The Pieces of My Self

33 - Problems Have Children

LILLIAN

The Knightly Mansion, 13 June 2174, Monday

It was late morning when I took a walk in Debra's back garden to clear my head. Too many problems. I had lost Knightly's journal, my NetEdge, Fluffy, and the security of my apartment. Now Debra, a strong-willed woman, wanted to throw me and my family out on the street in a couple of days. And in a week or so, a hurricane would strike Covington.

I called Bart Meadows, the 28-year-old weirdo landlord who manages our apartment complex. When I told him about the break-in, and demanded he fix my door ASAP, he complained in his high-pitched whining voice that it was my responsibility.

"How's that? It was your door that failed to keep the Prowl Boys out."

"Well, just read the rental agreement."

I felt the anger welling up in me and tried to control it. My best tactic was to bluff. "I have connections. People in high places. I'm suing you if thieves come in and steal more of my stuff."

There was a momentary pause on Bart's end. "I can get it done today," he said, "but I'll have to charge you."

I had some money but needed to save it for travel, storage, and hotel expenses when the storm hit. And I needed a day or two back in my apartment to collect my clothes and valuables. I figured I could bamboozle Bart today and arm wrestle him later. "Put it on my bill."

"You know you're behind on your rent?"

"I'll get it to you. I've just been a little preoccupied."

"Maybe we could work something out. Why don't you have dinner with me? I make a mean Oysters Rockefeller."

My brain flashed a Perv Alert. "My calendar's pretty full this week."

"How about a week from now?"

"Perfect." I'll be gone by then. There's a hurricane coming that will probably destroy my apartment, and this moron doesn't realize it.

We set a date late in the following week and ended the session.

One problem fixed. Fluffy was another matter. The lack of a major mommy management appliance was a serious blow.

I remembered Remy Dardar had a fix-it shop in south Scat Town. I still had his card. He was in the shop when I called.

"I need a favor. An urgent tech repair job."

His voice was partially masked by background noises—buzzing, clanking of metal-on-metal, and the chatter of workers. "I suppose I owe you for the night on the dock. I'd be a goner, but you stayed with me. You got me the ambulance."

I pressed a finger to my ear, futilely hoping to filter the noise at his end. "Glad you're recovering. My robot's broken and I have no way of watching the kids. Can you help me?"

"What's the model?"

I gave him the specs and followed with a short description of the damage. He got too curious, and I simply told him a vehicle had accidentally hit it.

Finally, he said, "Bring it by. I'll make the time to fix it."

"I don't have much money."

"I'll only charge for parts. The cost should be less than your fishing trip."

I hesitated for a moment. "The fishing trip was a business expense, but this repair job is on me."

This time, the hesitation was on Remy's end. I could almost hear the wheels turning.

"I see."

"You'll help me, right?"

I heard air puffing through pressed lips. "Well, we got to pay for parts. Maybe I can find some stuff in tear down yards."