John Gone Read Free

techno-tide.” He turned his
eyes back to John. “Jonathon, I presume?”
    “Just John,” John answered. This must be
Virgil.
    “We’ve much to do, much to talk about. Follow
me.”
    Virgil jiggled his cane at the crowd of
people behind him and they parted at the motion as waves. John
followed closely as Virgil led him to a back wall, far from the
group.
    “Of course the board is just one of America
Offline’s ventures. Each of those people you saw back there pay a
hefty subscription for the service, but it doesn’t stop with the
boards, no sir.” Virgil pointed to a door on the wall in front of
them, the first in an identical series. “Behind here is the Search
Department. People can call in at any hour to ask us questions.
Some are simple: ‘How many ounces in a cup?’ Others are more
philosophical: ‘Does God exist?’ We research the answers and phone
them back with top results.”
    John carefully hid rolling eyes.
    “That next one,” Virgil began, pointing at
the neighboring door, “is The Bay . Soon, I’ll grow it into a
large weekly auction house. The restroom is there beside it, and
the one after that is my office. We’ll head there in a moment, but
first let’s take a look at your scooter.”
    “Scooter?” John asked.
    “Yes, it’s just back here in the ell.”
    Virgil led John around the corner at the end
of the wall and pointed to a slim silver machine with a shaking
finger. John left the man’s side and approached it in awe.
    “What is this for?” John asked.
    “What do you mean, lad? It’s for you!”
    “This is mine?”
    “Yours after you work for me a few months,
though you may take it up front. I’m beginning an Almost Instant
Messenger Department that you’ll be spearheading. I’m going to send
you out scooting short messages between folks on the island. Here’s
the key, now, don’t lose it.”
    Virgil extended his arm to John, holding a
small key ring and chain between his fingers. As John took the key,
it flooded him with visions of riding to and from his school on the
mainland each day, swerving around the slow cars, a crisp wind
rushing past his face, and Molly riding behind him in a bright pink
helmet, squealing with joy as she held tightly to his chest.
    “Now follow me, lad,” Virgil said. “You’ll
need to sign some insurance papers so your mother can’t sue me once
you’ve killed yourself on that thing.”
    John pocketed the key and followed the
hunched old man into his small, dusty office. The walls inside were
vacant, save a portrait of Virgil overlooking the room, painted in
nineteenth century style.
    An ornate desk took most of the floor space,
though supported nothing more than a few overstuffed accounting
books, a fancy-looking Mont Blanc pen, and a messy Rolodex sitting
slightly askew to its axel.
    Virgil sat and fished through one of his
files. “Ah, here’s the one!” he said, removing a form from the
rest. “Come, give it a sign.”
    John reached across the desk to Virgil’s pen.
As his fingers wrapped around it, Virgil’s fingers wrapped around
John’s wrist.
    “And what’s this, then?” Virgil asked, eying
the strange watch on John’s arm.
    “Just a wristwatch,” John answered.
    Virgil released the teen’s arm and leaned
back into his chair. “Well, you’ll have to take that off. Leave it
here on the desk along with your cellular phone, if you have one,
and anything else that’s digital or high-tech. We’ve a corporate
image to maintain, you know.”
    John stood silent, unsure of what to do.
    “Come on then, lad! Let’s have it off!”
Virgil said gruffly.
    “Well sir, you see, the thing is--”
    “Yes?” Virgil asked. The man looked to be
growing more impatient by the second. He stood from his chair,
placed his thumbs into his vest pockets, and expanded his
chest.
    “I can’t take it off,” John said.
    “Of course you can, boy, just take it
off.”
    “That’s the problem. It’s stuck.”
    “It’s not stuck; you’re