The Speed of Sound (Speed of Sound Thrillers #1)(10)

“Did she die?”

Jerome nodded. “Seven years ago next month.”

Eddie calculated the approximate number of days in his head: 2,525. “Do you miss her?”

Jerome nodded. “Every single day.”

Eddie nodded, imitating Jerome. His nod was followed by a brief but awkward pause. “I’m going to hear my mother sing one day. Did you know that?”

Jerome hesitated, not sure what to say. Ida intervened. “Yes, he did, Eddie. Just as soon as you get your thingamajig to work.”

“You mean my echo box.”

“Yes, that is exactly what I meant. Now go enjoy your meal before it gets cold. I don’t want to get no poor marks for temperature just because we stood here gabbing for too long.” She motioned to the binder tucked under his arm.

“Don’t worry, Ida. I will take into account the extra time spent on this conversation.” Eddie moved on to a table where he sat alone, some thirty feet away. He placed the binder next to his tray and then methodically began removing the plates. Each plate was spaced evenly around the table.

Ida eyeballed Jerome as Eddie went through his mealtime ritual. She spoke quietly but intensely to her subordinate, never taking her eyes off Eddie. “How fucking stupid are you?”

“Won’t happen again.”

“You’re goddamn right it won’t. I should fire your ass right now.”

Jerome turned to her, looking her straight in the eyes. “You know I need this job.”

She studied his face long enough to make him squirm. Ida knew the man and wasn’t about to fire him. “Then don’t be such a numbskull. I know you were only trying to be friendly, but just keep your mouth shut, okay?”

Jerome nodded, looking around the room, anywhere but at her. A man dealing with what he was dealing with had no choice but to acquiesce.

She looked at him with compassion. “How’s Marla doing?”

“Shitty. I don’t know what’s harder for her, the nausea or going bald.”

“Nausea, women know how to deal with. It’s in our childbearing genes. But going bald is a whole other thing. You telling her she looks beautiful?”

“Every night.”

“Keep doing it.” She put her hand on his shoulder and moved on, only to stop suddenly when she heard Eddie repeating their entire conversation. His imitation was monotone and his cadence mechanical, but his inflection was perfect.

“Won’t happen again. You’re goddamn right it won’t. I should fire your ass right now. You know I need this job. Then don’t be such a numbskull. I know you were only trying to be friendly, but just keep your mouth shut, okay? How’s Marla doing? Shitty. I don’t know what’s harder for her, the nausea or going bald. Nausea, women know how to deal with. It’s in our childbearing genes. But going bald is a whole other thing. You telling her she looks beautiful? Every night. Keep doing it.”

Never looking up, he focused on his meal ratings without expression. His scale was one to five. Ida moved to him, checking to see that the tissue was still stuck in his ears. “No way.”

Eddie still did not look up. “What are you saying ‘no way’ in reference to, Ida?”

“Even with cotton in your ears, you can still hear like that?”

“It’s not cotton. It’s tissue paper.”

She stifled her smile. “Eddie, just because you can hear something does not mean you should repeat it.”

Now he looked up. “What does it mean?”

She paused, trying to use just the right words. “I mean, when you hear something, you need to use your best judgment as to whether or not you should repeat it.”

“What is my best judgment?”

“It’s when you consider the feelings of other people before you just go and repeat what they say.”

“I am not good at understanding the feelings of other people. I have considerable trouble with my own feelings.”

“People don’t like it when you eavesdrop on them, Eddie. You can understand that, can’t you?”

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I just hear. Everything. I can’t help it.”

“You didn’t have to say anything, though, did you?” She searched his face, studying his reaction, as he finally shook his head no. “So next time, just keep your mouth shut, and no one will be the wiser.” She winked at him.

He attempted to wink back, then took a sip of his fruit punch and cringed. “Ick. Too watery.” He rated the beverage a three. The meat loaf had already been scored a five, which upped the item’s average for the year to 4.27, he calculated in his head. It also explained why he finished the entrée so quickly. But the chocolate-chip-cookie dessert was not up to par, and was only given a two. Eddie didn’t eat anything rated less than a three, so he spit out the bite of cookie, carried his tray to the “Dirty Dishes Here” sign, and placed it on a conveyer belt beneath it. He counted steps as he returned to his room. It was 113 steps, which was a prime number, and he liked that.





CHAPTER 10

Russell Senate Office Building, Washington, DC, May 21, 9:32 p.m.

It had already been a fourteen-hour day. Most of Corbin Davis’s staff looked exhausted, even his workaholic chief of staff, but the camera-ready senator from Indiana looked like he had just stepped out of the shower. He had used his good looks to marry into money, which served to finance two unsuccessful congressional bids, before he finally succeeded by outspending his opponent four to one. It was clear to all who worked for him that Corbin wouldn’t slow down until he got the Big Job. And if he did get it, that would be very good for all of them, which was why his six key staffers worked so tirelessly day in and day out. Like tonight.