Solid Gold

 197.

Emboldened by the experience of having embarrassment turn to opportunity, what I once called a similar circumstance like stepping in a bucket of shit and it turning to gold, Julie attempts once again to provide a brief. She pulls a chair to bedside and asks the agent on duty for the room.

"How are you doing today?"

"I feel like I just finished an Ironman, but OK," I reply, "We culled some critical intel from the accident, er, from the cleverly disguised laboratory experiment, and we need to push things down the highway at top speed."

Julie puffs her cheeks filling them with air and exhales as if blowing out birthday candles. I can't resist and ask if she made a wish first.

She gives me the smirk and opens a new thread.

"That hair-ball Hartaugh wants to pull the plug on us, or rather what is left of us. I think he and TOM had a solid relationship, so with his passing and the firecracker massacre, we are a shout away from losing our life line. Not to mention that he detests working with women."

I adjust my pillows to sit more upright. "Not surprising. A good deal of our plan was dependent on his misogyny and greed."

"And racism?"

"Especially his racism. In your estimation, what, if anything, could we do to keep the ship afloat?"

"I have been thinking about that a lot. Harlan and I each have our ideas, and interestingly enough, they both involve you," she reports.

"In what way?"

"Remember that old vulgar cliche you used to use when things seemed bleak and suddenly turned completely around?"

"The one about the bucket of shit?"

"Yes, that one."

"Quite the alchemy, no? How does it apply here?"

"Our two possible plays as a result of your stepping directly into that stinky bucket. Play one is the intel you have been unable to share for these eight long months that directly affect the original plan of enriching the Senator while providing a path for additional political exploitation of African-Americans."

I quickly run the numbers and smile.

"And the second play?" I ask.

"Blackmail."

I consider her angle, knowing that Harlan was the architect. I see it shining in my mind like a 24 carat phoenix. She sees that I am mentally working it and gives me the time to bring each plan to visual fruition.

After the pause she raises one eyebrow in my direction, the timeless mimic, meaning, 'well?'

"Solid gold."