Knockout Mouse Read Free

was staring at his red wine as if afraid it was about to jump out of the glass onto the cream-colored fabric. I knew the feeling. The carpet and curtains were cream, too. The manager wouldn’t let Jenny change them, so she went and got sofas to match.
    “You’re here early,” I said on my way to the bathroom. Wes’s head jerked at the sound of my voice. “You must be excited about meeting Jenny’s friend.”
    Wes lifted a brow. “Friends,” he corrected.
    When I came back into the living room, I asked if he wanted a beer.
    “Sure, if you’ve got one.”
    I went up two steps into a small dining room with a table and matching chairs Jenny had inherited from her grandmother. Flowers, candles, and a bowl of very realistic pears sat on a sideboard, along with several bottles of wine. Above the sideboard was a semi-abstract scene of a house and picket fence Jenny had painted.
    Across from the painting was the door to the kitchen. I stuck my head through and said, “Ready for duty.”
    Jenny leaned slowly into me over the counter, a smudge of olive oil rimming her upper lip. She opened her mouth and gave me a long tongue-filled kiss. Dinner parties made her that way.
    “We’ve got everything under control,” she said, straightening and nodding to Fay, her friend and cohost.
    “You sure you got all that oil off, Bill?” Fay remarked, turning to greet me. I smiled and opened the refrigerator, in search of an ice-cold can. Fay Ming was a graphic designer. A cascade of silky, jet black hair fell halfway down her back. She and Jenny were a knockout pair when they went to client meetings for Jenny’s Web design business.
    Hunt as I might, there were no ice-cold cans to be found in the fridge. Apparently I’d finished them off. Oh well, I thought on my way back to the sideboard in the dining room, Wes would have to stick to wine. And Jenny would be pleased to see me pouring a glass for myself. It was supposed to be that kind of party.
    Jenny came out of the kitchen with a plate of cheese and crackers and slid into a dining room chair. I never got tired of watching her do that, especially when she was wearing Capri pants. She was lithe but strong, with delicate cheekbones, a little exclamation point of a nose, and a mouth perpetually puckering in amusement. She brightened any room, a talent I’d learned notto take for granted. I could see the effect on Wes, who peered in from the living room.
    Cutting a sliver of Cambozola, Jenny asked about my meeting. I joined her at the table and said Kumar was fine. His company had had a very good year and wanted to show it off in twenty minutes of cinematic glory. The weird part of the day was at the end, with the Scout and Gregory Alton.
    “Alton wants you to shoot a film for him? That’s great!” Jenny said, a lilt in her voice. “See? All you have to do is put yourself out there. The work will come.”
    “It wasn’t Rita and me, Jen. It was the fact we were working for Kumar.”
    “Maybe he’s looking for a spy,” Wes said, now hovering near the steps. “Or it might be even simpler. If Gregory and Kumar are competitors, Gregory probably wants you just because Kumar got you.”
    “Enough to pay double?” I said.
    “That’s the mentality,” Wes said. “It’s all about getting the other guy’s toys. If you happen to spill a little data about Kumar on the way, so much the better.” Wes was CTO of a startup that had defied the tech crash. He was flourishing.
    “It scares me how well you understand these people, Wes.”
    “It still sounds like a good opportunity,” Jenny said.
    “Maybe I didn’t make it clear how irritating Gregory was. Rita would never work with him.”
    Jenny’s eyes gleamed. “That’s perfect. Jump on it yourself, Bill. Make the leap to producer-director.”
    “I wouldn’t cut Rita out like that.”
    Jenny gave me a smile that could charm a crocodile. “That’s what I like about you, Bill. You’re such a gentleman. Why don’t you