“Here.” He held the tray out to Mission, who stuck the letter between his lips and accepted it. Jeffery glanced back, blocked Mission’s view of a keypad with his body, and tapped in a code. A series of clunks sounded in the jamb of the heavy door. Fucking right, Rodny was in trouble. What kind of pen was this?
The door swung inward. Jeffery grabbed the tray and told Mission to wait there. Mission still had the taste of milk paste on his lips as he watched the security chief step inside a room that seemed to go back quite a ways. The lights inside pulsed as if something was wrong, red warning lights like a fire alarm. Jeffery called out for Rodny while Mission tried to peek around the guard for a better look.
Rodny arrived a moment later, almost as if expecting them. His eyes widened when he saw Mission standing there. Mission fought to close his own mouth, which he could feel hanging open at the sight of his friend.
“Hey.” Rodny opened the heavy door a little further and glanced down the hallway. “What’re you doing here?”
“Good to see you, too,” Mission said. He held out the letter. “The Crow sent this.”
“Ah, official business.” Rodny smiled. “You’re here as a porter, eh? Not a friend?”
Rodny smiled, but Mission could see that his friend was beat. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days. His hair had been chopped short as if to keep it out of the way, but there was the shadow of a beard on his chin. Mission glanced into the room, wondering what they had him doing in there. Tall black metal cabinets were all he could see. They stretched out of sight, neatly spaced.
“You learning to fix refrigerators?” Mission asked.
Rodny glanced over his shoulder. He laughed. “Those are computers.” He still had that tone like one who thought himself older or better. Mission nearly reminded his friend that today was his birthday, that they were the same age. Rodny was the only one he ever felt like reminding. Jeffery cleared his throat impatiently, seemed annoyed by the chatter.
Rodny turned to the security chief. “You mind if we have a few seconds?” he asked.
Jeffery shifted his weight, the stiff leather of his boots squeaking. “You know I can’t,” he said. “I’ll probably get chewed out for allowing even this.”
“You’re right.” Rodny shook his head like he shouldn’t have asked. Mission studied the exchange. He sensed that his friend was the same one he’d ever known. He was in trouble for something, probably being forced to do the most reviled task in all of IT for a brash thing he’d said or done. He smiled at the thought.
Rodny tensed suddenly as though he’d heard something deep inside the room. He held up a finger to the others and asked them to wait there. “Just a second,” he said, rushing off, bare feet slapping on the steel floors.
Jeffery crossed his arms and looked Mission up and down unhappily. “You two grow up down the hall from each other?”
“Went to school together,” Mission said. “So what did Rod do? You know, Mrs. Crowe used to make us sweep the entire Nest and clean the blackboards if we cut up in class. We did our fair share of sweeping, the two of us.”
Jeffery appraised him for a moment. And then his expressionless face shattered into tooth and grin. “You think your friend is in trouble,” he said. He seemed on the verge of laughing. “Son, you have no idea.”
Before Mission could inquire, Rodny returned, smiling and breathless.
“Sorry,” he said to Jeffery. “I had to get that.” He turned to Mission. “Thanks for coming by, man. Good to see you.”
That was it?
“Good to see you, too,” Mission sputtered, surprised that their visit would be so brief. “Hey, don’t be a stranger.” He went to give his old friend a hug, but Rodny stuck out a hand instead. Mission looked at it for a pause, confused, wondering if they’d grown apart so far so fast.
“Give my best to everyone,” Rodny said, as if he might never see them again himself.
Jeffery cleared his throat, clearly annoyed and ready to go.
“I will,” Mission said, fighting to keep the sadness out of his voice. He accepted his friend’s hand. They shook like strangers, the smile on Rodny’s face quivering, the folds of the note hidden in his palm digging sharply into Mission’s hand.
•12•
It was a miracle Mission didn’t drop the note as it was passed to him, a miracle that he knew something was amiss, to keep his mouth closed, to not stand there a fool in front of Jeffery and say, “Hey, what’s this?” Instead, he kept the wad of paper balled in his fist as he was escorted back toward the security station. They were nearly there when someone called “Porter!” from one of the offices they passed.