* * *
On the bus ride back to work, I got hyped up for the game. If I remembered right, it was a division matchup and we'd beaten the other team two of the three times we'd already met during the season.
I was passionate enough about the game to include myself when I referenced the team. Chances were I'd topple over if I ever tried to lace up some skates, so I lived vicariously through the players. I just hoped that Gary's friend was as into sports as Frannie claimed; otherwise it was going to be a really long night.
Getting off the bus, I stared up at my twenty-story building and I wondered what it would be like to work in a place with windows. It was a question I often asked, but didn't really desire to find out an answer.
I made my way through the lobby towards the elevators and I nodded to the security staff as I swiped my badge through the reader before submitting to the mandatory retinal scan. Once the green light appeared, I was permitted to step on the elevator. After pressing SB2, I was on my way to the "Pit of Despair".?
Down two levels in the basement, the "Pit of Despair" was a term coined by a former worker on his last day. His parting words out the door were, "Hello sunshine, goodbye pit of despair." For some reason the term stuck and had been affectionately used ever since.
My work area was a small cube farm of three terminals where Carl, Liz and I spent about ten hours a day monitoring Internet traffic and phone lines for people doing nefarious deeds. We collected the evidence to put the people behind bars and I couldn't help but be proud of my work getting some of the worst criminals off the street.
It was hard to believe the shy seventeen-year-old girl searching for evidence of alien landings by hacking into a NASA server ended up where I was. For some reason, the government didn't think it was very funny that I tunneled my way in after a few days without sleep. They "invited" me to join the never heard of Bureau of Singular Intelligence. With an option of that or jail, I quickly signed on the dotted line.
"Wow, Avery, looks like you're getting a tan. Just how long were you out in the sun?" Carl asked, poking fun at the fact that none of us spent more than maybe thirty minutes outdoors in a given day.
Carl had been around the dungeon the longest. He was recruited right out of college ten years prior. He was thirty-one, and really did look the part of a geek, pocket protector included.
He had shaggy, sandy blonde hair that was always getting in his eyes and he tended to wear some unneeded black, thick-framed glasses. Sometimes I wondered if he believed girls had cooties and decided the patented "geek" look would keep him from catching anything.
"Yeah, I better be careful. I think I can feel the melanoma now from the ten minutes of sun rays. You guys didn't happen to catch where Schwartz is sending the funds while I was out, did you?" I asked.
"Sorry, still tracing all the different routes the money is making. This guy has to have some tech genius working for him," Liz replied, not looking up from her computer monitor.
Liz was Korean, so at least she didn't look like a ghost the way Carl and I did. She stood around five-two, so I always enjoyed standing next to her after spending time with Frannie. Liz was recruited after being caught with some homemade bugging devices she tried to put on a then boyfriend's phone. Needless to say, she and the guy weren't still dating.
"I'm sure you guys will finish the trace within the next few days," Mr. Irving, our boss, announced, making his presence known. "While the computers are running their programs you guys are getting a new assignment. Tomorrow an agent from the FBI is coming to ask for help tracking down who is on the receiving end of a few e-mail messages. Evidently, some wannabe mafia kingpin in Moscow has been corresponding with persons unknown here in the States and the emails are scaring important people in the chain of command."
A little confused I said, "That sounds like pretty easy stuff to track, are the worker bees in the FBI all taking an afternoon nap?"
"Someone has decided your work is underutilized and wants to promote interdepartmental sharing of information. Which really just means they're trying to save some money in their own department and using us for research. Since you guys usually don't see the other agency employees, let's try to look professional tomorrow and leave the jeans at home," he replied.
"But I'm really not sure I'm comfortable coming to work in my underwear," I said, successfully keeping a straight face.
"Clavens, you know what I mean. Wear some dress slacks or a skirt and look the part of a government agent hard at work," he answered. Clearly, he didn't like my joke; some men just never developed a sense of humor.
After he left, we busied ourselves trying to finish the projects we were working on to clear way for the new interdepartmental task coming the next day. I let Carl and Liz know I had to leave at five for my big "date", and after a barrage of questions about the man, none of which I could answer, I was out the door.
The train ride home was peaceful as I listened to some country music from an app I'd installed on my phone. After exiting the train, I walked a few blocks to my apartment.
Home was a small studio in the Jackson Heights neighborhood of Queens. Since I rarely had people over, and I didn't have a lot of possessions, it worked well for me. The mail held nothing of interest, so I threw it all in the garbage and checked the fridge for anything that sounded good before the game.
Deciding that I should probably save room for some nachos from my favorite food vendor, I made my way to the small wardrobe where I kept my limited clothing selection. The jeans I wore looked fine, so I grabbed my personalized Rangers jersey, ran a brush through my hair and was back out the door to catch a train.?