them make way weirder stuff."

"And what is it you do?" Finn twirled his finger as he talked. The man did a three-sixty, happy to show off his outfit.

"Today I'm burning myself up," he said.

"And why would you want to do that?" Finn asked.

"Fun and games," he said. "We make bigger, better, awesome, over-the-top games and stuff. Want to see? We're in the last testing stages on this one."

"I admit, I'm curious," Finn said.

"Great. I'd love to get an outsider's reaction. Come on. Over here. How are you with a baseball?"

"Better with a soccer ball, but I can manage," Finn said.

"Good enough."

The man's arms were akimbo as he walked back to the glass booth. The puffy suit crinkled and skritched with each step. He flung out a gloved hand.

"So we make big fantasy games for anybody with enough money to buy one. Mostly we sell these things to corporate events or theme parks. Sometimes people buy games for themselves, but those people have big bucks. We are talking no-holds-barred, sky's-the-limit. You imagine it, and we figure out how to make it. If you can't imagine it, we do that for you too."

He handed Finn a softball.

"But I'm kind of a sucker for tradition. This one's my baby. So this is like an updated dunk tank. Ever seen a dunk tank?"

"I've fond memories of dunking the principal at our