Inner Workings

Inner Workings - Part 4

Monday

Milton Balcuwitz looked at his sorry excuse for facial hair in the bathroom mirror and admitted one more failure to his life. Two weeks growth and he still couldn't grow a beard without looking like a half chewed rabbit. Ten years past puberty and nature still wouldn't give him the upgrade. A goatee would have been an improvement. Hell, a darker dusting on his upper lip would have been a blessing.

Milton lathered his face and neck to shave and winced as the razor bit into the follicles at the edge of his chin. Damn, now he had to go into his interview with bits of bloody toilet paper on his face.

As he dressed he kept eyeing the papers on the near empty dresser in the apartment; they were needed to complete his temporary transfer to Watch Two. He had never amounted to much in the Watch organization, and how he had gotten picked up by them was still a mystery, but it would be a relief to do something other than talk to victims of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. He hoped. He had no idea why he was being farmed out to Watch Two. For all he knew he would be treating a whole new crowd of people with PTSD.

Through the ceiling he could hear jazz music; the cute brunette on the floor above him signaling another successful night with a guy. Lucky her. He still got vitriolic texts on his phone from his ex-girlfriend. At least there was no chance of running into her in a completely different state. Though he wouldn't mind running into the brunette upstairs, if she would look at him. There was a bit too much of him to look at around his waist.

He checked his watch. If he left now he could get to the Watch base early. He could skip breakfast for that; being early left a good impression on people. And he sure as hell didn't want to be late like he usually was.

Milton grabbed his briefcase and maneuvered around his luggage to get to the front door, tripping in the process. Eight flights of stairs, good exercise as long as he didn't fall. Down in the lobby he saw the landlady twisting the end of her newspaper into little paper tubes, indicating she was once again fighting the urge to find that pack of cigarettes she had stashed away for a really cruddy day. He waved to her as he went past. Outside was bright and cheery for a Monday morning. He flagged down a taxi and gave the name of the office building he was to meet his Watch Contact at.

As the taxi pulled away from the curb, Milton took another look up at the temporary apartment the Watch had set him up in. He had been there for barely two days and already he had the basic rhythms of two occupants down. He had always been good a reading people, he had to be when he was younger. Now... well, he was making a better start in a new place.

Milton smiled.

Six blocks away, Milton realized he had left his Watch papers on the dresser.

***

Cetz trudged down to Main Tech, an armful of personnel files for the new psychologist to go through. He tapped his headset.

"Cetz to main entrance, where is our new arrival?"

"Not here yet," replied security. "We got word from the ones picking him up; he was late."

Cetz's brows drew down in an annoyed slant. "Keep me posted when he reaches the first checkpoint."

When Rachel told him the next psychologist was a bit different he hadn't expected lateness to be a part of it. Milton Balcuwitz the file had said. Who named their kid Milton these days?

Files still under his arm, Cetz went over to Comp Tech. Grant wanted to install a new regulator to the E.S.S. system and Cetz thought he'd look over the blueprints again before Grant came in. When he got to Grant's cluttered office he saw a giant slushy cup, dew trickling down the sides, leaving a ring on a coaster next to the light board.

"Grant?" he called out.

The African-American popped his head out from behind his ever rotating slinky stairs, his eyes already buzzed with a morning sugar rush. "What's up?"

"You're here early," said Cetz. Grant usually didn't come in before ten in the morning on Mondays. It was only nine.

"I'm checking the computer systems in the Watch Network." Grant held up an Ethernet cord and plugged it into a projection computer screen built into the office wall. "Watch sent out an email to all the Head Comp Techs that they had done a major security scan during the weekend. I'm just looking into it."

"Don't trust them to be thorough enough?"

Grant patted the screen. "Not when my baby is involved, no."

"Don't ruffle too many feathers when you're analyzing code. Not everyone at Watch Central programs like you do."

"You do."

"Another reason why they took me out of Comp Tech and stuck me in the high chair." Cetz smiled and shook his head. "So I guess the E.S.S. upgrade is on hold for now?"

"Yeah," said Grant, keyboard clacking away and eyes already drawn to code cluttered screen. "Just until I can sift through the tweeks."

Knowing Grant, the scan could take all day. Cetz let it slide, grateful for the distraction, and escaped to get a coffee pick-up from the break room.

Half an hour later, he got the call to meet the new shrink at the front entrance. Cetz had little faith that the man would have the right qualifications to work with Will and Louis. Then he saw the pudgy, squirrely man at the entrance, briefcase held with both arms across his chest, and bits of toilet paper stuck to his jaw after a bad shave.

What little faith Cetz had left for Milton Balcuwitzwent right out the window.