Mike & Karen Ch. 18

"I don't posit it, Gordon, I know it," he growled. "You've been ratted out."

This gave Karen pause for half a second before she turned and glanced around the table at her friends, her eyebrow raised. Each of them faltered and caved in turn.

"He called in a favour," Mona sighed, shaking her head. "A big one. I owed him, Kar."

"He stared at me with those freaky eyes until I confessed," Lisa almost whined, clenching her little hands in distress. "I couldn't help it!"

Janet shrugged. "He threatened to cut me off from sex unless I came clean. A girl has priorities, y'know."

Karen was absolutely aghast as she gaped at them all, her voice rife with betrayal. "Judas! Quisling! Apostate!" she hissed.

"I dunno what that last one was, but I'm sure it's not good," Janet sighed. "Sorry, chick, you're on your own..."

"This isn't about them, Gordon," Mike said, making sure everyone stopped speaking. With the tone of voice he was using, even Karen wouldn't interrupt him. "Now why did you do it?"

"Do what, exactly?" she said calmly. "Even if I did compile an entire notebook of wrong equations, what has that got to do with anything? According to you, Cummings absconded with it, essentially stealing it from me. Your accusation is predicated on me knowing that someone in your department would steal it if I happened to leave it lying around."

"Which is exactly what happened."

"What guarantee would I have of that?" she reasoned. "The numbers across the board, in the various disciplines represented in this far-reaching theorem of yours, it would-"

"It would require a grasp of mathematics that was almost unmatched on this campus, yes," he growled, tired of the stalling. Lisa, Janet, and Mona sat still, hoping to not be noticed or stepped on, like ants caught in a duel between titans.

"But we are agreed that the issue here is theft, yes?" she asked somewhat tartly.

"He never should have done it," Mike replied. "Had the temptation not presented itself, he couldn't have taken it."

"I'm still waiting to hear how I could possibly know one of your peers would," Karen pointed out.

Mike closed his eyes for a moment as he composed himself. "Gordon, you're like me, you're a chess player. You're always a hundred moves ahead. Remember how I saved the McLuhan lounge last year by royally and untraceably screwing with Groucho's mind? This sabotage would require that level of attention to detail. It had to be you."

"So certain?"

"Yes, very certain," he growled. "Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth."

"Well said, Sherlock," she replied, sounding unimpressed.

"Cummings couldn't even come up with the correct numbers on his own, forget such beautifully flawed numbers that would cascade through a formula and crash it. And then when your friends here copped to it..."

Karen shot them another look. They all stared at the table.

"The entire project, ruined," Mike said, his voice rife with accusation. "And the submissions are set for Friday."

"You could ask for an extension, but we both know Marks absolutely hates you," she offered.

Mike looked down at her for another moment before turning and walking off. Silence reigned until the door closed behind him. Janet, Lisa and Mona all exhaled loudly. Lisa's head thunked against her notebook on the table.

"Gnnnnn, I think some pee came out," she murmured into the table. "He scares me so much."

"I still don't get why," Janet sighed. "I mean, you told us the original reason, sorta, but I don't understand why, princess."

Karen looked at them evenly. "For years, now, Theoretical has gotten the lion's share of the entire Science department's funding, and an inordinate amount of the available lab time, to the detriment and even exclusion of other disciplines. If Mathematical protests, we simply get told that numbers belong on paper, so what is the big deal from our point of view?"

"I don't even like numbers on paper, so I'm with them there," Janet grunted. "But go on."

"It's beyond unfair," Karen said. "We all need funding and lab time. But because the world is currently obsessed with string theory, black holes, other possible dimensions, and those damnable Calabi-Yau Manifolds, Theoretical eats like it's the court of Louis the Fourteenth, and the rest of us are table scrap-pilfering peasants, grubbing for a stale crust of soup-soaked bread."

Janet snickered at the imagery, earning her a look from Karen. She cleared her throat and let her friend continue.

"It has been protested numberless times, both before my arrival, and since I have arrived," Karen explained. "I have personally had several go-arounds with the various department heads, and even the university council itself."

"Jeez, no wonder they all love you," Mona said rather sarcastically. Her friend was, like Michael DeBourne, something of an object of terror for the staff right across campus. If she had her mind set on something, it wouldn't go well if she didn't get her way. "And if you can't convince them, then there's no hope."

"Since they would not be moved from their ludicrous position of favouritism, I found it necessary to take other measures," Karen went on. "If causing Theoretical to remove itself from that top spot was what was required, so be it."

"But, doesn't this really adversely affect the students?" Lisa asked. "I mean, their names are gonna be tied to this, possibly forever."

Karen shook her head. "When the professors in charge of Theoretical see what has happened, they'll be furious, of course, but they won't dare submit the project. They'll miss out and another discipline, likely Math, will take top spot, and just maybe we can get some real things done around here. The first and second year students involved, including DeBourne, won't even have a black eye from it."

"I hope you're right," Mona sighed.

"Of course I am," Karen said simply. "And yes, I left a notebook full of flawed numbers out for some lazy student to take and use. But even I couldn't guarantee that they'd fall for it."

"You're not worried about it coming back on you?" Lisa asked.

"For what? Somebody stole my notebook, flawed or not. Nobody put a gun to his head, nor did I give it to anyone to use. The issue that would come up is Cummings stealing a notebook. Theft is theft."

"I get it, Kar, I really do," Mona now said, standing up from the table, her art books in hand. "You've explained succinctly, and I gotta admit, I don't blame you if the faculty was being so difficult. Sometimes you have to break the rules and make some noise. And what you did under the circumstances was reasonable, logical, and damned if it wasn't justifiable."

She looked at the closed door Mike had exited through on the far side of the room and sighed. "But... I don't know if that man being disappointed in me is a price I'd be willing to pay."

She put a hand on Karen's shoulder and walked off, followed by Janet and Lisa, who gave her roomie a tiny kiss on the cheek and then hurried after the others. The door closed and Karen was now alone in the study hall, looking at her books on the table, lost in thought. And it wasn't that she didn't have anything to say...

But she really didn't know what to say.

***

Blackwell Manor, the present...

"Well, hello to you both," Karen said as Freja and Jeanie wandered into the study, where the mistress of Blackwell Manor was sitting with her mighty husband, her son, and her younger sister. It was one of the smaller rooms that had been opened up and restored quickly and easily, so the family was relaxing in there. "I have to admit, I didn't expect to see you for another day or so."

"Well, tired as we are, we admitted to ourselves that we just couldn't get enough of how incredible this place is, so we came back for another boo," Jeanie replied, hugging Alexa and Alex before giving Karen a respectful kiss on the cheek. She hugged Mike while Freja followed her example. "We're not intruding, right?"

"This place, it is exceptional," Freja mentioned as she stood with Alexa. They were holding hands and their foreheads were pressed as they rubbed their noses together lovingly. They'd been best friends and soulmates for over ten years, and even though they were both joyously married to other people, there was still a very deep bond between them. Nobody present, their spouses included, thought anything of it. "It is so amazing to be standing here, after Miranda had told me so much about it."

"Freja, have you been actively practicing your English?" Mike asked. "I think I'm hearing improvements in your diction."

"Thank you!" Freja gushed, her hazel eyes lighting up.

"Mike, don't be mean to her like that and get her hopes up," Alexa chided, giving him a wry look.

"You don't think it is?" he queried from his place on the giant chesterfield.

"Just ask her to say squirrel,"

Freja pulled back from Alexa going pale. "What? No, not that!"

"Ask her to say 'squirrel'?" Karen wondered.

"No! Please!" the Danish girl pleaded.

"Say, it, tos, say 'squirrel'." Alexa ordered, smirking evilly.

Freja seemed to be almost in tears as she took a breath, steeling herself. "S- skvir... skvirvull..."

Mike, Karen and Alex all watched curiously.

"Skur..." Freja stammered, her face turning red in frustration. "Skooer... skoovervull... skvor... AUGH!!!!"

Jeanie fell over onto the loveseat beside Alex, holding her stomach while laughing hysterically. "BA-HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!! SKOOVERVULL!!!"

Freja favoured her wife with a sour look. "I love you too, Jeanette."

"See, Skwisgaar, your English is still terrible," Alexa said lightly, taking her best friend by the hand and hauling her out of the study. "C'mon, you can give me a hand with moving a few items around in my boudoir."

"We are havings a talking about this, when we gets home!" Freja called back loudly, scowling at her wife before disappearing out the door. "A longs and meaningsful talk about the supporting of a spouse!"

There was silence for a few moments in the room as everyone stared at the door. Karen finally spoke. "My little sister sure loves to troll her best friend, no matter what mood Freja is in."

She looked at her husband. "Oh well. Fancy some brandy, darling?"

"Who am I to turn down day-drinking?" Mike replied cheerfully, standing up and leading his lovely wife out of the room. Only Alex and Jeanie remained.

"Hoo, am I gonna get a lecture when I get home," she said heavily as she sat back in the loveseat next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

She turned her head to look up into his eyes. "So... wanna fuck?"

***

The garage...

Andrea walked around slowly, her eyes wide with wonder. She hardly knew where to look, since everything grabbed her attention. She could imagine the purr and roar of engines, the sound of the machinery under the hoods...

Almost reverently, she reached out to touch the distinctive red chassis of the Italian monster in front of her, but drew her hand back, not daring to sully it.

My God, it's even a twenty-fifth anniversary model...

She turned and stared at a different vehicle, almost forgetting to breathe. It was beautiful. The silver-grey body flowed in elegant, classic lines, and the Winged Victory hood ornament gleamed brightly.

She'd never seen a Silver Cloud in person before. The music playing in her head, it reminded her of the angel figurine on the hood, dignified and regal.

Her head turned, and her eyes widened yet again.

Holy shit... no... it couldn't be...

She got as close as she dared, crouching low and looking from every angle, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing. The goldenrod-yellow panelling that encased the vehicle was pristine in colour. Her breath grew deeper, the music in her heart singing louder.

A chorus began singing loudly all around her and Andrea yelped, almost jumping out of her skin and tumbling backwards.

The music grew quieter and was replaced by a booming, hearty laugh. She stared at the ceiling in shock, her eyes the size of dinner plates, and her heart thundering in her rib cage.

"Didn't mean to scare you," Mike said as he walked up, looking down at her. "But you were so entranced by all the shiny stuff I figured that playing Zadok the Priest in the background suited the mood, you know?"

"You and your wife're giving us health insurance, right?" Andrea warbled rather unsteadily, still on her back on the floor of the garage. "Pretty sure I'm gonna need a pacemaker."

"I'll try to refrain from giving you another infarction," he replied as he held his hand down, offering to help her up. She took the proffered hand, barely having time to notice that her own disappeared inside his before he pulled her to her feet. She was up before she realized it, and squeaked in alarm, still wide-eyed.

"I take it you're something of a gearhead," he mused as she retrieved her hand and began dusting herself off and fixing her hair bun. Not that there was any dust to be found in the room.

"Both my brothers are auto-mechanics, so it kinda comes naturally," she replied, taking a breath and looking around again, trying to compose herself. It didn't help that her employer's physical presence was overwhelming. How could anyone so damn big be so sneaky? "I grew up working on cars with 'em, even if I drifted into other branches, like electrical and home mechanics, just to be different. As for cars, well, call me a really talented amateur enthusiast."

"That's what I said, gearhead," he iterated, making her giggle. She couldn't believe she was giggling. That was Val's job in this place. "My brother, Connor, he's a mechanic up in Kapuskasing, where my family lives. He doesn't get to work with a lot of exotics up there, so when he visits, he practically camps out in this room."

"Can't say as I blame him; I'm considering asking for a room transfer, like, just a tent in the corner over there," she admitted, looking at one particular car again. "Is that... a real Duesenberg?"

"That is indeed a Model X, manufactured in 1926," Mike confirmed, going over to the huge vehicle and patting it gently. "Rumour has it only thirteen were built. Ever been under the hood of one?"

Andrea swallowed loudly. "N-no. Never. Never even seen one this close before."

"No time like the present, right?" he said cheerfully as he unlatched the hood on one side and then lifted it, fitting it into its resting spurs. "C'mere and take a look."

Andrea moved in almost timidly, as if approaching the reliquary in some cathedral. She leaned over slightly and looked down into the engine. It reminded Mike vaguely of German soldiers looking into the Ark of the Covenant after they'd opened it.

"It's got a heavier and longer wheelbase than the other Duse models from the Twenties," he said, indicating the outer frame of the enormous vehicle. "I'm rather partial to this bad boy, because I don't fit in a lot of the other exotics here."

"Yeah, I don't see you fitting into that twenty-fifth anniversary Countach any time soon," she agreed, coming closer now. "Oh, wow, I didn't know that- it has hypoid differentials, and all the valves are on one side. It's a racer. Are the brakes hydraulic?"

"You've got a good eye," he said, nodding. "It was first bought by an heiress named Gloria Delacroix, and eventually found its way into the Blackwell collection."

"When was the last time she got driven?" Andrea asked, squinting at something inside the engine.

Mike pondered the question. "That I can account for, maybe five years ago. Before Kar's father died, certainly, and that's almost three years now."

"There's some tension fatigue, then, and a few things need tightening," she pointed out, indicating some parts in need of help.

"Good eye indeed," Mike said again. "How long would it take you?"

She blinked and looked up at him. "To what? Wait, me? Work on this thing? Me?"

"Don't see why not," he said reasonably, shrugging. "It's not like there are surviving experts from the time it was built, and exotic car repairs cost a small fortune. You know what to do, I can already tell, and you'd handle it with the utmost care. You're afraid to even breathe in its direction."

Andrea, in fact, looked like a fish trying to breathe out of water. "I... I..."

"Your résumé didn't mention any experience with cars, or auto mechanics."

"That's... well, because I'm not licensed or anything," she tried to explain. "I mean, yeah, I'm good and all, but there's no certificate on my wall."

"You've met Trilby, right?" Mike pointed out. "We've had people with lots of certificates on their wall screw up our vehicles, even if they weren't exotic. You have tons of practical experience, and you also have a passion. So I'll make a deal with you, Miss Kachelmeier..."

She gaped up at him, just listening.

"Your principal job remains keeping the estate running," he began. "The mechanical and electric aspects that keep my wife comfortable in her home, which means everything to me. But once they're all running like a top, and just require routine checks and maintenance, you may find yourself at a loss for what to do on occasion."

She almost swallowed, hoping he wasn't implying that her job was in jeopardy if she was too efficient.

"But it would save us a ton of time, and money, if we also had an auto mechanic here on site," he said, gesturing around to the vehicles that surrounded them. There were at least ten, ranging from artifacts like the Duesenberg, to stunning recent cars, like a 2018 Bentley Mulsanne.

My God, Andrea thought, gazing at it. The ride in that car must be heaven.

"There are these twelve cars, some of which see regular usage, and others that we maintain as part of the Blackwell trust," Mike continued. "It's nowhere close to a full-time job, but..."

He looked down at her now, and his electric blue eyes held her rapt. She couldn't have looked away if she tried.

"I'm offering to make you the vehicle mechanic for the estate, in addition to your other duties," he said. "I'll talk with Kar about modifying your contract and pay, so that it reflects-"

"That won't be necessary, sir," she almost blurted out, her eyes dancing with excitement. "My original contract is more than generous enough, pushing me into a tax bracket I've never been in before. If I get to work on these cars, I... well... you have no idea how hard it is to not offer to work for free."

"I think the Blackwells gave up indentured servitude about a hundred and thirty years ago," Mike chuckled. "Finessing your contract aside, do you accept the offer?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed loudly and joyously, throwing herself against him in a ferocious hug. "Yes, absolutely! I- oh!"

She almost leaped backward, pushing away from him, and blushing furiously. "I'm sorry, sir! I don't know what came over me! I just... lost myself in the excitement I felt."

"No worries, why should Valentina have all the fun?" Mike laughed.

***

St. George Campus, 1987...

"You three seem rather subdued," Karen mentioned as she sat down at their customary table in the study hall. While there was a smaller, more private one in their dorm, it was girls-only, and both Janet and Mona had been heard to grumble about the lack of testosterone in the air. And although she was gay, Lisa didn't mind about using the larger co-ed study hall, since a more diverse range of students was available to randomly question about social issues for her courses. Karen didn't care much, since people knew to leave her alone in either location.

"Eh, maybe a little," Janet admitted, while the other two nodded slightly. "I haven't seen Tripod in three days now. He's refused to come out of his room."