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What I tell Eddie and his gun is not technically a lie, but something that is usually referred to as Half-Truth. It's nice that most of the excuses have already been prepared for us, so we can feel better about using them. One of the many advantages of living two-thousand as opposed to two-hundred years after time-count for our western civilization began, mostly thanks to some guy who really wanted to create communism but since he didn't have a word for it ended up starting a religion instead.
I look at my manager, all taped up next to me, then back at Eddie and I say, I came here looking for Ted.
While I say it, I think about how I really got up here, and I begin to wonder how much I am stretching this whole half-truth thing.
How long ago was it? Twenty minutes ago?
Fifteen?
Jordan and I looking at Eddie through the monitors and wondering what the hell he was planning to do as he pulls the gun out of his backpack.
Picture Ted at the door, picking up papers from the floor and then he finishes and goes on walking, and as he walks past the cubicle where Eddie is hiding, Eddie grabs him and forces him into a chair, gun against his face. Then Ted says something. Jordan and I pick up the headsets to listen in.
This is like watching a high-speed chase on TV, except nobody's moving, there is no police, no helicopters... and ... no cars.
Maybe the high-speed chase is not such a good analogy for the voyeurism that's consuming us right now.
As I pull the headphone close to my ear I hear Eddie say to Ted, ... And this is yourdailyquiettime, youidiot!
Then he tapes him with Magic Tape, his mouth, his hands, his feet. I look at Jordan and say, Daily Quiet Time?
I think he's talking about the Hangover Policy, Jordan says without taking her eyes off the screen.
Ah. The Hangover Policy. Quite successful as company policies go, it lasted maybe five weeks. The idea was, between nine and eleven in the morning, to have complete silence in the office. No phone calls. No talking, even to each other. No music. No walking around. So everyone would be able to concentrate and apply their knowledge effectively you see? Concentration is important. Applying knowledge, too. The day after the policy was implemented IT was swamped with calls an emails asking how to use Microsoft Hearts through the network.
I look back at the monitor and Eddie has just finished taping up Ted, who is mumbling something, clearly frightened. Eddie smiles, his eyes sparkling madness. Meanwhile, in another monitor, the people inside the boardroom are still babbling away, talking about the NBA, what color of socks you should wear with Armani suits, and other matters crucial to the company. Any minute, they might discover their door is locked. Worse, Eddie might discover them, and get a whole new batch of hostages.
This was getting complicated.
I say to Jordan, Shouldn't we do something?
Jordan says, Yeah. She picks up the phone and dials. After waiting for a moment, she says, No signal, damn! And hangs up.
I say, Who are you calling?
Pete, she says.
Oh, Pete, I say. You know, I tried calling you on your cellphone these past few weeks. Kept getting the messaging service.
I know, she says, and smiles.
Pete is an idiot, I say.
Jordan frowns and says, You're not jealous are you?
What! I say, trying my best indignant tone, Of course I'm jealous!
Jordan laughs and puts her hand against my face, You see, that's precisely why you shouldn't be, she says.
This is one of Jordan's particular talents, to effortlessly reassure me with unfamiliar lines.
I smile, taking her hand down from my face and say, Before this gets, err, out of hand ... We have to ... activate the elevators first. It would be easier if I could go home and bring back my old procedures tape. I don't remember a lot of the commands.
A trip to your place and back would take about an hour, Jordan says. And that's not counting the six hours you'd have to spend looking for the tape. Or has an army of leprechauns magically organized the apartment over the last three weeks?
Good point, I say. No trip home.
The alternative is that you run up thirty floors, I say then, You're the athlete, after all.
Jordan frowns.
Right, I say.
I pull the keyboard closer, switch the screen in front of me to a console, and start typing.
Suddenly it's back to the present, at Eddie waving the gun in my face and saying, That's it? Youwerelookingfor Ted?
That'syourexplanation? he says.
I can tell he's not convinced. He is walking in small circles, mumbling something about respect.
I'll be right back, wait there, he says then, and he steps out of the cubicle. What to do?
I wait.
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