II.3
“Let me have men about me that are fat...”
William SHAKESPEARE
Julius Caesar – Act I, sc.2
February 5th,
1990 – Monday
Scott
grabbed another piece of pie and stuffed it into his mouth. He only had one
more piece to eat, while Rick would have to eat two. That was the deal.
– “Come on, big guy! We’re getting close to the big
payoff. Then we can move on to... What do you say? Chocolate fudge cake?”
–
“Sure...”
It was
hardly 11AM. As head of security, Mr Wingrave was sitting in front of a wall where
a dozen large screens in black and white showed a number of places in Augustine
Bells: lobbies for every main building in the school, hallways, a few
classrooms, a few offices, various spots on campus...
His shift
would be finished around noon, then his assistant would take his place and
would be free to stretch his legs a bit. Rick turned his chair away from the
security feed and stretched out his arms.
Scott
couldn’t help noticing that he used to be a solid athlete, with large biceps
and triceps. Rick certainly considered himself a very strong guy, but he was
also lazy and eating way too much! As he grabbed the last two pieces of pie,
one in each hand to let Scott take off the bottom cardboard plate in the box,
his pecs looked like full bags of clay under the sweaty, white cloth of his
wifebeater – and his belly was the size of a ripe, soft watermelon...
– “How much did that boy leave me to let him leave his
room for the evening?”
–
“600 bucks. The usual.”
–
“What do you think? Does this feel like it’s enough?”
– “I think our friend will have to be a bit more
persuasive”, Scott answered as Rick expected him to answer, with a mischievous,
friendly smile.
–
“Right... Next case.”
Scott
stashed two hundred dollar bills in his envelope and put the next box on the
table. It was the sixth box since he had joined Mr Wingrave in his office,
three hours ago – and there were ten more for them to work on!
These secret
meetings had been going on for almost a week now. Scott had got a copy of the
key to the back entrance of the security office. It was a narrow, discrete
door, next to the main gate. No one ever noticed it. He would take the bus
around 8AM, after a light breakfast at his hotel, and sit down with his new
friend for a few hours – eating pastries and cashing in big time!
– “...Is there something wrong?”
–
“Hmmmph?” was all Mr Wingrave could say, mouth still full of pie.
–
“I don’t mean something wrong with the cake. It’s delicious...”
–
“What, then?”
–
“I don’t know... You tell me.”
For some
reason, Rick had been letting out more sighs than burps, all morning. He didn’t
look so eager to eat, and that was more than enough to get Scott concerned
about him.
– “It looks like something’s weighing on you...”
– “You mean something more than this?” Rick gave his
bloated belly a big slap.
The two guys
shared a look. They had little secret for each other, at this point.
– “Oh well... You’re right. I’ve asked Graham for a
check-up yesterday, after you left.”
– “Are you feeling not well?” Scott asked, wondering
why a healthy guy like Rick would go to the school doctor, whose name he
wouldn’t even remember.
– “Please, I’m fine! I could eat a horse...” Rick
protested, then he looked down. “And I pretty much feel like I have.”
Scott was all ears. He went for his next
piece of cake to let the other guy do the talking.
– “Sunday, after church, all the administrators in
our school board happened to pass by my office. Mr Porkenham frowned upon my
work shirt, which was a bit untidy. Then Mr Thorne commented on how massive I was, and a solid pillar of
their little community. That sounded a bit off to me already, but Mr Swayn
made a comment that really pissed me off. I didn’t say a thing, of course.”
–
“What did Mr Swayn tell you?”
– “Well...” The large man blushed a bit. “I’m not
sure. The guy mumbles a lot... He said that I looked adipous. Or adipose... I
couldn’t tell. That’s why I had to go see Graham.”
–
“Okay. What did Phil, err... Graham, tell you about it?”
– “I was too embarrassed to tell him about it. I
just asked him to check out my pulse, my reflexes, make sure that everything
was all right with my brain...”
–
“What could be wrong about your brain?”
– “I wish I could put my finger on it. I’ve been
feeling strangely “off” since Michael was... well, since he passed away. And I keep
noticing odd stuff happening around here. Minor stuff but, you know, stuff...”
–
“I know”, Scott sighed in unison with him. “Boy, do I know...”
They shared
another knowing look, and finished the chocolate cake. Rick looked particularly
down, even when Scott produced 800 dollars out of the envelope hidden under the
cake.
– “See? I’m not even excited about this.”
–
“So... What did the doctor tell you?”
– “Basically, he said that my blood pressure was a
little higher than it used to be, and higher than it should be. I’ve put on a
little weight, lately, but it’s not like breaking news for you...”
–
“How much do you weigh?”
–
“402lbs, this morning...”
–
“Wow.”
– “Yeah, I feel like a whale. He tried to be nice
about it, then I asked him if my blood pressure going up could cause some
psychological trouble, or complex... He had nothing to say to that.”
–
“What kind of complex do you mean?”
– “Who am I, doctor Freud? I don’t know! But you
know, we’ve all heard about that Adipous
complex...”
–
“Huh... Dude, I think that’s Oedipus
Complex.”
–
“Really?”
–
“I wouldn’t put my money on this, but it has a better ring to it.”
–
“What do you know about it? Does it have anything to do with being... big?”
– “I didn’t pay much attention in class, but I
believe it has something to do with growing up as a male.”
– “Huh?” Mr Wingrave sounded a bit relieved. “I’m a
male. I’m growing... this must be it! That young fucker Swayn was referring to
how manly I am.”
–
“Sounds right to me.”
–
“So, this... Oedipous dude, was he a
fat guy?”
–
“I don’t know. I think he was a Greek guy.”
– “Oh yeah... I know a Greek guy. He’s working at Gino’s. He’s grown large and fat, too,
munching on black olives all day...”
Now that
Rick’s psychological concerns were behind him like the pile of empty boxes, he
welcomed the next box of pastries: two dozen chocolate éclairs. Only after five
of them, he started slowing down again – and Scott heard another sigh after the
usual loud burp.
–
“...Something else on your plate?”
– “Oh well... As I’ve told you, Graham only made
positive comments about my weight, but he also advised me to lay off the
cupcakes for a while, and go back to working out as we used to.”
–
“You and... Graham?”
– “Yeah. He used to be a soldier, you know. Fit like
you wouldn’t believe... When he got hired, we spent some time lifting weights
together, pumping iron, jogging. Then his sports class was cancelled by the
board of administration, and he was told that Augustine Bells had no use for a
Basketball team. He felt down about it, then everyone in school started
treating him like shit... because, you know, he doesn’t really belong to this
school.”
Scott was
still munching on éclairs, but Mr Wingrave’s comment was not lost on him. He
had noticed that Phil looked like a stranger, from the very beginning, not only
on campus but at the hospital – or in this town, to keep it simple – just like
him.
Actually,
Scott was beginning to feel more comfortable about Biberton, people at the
Paddington hotel, people he met around diners or restaurants. He was on good
terms with a number of important persons in town, and he had got close with the
head of security in that mysterious school, to the point of calling him by his
first name... and sharing a great abundance of pastries with him!
– “So... I’ve been thinking about it.” Rick
pondered, holding his quivering belly with both hands, pressing and shaking it
a little. “I think he might have a point. I’m eating too much, and I don’t burn
enough calories. I should spend some time at the gym.”
–
“I guess it can’t hurt.”
– “Problem is that I have no time on my
hands...” The large guy complained,
holding an éclair in each hand.
–
“What can you do about it?”
– “I can’t do it alone, that’s the whole point.” He
paused for a moment, then turned to look at Scott straight in the eyes. “how
about we go for a new deal, you and me?”
–
“What kind of new deal?”
Naturally,
Scott was a bit defiant. He was on friendly terms with Rick, but only up to the
point that it would serve his purpose – and he had been waiting to get
something out of him, until now.
– “We go 50-50 on the food, and you get to stay on
watch for two hours while I work out with Graham.”
–
“Why would I sit down for two hours in front of a bunch of screens?”
– “Someone has to do it, of course. And I can’t let
our administrators learn about this... I know Graham won’t rat on me. How about
you?”
–
“I’ve already been helping you out with this deal for a week...”
–
“And you’ve had your fair cut of the money.”
–
“Sure. So, my share should be 50 percent now?”
–
“I guess... Yeah.”
Scott thought about it.
–
“Not good enough. You’ll have to sweeten the pot.”
– “Come on... It doesn’t get much sweeter than
this.” Rick brought the last éclair to his friend’s lips, offering him to
swallow it whole.
– “Pastries are good, but you don’t bribe me with a handful
of dollar bills and doughnuts.”
–
“All right... What do you want?”
–
“I have to think about it.”
–
“Okay”, Rick smiled. “I shouldn’t do it, but... Think about this.”
He reached
for his blue shirt on the floor. There was a note folded in the front pocket,
which he handed to Scott. It was signed “Brad” and mentioned a meeting at the
“2P2B”.
– “Brad... He’s one of Michael’s classmates, right?”
– “Yup. And his bedroom was next to Brad’s, at their
dorm.”
Scott’s eyes
were shining: this boy was the closest thing to a witness, in this case – and
he wanted to meet him?
– “What’s 2P2B?”
– “Oh, that’s our boys’ code for the Pounding Panda Bear Buffet. It’s the
biggest Chinese place we have, down at the Mall.”
–
“I see... And when did you get your hands on this note?”
– “Last night. I don’t mind giving it to you,
because there is no way that Bradford Dulles gets out of school grounds.”
–
“Why is that?”
– “You’ll know when you meet the boy. He’s a violent
one. I have received strict orders not to let that one out in the streets...”
–
“So... How can I meet him at that Chinese place?”
Mr Wingrave
leaned back into his chair, arms stretched out behind his back – which made his
round belly hang even further over the waistband of his opened uniform pants.
–
“You tell me. Do we have a deal or what?”
■ ■ ■
Scott wasn’t
too happy about that “new deal” with Rick. It meant more money, access to
information which would always be concealed otherwise, but it mostly meant more
food for him – a lot more food.
As he was
climbing the stairs, in the main hall, going up to meet Mr Swayn, the young
journalist wasn’t thinking about that young tutor and lecturer so much – even
as he appeared to be Mr Porkenham’s personal adviser, the man pulling all the
strings around Augustine Bells – but about his stomach, which felt fuller and
heavier than ever.
He took a
short pause when he reached the right level. Scott was stuffed like an egg, and
his whole midsection was definitely curved out like one. After his last massage
session with Phil, he had come to terms with the fact that he would eventually
get over 200lbs again – but eating half the food Mr Wingrave kept in his
office would make it happen much sooner!
–
“Oh well... I guess I could go for some cardio with Phil too?”
Scott
smiled. He had his own opinion about “cardio exercise” with that blonde bear of
a doctor. The way the guy gave him a massage was more than enough indication of
a deeply passionate, sensual nature – not to mention the fact that he didn’t
mind working on Scott’s sore muscles and soft spots for hours, as the young,
growing journalist kept telling him to keep going.
Letting his
thoughts wander like that, Scott almost forgot why he was there. He knocked on
the door and was welcomed by Mr Swayn, with a bright smile and a handshake
that would be more appropriate to crack walnuts.
There was a
boy in his office, waiting. Scott recognized one of the exchange students.
– “You’ve come right when I was going to check on
our young, foreign friends.”
–
“How do you check on them?”
Mr Swayn waved at the boy, who started
taking his shoes and shirt off.
– “I don’t entirely trust Graham about our students’
size and weight, so I keep my own records. We are working on a new policy for
special cases, and I need actual facts to get started.”
– “Does... Graham know about it?”
– “Officially, no. But he may not be so dumb as he
looks, so I think he knows about my new system. It doesn’t really matter that
he does. There, mon garcon, sur la
balance.”
The boy
reluctantly stood on the scales. Mr Swayn wrote down his weight in his
notebook. Obviously, the boy was French – or Canadian.
– “252lbs. Pas
mal. Not too bad. Tu as bien
engraissé, mon petit... But not enough, not according to these projections.
Now, let’s see...”
Mr Swayn
took a long tape and put it around the boy’s belly at its widest, while he
stood up with his arms stretched out.
– “Just as I thought. You need to grow two more inches
by next week, or you will be seriously behind your classmates. Top priority, in
your case.”
The young
boy let out a sigh, but Mr Swayn took no notice. He wrote a few more words of
comment, which Scott guessed could be summed up in one : “More”.
– “Next!”
Then Mr Swayn sat for a moment while the first boy put his clothes back on and a
second, much fatter boy entered.
– “I have a very busy schedule. We can talk while I
examine these kids.”
– “Huh... okay...”
Scott didn’t
know what to say, as the presence of large, half-naked boys –fattened boys –
made him a bit uncomfortable. Then he had a hunch that it was a clever ruse on
Mr Swayn’s part, to keep him distracted.
The best
strategy, then, was to give the man a taste of his own medicine.
– “What’s the purpose of this new policy? Fatter
students?”
– “MUCH fatter students...” Mr Swayn didn’t mind
answering. “Yes, no need to ignore the elephant in the room. Je ne dis pas ça pour toi...”
The boy was
still blushing, being referred to as a young elephant. At 330lbs, even a 6’2”
kid could certainly qualify for the title – especially when Scott was told
about the school’s future policy.
– “Fatter students have become our trademark, over
the last few years. Our only concern now is new students. After two or three
years, even the wildest, most aggressive kid becomes... well, mellow. Growing
plump makes a boy tender.”
– “I guess...” Scott commented, feeling his own
stomach growling from fullness.
– “Naturally, we have to deal with newcomers every year,
and we can’t wait for two years for them to grow nicely obese like our friend
here...”
The boy was
really large around the belly, which was aggravated a bit by the fact that he
was wearing slightly tight pants, chunky love handles gathering with more chub
in the front in an all-around overhang. Mr Swayn looked quite happy with these
results.
– “Good boy. C’est
bien, tu es obèse à souhait. I think we have something here.”
– “What’s that?”
– “We’re looking for more effective diets, you see.
This boy has put on 30lbs since we’ve started this program. I will recommend
that we test it on a few more students, so we get more accurate results, but
this looks very promising.”
Scott was
beginning to see a pattern there. Mr Swayn put different boys on different
diets, as part of an experiment. It was a shocking thought, but every sign
pointed to that conclusion.
– “What results are you looking for ? Only weights
and measurements?”
– “I leave the boring, medical details to Graham. He
wouldn’t cheat with results like blood pressure or whatever. When Mr Porkenham
puts our stats together, we will get a clear picture. Anyway, we had to keep
our doctor involved...”
Mr Swayn’s
tone was glib, maybe deliberately so. Scott could swear that these men had
already set their minds on this. And, if anything should go wrong with one of
their students, they would shift the blame entirely on Phil.
The second
French boy was dismissed. Another student followed, only a little shorter than
him. Everyone looked ill at ease, but they always waited patiently. They had to
be afraid of Mr Swayn, for some reason...
– “So you’re going to fatten up your students a lot
more during their first year, so you can slow down on their diet when they are
slower themselves?”
Scott couldn’t
believe that he just said it out loud. It felt disturbingly unnatural and the
most natural thing to say, at the same time.
– “That’s our main objective. It will depend on how
practical the new diet will be. As a matter of fact, Mr Porkenham has only
agreed on these terms in the case of our most violent elements.”
– “How did you come up with all this? It feels a
bit... far-fetched, isn’t it?”
Mr Swayn
was busy with the new young student, who appeared to be German – he spoke
German to him, at least, and he didn’t sound too happy. The boy’s weight was
barely above 240lbs.
– “Das ist
schlecht. Du hast noch nicht viel zugenommen... Far-fetched, did you say? Ha
ha! You should take a look at a few studies I have been reading lately.”
– “Oh, I don’t know...” Scott responded
half-heartedly.
But Mr Swayn looked eager to share – Scott guessed that it would be plain,
insignificant rubbish, just from his attitude. Maybe the lecturer simply
enjoyed the opportunity of giving a lecture... with a shirtless, embarrassed
young boy in the room.
He took a
thin book from his library and opened it at the right page.
– “This is from Mr de Balzac, the famous French writer. Too bad you
didn’t ask me about this sooner: our students would have learned something
valuable”, he chuckled. “The book is a treatise on drugs, Traité des excitants
modernes.”
– “Okay.”
– “There.
Le gouvernement anglais a permis de
disposer de la vie de trois condamnés à mort, auxquels on a donné l’option, ou
d’être pendus suivant la formule usitée dans ce pays, ou de vivre exclusivement
l’un de thé, l’autre de café, l’autre de chocolat, sans y joindre aucun autre
aliment de quelque nature que ce fût, ni de boire d’autres liquides.”
– “Sorry, I don’t speak French...”
– “It says here that, about 150 years ago, the British government allowed
three convicts to take part of an experiment instead of being hanged by the
neck, as the expression goes in that country, where one would live exclusively
on tea, the second on coffee, the last one of chocolate, with no other food of
any nature and no beverage of any other kind.”
– “This sounds like a very silly deal.”
– “It’s a lot worse than that. Every man died in
atrocious pain... Can you imagine living on coffee, just coffee? I was actually
surprised at how long the poor guy endured such torture, but that’s how science
worked in those days.”
– “But the
whole experience makes no sense. You would die from eating green salad, if that
was all you were allowed to eat. That doesn’t make salad a drug or a poison.”
– “Very
good! My point exactly. These 19th century doctors didn’t know what
a doctor from the Middle Ages put in the simplest terms. Here’s something our
young friend will understand: Alle Dinge sind Gift und nichts ist ohne Gift,
allein die Dosis macht es, dass ein Ding kein Gift ist. Only the dose makes
the poison.”
– “Huh...
Who said that?”
– “An
alchemist named Paracelsus.”
Scott thought
about it, while Mr Swayn was scolding the boy.
– “Wir müssen
dich viel mästen und fettfüttern!” Then he measured his belly. “If we got
the right diet, this boy would be thirty inches larger around here...”
The new diet Mr Swayn was working on in
close collaboration with Miss Spread would offer great variety, and such
caloric intent that any thin, restless teenager should grow out to twice his
initial bodyweight in the matter of eight months to a year. They were only on
the verge of something they considered big...
At this point, Scott thought that nothing
could take him by surprise, but he raised an eyebrow when he saw Mr Swayn call
for Father Knox on short notice, to take the boy back to his room.
Father Knox seemed pleased to see Scott, and
they exchanged a few friendly words. The boy followed him, all dressed up
again. He was definitely not going to his bedroom. Scott had not stopped
thinking about that dark, secret passageway at the end of one of the halls. He
couldn’t remember where it was, and he sure wished that he could follow them.
–
“So, this new diet program...”
–
“Yes?”
–
“Are you only testing it on your foreign students?”
–
“Mr Porkenham thought that they would be good test subjects. In due time, we
will see how our all-American boys take it.”
Scott kept thinking about Michael’s weight
and measurements – what if he had been part of this new experiment, which
looked a bit dangerous, as far as Scott could tell so far?
Mr Swayn was done with his explanations. He was ready to go back to work. The
young journalist was a bit disappointed with his interview. He had been told a
lot of things, but he knew that the really important things were still a
well-kept secret.
– “I think you know your way out of this building,
don’t you?”
–
“Sure... One last thing, if I may?”
–
“Please, do ask.”
–
“Someone sent me this note. Would you take a look at it?”
Mr Swayn
read the note Scott had received, signed I.M.N. He didn’t look too interested
in it and dismissed it as a joke, and a poor attempt at threatening him in his
investigation.
–
“How about the signature, IMN?”
–
“What about it?”
–
“I have been wondering about it. What do you think it spells out?”
–
“IMN?” Mr Swayn frowned. “I guess... it spells trouble.”
■ ■ ■
February 7th,
1990 – Wednesday
Scott had
spent two hours in front of the security screens. It was more boring than his
old job at the newspaper. Students had been going from one classroom to the
next. Teachers and members of the staff were passing by. Mr Thorne was going
to his office with a bunch of large files which were actually boxes with whisky
bottles hidden inside. Mr Scupper was gardening. Some screens only showed
empty places for a long time. Scott had already eaten his way through three
boxes of pastries, so the next three would be Rick’s problem.
With plenty
of time alone in Mr Wingrave’s office, the young journalist had not kept his
eyes glued to those screens. No drawer had any secret for him, except for the
ones that were locked with a special key. At least he knew where to look next,
for more valuable findings – unless they would prove as insignificant as Mr Thorne’s secret alcohol cabinet...
Scott was
satisfied with the set of blueprints he had found and copied. After a few
failed attempts at following Father Knox unnoticed, he had felt the need for an
accurate set of maps of the school: every hall and main building, from ground
level to the top, every separate building on campus, the whole line of walls
with indications for back alleys... He would study them, back to his hotel
room.
– “This is good. I can’t have too much information
about the ways in and out of Augustine Bells.”
His
intentions were to use the blueprints he had copied and hidden in a folder, in
his suitcase, into a personal map with relevant information to the case. With
these documents, he held the whole school in the palm of his hand.
Yet,
somehow, it didn’t feel like enough to solve the mystery.
– “Michael spent a night out, on the night before he
was killed...”
Walking down
the street to wait for his bus, Scott had been impressed, once again, by a
certain quality of atmosphere around Biberton. There was something about the
whole town that couldn’t be summed up in a few words, and definitely not
pinpointed on a map...
– “I need another feather on my cap, to really get
around this case.”
Scott
thought about it. For some reason, he remembered entering the Police precinct
on the day of Michael’s funeral. They weren’t too far from the school, on the
side of the chapel. Sitting back in a more comfortable position, he waited for
Rick to come back from the gym.
He had made
up his mind. Leaving the school through the back door to Rick’s office, he
followed the long brick wall until he found the chapel.
As a member
of the press, Scott was determined to establish better contact with the local
Police force.
There was no
one in the lobby, and he had to ring the bell on the desk.
– “Coming...”
A door opened and Scott was
welcomed by a young deputy. Scott had not forgotten him, and
he was still amazed at his size: now that he was surrounded with chubby,
overfed men, he could venture an educated guess that this deputy weighed almost
480lbs!
– “Do you require assistance, Sir?”
– “Not really... We’ve met before. Your name’s Andy,
right?”
– “That’s right, Sir.”
The deputy smiled, which made his
baby face look even chubbier. His shirt was so tight, all around his spherical
belly, that every seam looked like it would burst at any moment...
– “I was wondering if I could get to talk with the Sheriff...
Sheriff Maxwell.”
– “Sheriff Maxwell is out for lunch. Would you like
to leave a message?”
– “I don’t know...”
– “What did you want to tell him?”
Scott didn’t know what to say. It
was the second time that he tried to meet the local Sheriff, and failed. It was
a bit annoying.
– “I’m press... I only wanted to make his
acquaintance, and maybe ask him a few questions about the death of young Mr Astern.”
– “I see... Yes, I remember you now. You’re Mr Girder.”
– “That’s right.”
– “Well, we wouldn’t like it if you had come to us
for nothing. Would you like a cup of coffee? I started another pot this
morning.”
The young deputy was definitely
friendly, and Scott was presented with a good mug of black coffee and a basket
of crispy, buttery croissants. This was the best first step to a good
conversation.
– “You look pretty young for the job. Is this your
first assignment?”
– “Yes... I’m still studying. I was only in Biberton
as part of my training.”
– “Why do you say that like it belongs to the past?”
– “Huh...” The boy looked a bit sad, and Scott
noticed that he was rubbing his belly affectionately. “My time here’s almost
over. I have to go back home, soon.”
– “Oh... So you’re not from Biberton?”
– “No Sir, I’m from Seattle.”
– “Why did you leave Seattle to come to a place
like... here?”
– “Oh... I had the right connections.”
Scott didn’t
understand that last part, but it looked like the boy was willing to share –
maybe out of the sadness that comes naturally with the idea of having to leave
a nice, quiet place with friendly people – and he didn’t seem embarrassed in
the least about that enormous gut he sported.
– “Didn’t you put on a little weight since the last
time I saw you?”
Andy wasn’t only comfortable
about being obese, he looked happy that Scott had noticed his recent weight
gain...
– “You’re right, I’ve put on another twelve pounds!”
– “Another
twelve pounds? So you have been putting on more weight before I came to this
town...”
– “Naturally.”
It made sense, somehow, that the young
guy wouldn’t wait for anyone to start growing fatter, but it felt odd to Scott.
– “How long have you been staying in Biberton,
then?”
– “About a year. I’m going to miss it.”
– “And, huh... How much did you weigh, when you
first came to work in this precinct?”
The boy smiled again, proudly.
– “About 220lbs.”
There were no words for Scott to
express his amazement. At 220lbs, Andy was probably not skinny – and yet, his
weight had more than doubled over a year?
– “I guess the food around here agrees with you.”
– “Yes, there’s really good food in Biberton. Great
food and beer! But I’m not allowed to drink during office hours...”
Scott looked around the lobby.
This office was bright, clean and tidy, nothing like the dumps they showed on
TV. It felt like a great working place, with no sign of inefficiency or
sloppiness.
– “And what did Sheriff Maxwell say about your
weight gain?”
– “I guess... he was happy with me. I’m going to
miss him too.”
– “I can imagine.”
– “Him and his wife. They are the best!”
– “...The Sheriff’s wife?”
– “Maria. She’s a great cook!”
Surely, Scott wasn’t shocked with
that piece of information... He had followed a hunch, and it proved to be right
on money. A thought came to him that made him smile.
– “I will leave a message for your boss. You should
tell him that I will meet him on his next lunch break, when he’s available.”
– “I will tell the Sheriff, Sir, but he’s really
busy, most of the time.”
– “All right, then it’s not a request. I am inviting
him for an eating challenge at his favorite diner. Tell him that I’ll be
paying.”
Andy gave
him a sideways look, and smiled again.
– “You can join him at the Double D tomorrow for lunch. He will be there.”
– “When does he go on his lunch break?”
– “It depends, but usually late... Some time around
2PM.”
– “That’s fine by me. He can reach me at this
number, when he’s free.”
He wrote down the number of Mr Wingrave’s
office on a piece of paper.
■ ■ ■
Scott had plenty of time during
regular lunch hours. He was still full with all the pies, cookies and pastries
he was forced to eat, and he would go back to sitting and munching down with Rick
at some point during the afternoon.
This allowed him two things.
Number 1 – work on his first, secret map: Scott was determined to find that
place where he had lost Father Knox, a few days before. Number 2 – give the
official maps a close look, and study the position and angle of every camera:
Scott had spent hours looking at the screens for that purpose.
If something important was to be
found about, he was convinced that it would happen where no camera would be on
watch...
– “I’m looking for a desert in the jungle,
basically”, he mumbled.
After some serious work on every
narrow alleyway on paper, he obtained some sort of result. There were several
spots, at the far end of the boys’ dorms, where surveillance was kept to a
minimum. They appeared to be dead ends – but Scott already knew that some of
these would lead to a secret passage.
He wished to put all that
paperwork into practice immediately. As soon as he heard the bell marking the
beginning of afternoon courses, Scott left the lobby and walked straight to the
building he had chosen as his case study...
– “There should be no one wandering in there, at this hour.”
Scott still thought that it would
be more careful not to switch on the lights on his way. Every switch worked
with a timer, and he may have to hurry up at some point, or hide if necessary.
Then he was truly walking in the
dark.
In spite of his efforts to
memorize the ways in and out of every level, with his map in one hand and a
small torchlight in the other, he felt lost. The place was a maze...
After a few turns right and left,
he had to stop again. He was lost.
– “I should be near the end of the building, but
this keeps going further... And it’s not even turning as it should. How can I
get lost, when I have everything to explore this place?”
Scott didn’t expect to receive an
answer for such a question, but the darkness around him made him feel
uncomfortable. More than the lack of daylight or the discrete smell of waxed
mahogany wood and leather in the walls, and rich wool from the carpets on the
floor, there was a mixed feeling of luxury and loneliness – something one would
expect in a haunted castle in Scotland, maybe, but not in a preparatory school
in the United States...
It was something else entirely,
adding an element of threat – the delicious thrill of danger – like being in
the presence of a sleeping dragon. Scott had found it: a feeling of absence so
vivid and so strong that it got confused with a presence.
But it wasn’t like someone he
could shake hands with. Scott was afraid to turn around – as he wouldn’t bet
that someone wasn’t just watching at the map over his shoulder – but he knew
that he was alone.
– “If I didn’t know better, I would say that I’ve
crossed path with a ghost...”
He tried to smile, but he was
running a cold sweat.
As he walked a bit further, his
right leg and hip felt tense, once again. It wasn’t so bad as it had been, but
they still hurt.
– “Damn... It’s a good thing that I have another
appointment for a massage, in a few hours!”
The pain came and went like waves
flowing through his body. Scott shivered and felt his belly wobble a bit under
his shirt.
Then he almost jumped, as the
lights suddenly went on.
Scott was near the end of the
corridor. He had not yet seen the opposite wall, in the dark. There were rooms
on both sides, and he tried to open the first door. It was locked from the
inside. Then he opened the second door easily: that was a broom closet.
He had already recognized that
unmistakably raspy voice of Father Knox.
– “Good... I must have found the place.”
The lights went out again. Father
Knox knew his way out of this maze better than Scott, so he didn’t care to
switch them on again. There was a moment of silence, then Scott heard a distant
noise. The dean of boys must have opened the door to that secret place.
Hidden in the closet, Scott was
able to see in the corridor without being noticed. Father Knox was coming back,
and he wasn’t alone.
– “How are you feeling now, boy? Wie geht’s Dir?”
Scott recognized the German exchange
student he had seen in Mr Swayn’s office, two days before. The boy wasn’t
wearing a shirt – and he looked much fatter than Scott remembered.
Fortunately for him, Father Knox
was in a cheerful mood and provided a few interesting comments.
– “This new diet is working a lot better than the
previous one, obviously. Get your arms up, boy. Hände hoch!”
The boy was pouting, which made
his cheeks look round and puffy like ripe tomatoes, but he held out his arms as
requested, so Father Know could measure his belly with a long, black leather
tape.
– “Six inches added around your navel. Good, good.
Now, it’s time for a good, long nap... Then we will see how much bigger you
have grown in the last two days. Come on, boy.”
Father Knox patted the boy’s
lower back, leading him back to his dorm. As they walked away, the boy’s steps
sounded particularly heavy...
■ ■ ■
– “Is this better?”
– “Yes... Much better! Keep going.”
It was
almost 9PM, according to the clock on the doctor’s wall. Scott had been waiting
all day for this moment. Phil was slowly massaging his lower back, right below
his loins – which was the young man’s favorite spot.
They had
been spending time like this for a week, working on Scott’s body from 6PM to...
10PM, at least! Scott was a very demanding patient, and he had found on their
first session that Phil always aimed to please.
There was
more to it. Scott had already taken two short pauses, with shower and an
ice-cream sundae, and he kept insisting on going slowly, putting a lot of good
work at every step on the way...
– “That’s it. Yeah... Go for it like you mean it.”
Phil only
took a break when Scott wasn’t on the table. He always started with the back of
his neck, then his shoulders and upper back – then he went South, giving each
and every vertebrae a good thrill with his palms and thumbs – then he got to
Scott’s waist and lower back – then his butt cheeks – then down to his hips and
thighs, and calves... By the time he got to massage Scott’s feet, it was
usually close to 10PM.
On their
second session, Scott had left the doctor’s office after midnight. Phil was
exhausted, and he was horny like a cat on a hot roof. They had come to an
agreement for relatively shorter massages, but Scott kept breaking his promise
not to ask for more attention.
For lack of
a better term, he was an “impatient patient”.
Scott had
immediately understood that Phil was used to being yelled at – from his days in
the US Army, no doubt – and he always responded to orders without a word, but
perfect discipline.
He never
complained or talked back, and he hardly ever suggested that they should be
moving on. Scott definitely took advantage of these flaws in the dumb blonde’s
personality.
– “I should be putting some more effort on your
right hip...”
– “You’ll get down to it in time. My butt’s still
sore. Keep focusing on it.”
As expected,
Phil did just what he was told to do.
Scott was
very much amused with him. He enjoyed teasing him even further, just to see how
he would react. Phil looked really cute when he was in hot water and he didn’t
know what to say – his only way out was to work harder and do an even better
job than usual. Scott had already put that theory into practice a few times –
pure, shameless, guilty pleasure...
– “It’s getting late, Scott.”
– “So what?”
– “We won’t have time to get you a full body
massage, then... You don’t want to miss the last bus back to your hotel again.”
– “I called for a taxi... No big deal. Keep going,
we’ll be fine.”
– “...”
One of
Scott’s special mind games was to keep telling Phil that he was wrong – about the
time, or what he was doing, or something he would say, pretty much anything.
Scott would prove him wrong, put him down and make him feel sorry – and tell
him that he was sorry.
Phil was fair game for this. Then Scott
didn’t expect him to comment.
– “It looks like you have put on more weight...”
– “What do you mean, more weight?” Scott growled.
– “Your lower back has grown a bit... thicker. I can
feel it.”
– “You’re wrong.”
– “Come on, Scott... You weighed 188lbs, last time
we checked. I guessed it right, and I believe that you are getting close to
195lbs already.”
– “You’re wrong. And you were wrong about my weight,
in the first place!”
Scott knew
that he had put on more weight than he had told Phil. He knew that he had kept
on gaining since then. He didn’t mind the extra weight, but if this was a game
between them, he was determined to win.
– “How was I wrong? You told me about it yourself.”
– “You said that I had gained more than 10 pounds.”
– “Yes... And you were 12 pounds heavier, weren’t
you?”
– “I was, but I had only put on 6 or 7 pounds,
myself. I would never grow like this on my own. The other 5 or 6 were forced on
me by the people in Augustine Bells!”
Phil didn’t
know what to say to that. Scott had won. Again
– “I see...”
– “Then let me remind you that you’ve lost our bet.”
– “What bet?”
– “You don’t remember?”
– “Huh... I’m not sure.”
The blonde
guy looked lost, trying to sort through his memories – another thing he had to
deal with, from his military background.
– “You said that if I had put on less than 10lbs,
you would invite you for dinner at the best and most expensive restaurant in
town.”
–
“Oh... Did I really say that?”
–
“You sure did, and don’t try to weasel your way out of it... loser.”
– “The most expensive restaurant? That would be Matt’s.”
– “Sounds like a diner again.”
– “Oh no, it’s a great restaurant. French cuisine
and everything...”
– “Okay, I guess I could go for something French,
for a change.”
– “I’ll call them tomorrow, all right?”
– “Right... Back to work, then. We’re not getting
anything done.”
Phil went back to work on giving Scott’s hips
a perfect, invigorating massage.
– “I guess you’re right...”
– “Of course I am”, Scott mumbled, head buried in
the table’s pillow. “...about what?”
– “There is a difference between the weight you gain
and the weight you’re more or less forced to gain. This school does not offer a
program for young, greedy, lazy boys, as its reputation goes. It turns its
students into...”
– “Sloppy gluttons, yeah!”
Scott could tell that the doctor
resented that comment – or Phil was definitely unhappy with the school’s
policy. His opinions were no secret either, as Scott had heard Mr Swayn commenting
on them in no uncertain terms.
– “Did you know that our school has a nickname?”
– “No... What is it?”
– “Ask a few people in Biberton about Augustine Bells, they will pronounce it Hogs, Teen Bellies...”
The young journalist chuckled –
then his body was overcome with that intense feeling of pleasure that blurred
the line between sensual and sexual. Phil was an extraordinary doctor, for that
matter...
– “I had no idea that you were also forced to eat.”
Scott felt a
tingling in his ears, like a cat when he’s caught stealing food on the family’s
dinner table. He wasn’t actually forced to eat, but he was definitely more than
encouraged to do so!
– “I have this deal with Rick...”
– “Mr Wingrave?”
– “Yes. I help him get some time out to run and get
a bit thinner, and he should help me with my investigation.”
– “I was wondering how he could get off duty like
that.”
– “That’s when I hold the fort for him.”
– “Smart move on your part, too...”
Phil was
right about that, so Scott didn’t say a thing. He wished that it was true – not
only a good thing, but the right thing to do: he had not been given much in
return, so far. A set of maps he had to steal and work on, a green light to
meet with an important witness – there had to be more to gain from this deal,
besides the extra weight around his waist...
– “I’m definitely expecting something major out of
it...”
– “Like a copy of the security footage from the
night of Michael’s murder?”
This time,
Scott felt more than a tingle – but a revelation, like lighting in a dark sky...
He would ask Rick for the security tapes.
– “That’s right. That’s exactly what I’m looking to
get my hands on.”
Phil Smiled. They were both
excited about it – so much that they talked further about it, Phil forgot about
how late it was again – Scott couldn’t care less about it, as he was about to
come from being rubbed and fondled so well and so much – and it was almost
midnight when he took his last shower.
When Scott came back into the
doctor’s office, Phil was stretching his arms and trying not to yawn or growl
like a sleepy bear.
– “Long day, huh?”
– “It sure was... Time to go to bed.”
– “Yeah”, Scott swooned, putting on his clothes.
As Phil was washing his hands
from all the massage oils, he said something that caught Scott’s attention.
– “Weary with toil, I hasten to my bed...”
– “What’s that?”
– “It’s the beginning of a sonnet. I like it a lot.”
– “Is that William Blake?”
– “No... That would be another William. It’s
Shakespeare.”
Scott didn’t know, and Blake had
never failed him – until now. Phil definitely didn’t belong to that tight
community in Augustine Bells: he didn’t even read the same books!
This meant that he had actually
read a book, at some point in his life – unlike most of the people Scott had
interviewed so far...
■ ■ ■
February 8th,
1990 – Thursday
Scott received
a phone call from Sheriff Maxwell in the morning, around 10PM. He was alone in
Mr Wingrave’s office, and he was thankful for it. He didn’t want for anyone to
know about him going to meet with the local police.
Sheriff
Maxwell’s voice on the phone was surprisingly appealing: dark, warm and soft
like chocolate from the hot fountain they had put on top of the breakfast
buffet at his hotel. Scott could hardly wait to see him in person.
He had been
eating his fair share of pastries, so he wouldn’t raise suspicion, but he had a
hunch that he would be feasting with the Sheriff, so he cheated a bit as he
chose which pastries he would eat, and which ones he would leave to Rick.
The head of
security was back around noon, all sweaty and out of breath, but looking
pleased with himself.
– “I’m already making some progress, don’t you
think?”
Rick was
looking as chubby as before. He had barely started working out and jogging, so
there wasn’t much difference to the size of his belly. Scott had also noticed
that, coming back from two hours of intense physical activity, Rick was hungry
like a dog and he wouldn’t mind eating twenty-four chocolate éclairs in one
sitting, or a much larger cake, thicker in texture and more fattening than the
rest of their pastries. Naturally, Scott let him eat those, while he munched on
less demanding food items...
– “All right, time for me to go on my lunch break.”
– “...If you can still fit another mouthful in that
overfilled water balloon you call your stomach!”
Rick laughed
out loud while Scott was leaving as usual, but the joke was on him – he was
already stuffing his paunch full of rich, creamy, buttery doughnuts and
chocolate-frosted cupcakes.
Scott went
back to his hotel for a nap and a good shower. He put on the most comfortable
shirt he had, but even that was a close fit around his waist now: the young
journalist had really put on some mass up front, and his love handles had kept
their promise to grow round and jutting over the waistband of his jeans when he
sat down.
– “Oh well... Unless I’m very much mistaken, this
will only help me make a good first impression.”
Scott was supposed to meet Sheriff Maxwell at
Dean’s diner around 2PM.
He was there right on time, but he saw the
Police car parked outside.
– “Hello...”
There was no
customer at this hour, except for a tall black man in uniform, who stood up and
came to shake hands with him. Scott was almost shocked as he finally got to
meet the guy. Sheriff Maxwell was at least 6’6” tall, magnificently well-built
and handsome. He also looked athletic, more so than Rick could claim he ever
was, and more than well-fed!
– “Let’s sit down over here, you’ll be more
comfortable.”
Before he
knew it, Scott was faced with two large trays covered with burgers, bags of
French fries and fried onion rings, buckets of fried chicken and coleslaw.
– “Dig in, don’t wait for me.”
The two men
started grabbing bite after bite of burgers. When a waitress came to their
table, the Sheriff ordered “the usual” – “and my friend here will have the same
!” – with supersized chocolate milkshakes and chocolate chip cookies.
– “Wait... What’s this?” Scott waved at all the food
on the table.
– “What do you think? Appetizers, silly!”
Scott gulped
down, hard. He had not expected to feast on that much food – but he knew what
to do, and he would show the Sheriff what he was made of.
For a long
moment, he didn’t say a word and neither did Sheriff Maxwell. They were too
busy on stuffing their faces full of burgers and pieces of chicken, with a
handful of fries or onion rings thrown in every now and then.
When they
were done with these, the waitress brought more burgers – larger and taller
than the previous ones, with two extra patties in every one of them, lots of
cheese, pickles and sauce – more French fries with thick hot dogs, and two
milkshakes.
– “Thirsty?”
– “Yup...”
Scott took a
long swig of milkshake. It was really thick and creamy... He had never tasted a
shake like that. Sheriff Maxwell downed the whole shake in one long gulp –
Scott was definitely impressed.
– “What are you waiting for? Keep on eating, boy.”
– “Okay...”
Sheriff
Maxwell was devouring his meal, and his belly kept filling his uniform shirt,
giving it a most appealing curve. Scott tried to match him, mouthful after
mouthful, food going down his throat in a steady flow...
When they
were both down to the last bites on their hot dogs, Sheriff Maxwell stretched
out his arms, which made his shirt ride up on him, and two buttons popped
opened.
– “I love these shirts. Pressed-on buttons are the
best.”
The tall man
stood up and waved at the waitress, who immediately came to get their empty
trays, complimenting the Sheriff on his appetite.
– “You can bring the rest. I have to go to the big
boys’ room.”
Scott didn’t
know what to expect for “the rest” of their lunch. He was stuffed to the point
of feeling greasy just from sweating... The waitress brought two new trays of
food: more burgers, with less but thicker patties, thicker French fries too –
and bacon dogs...
There wasn’t
much variety in that menu, and Scott was suddenly reminded of Mr Swayn’s
comment. He wouldn’t be too surprised if burgers turned out to be his poison,
in here.
– “I can’t eat all this, I’m going to explode...”
Sheriff
Maxwell was back, so he took a deep breath and grabbed another thick burger
with both hands. He stuffed his face and gulped down fast, trying not to puff
out his cheeks.
– “How about a good beer? This is Biberton’s best
brew, if you ask me.”
– “Is that okay with you?”
– “I can’t drink beer while I’m on duty... but I’m
sure you can!”
Scott was
secretly glad to replace a cold but thick milkshake with a good beer. It was a “lazy
groundhog” brew, and he had already appreciated its taste on a few occasions.
– “Great beer, too bad you can’t have one now...”
– “I’ll get a few down when I’m home”, Sheriff
Maxwell winked. “This town has some of the best foods and beers in the United
States.”
The tall,
overfed man had opened the top button of his uniform pants, and he patted his
belly a bit, as he sat down in front of Scott.
– “You have a right to be proud of your hometown.”
– “I’m proud and happy to be here, but I’m not
originally from Biberton...”
– “Oh? Where are you from?”
– “North Carolina.”
– “How did you get to work in here?”
– “I was a cop in Newark... One Hell of a job...
Then I found this place, and I couldn’t be happier about it!”
– “I guess it is a lot better than New Jersey.”
– “It sure is. Best place in the world... to grow
fat!”
Scott was a
bit surprised at how loudly and proudly the Sheriff said those last three
words. It was clear that the man enjoyed eating a lot, being nicely stuffed and
growing larger – and fatter – but people would usually keep it a secret... or
deny the full extent of their love for food.
– “Well...” Scott chuckled. “No need to beat around
the butch.”
– “Or the batch. Have some more fries.”
The Sheriff
offered him another beer too. Scott could see that they understood each other,
and they would probably agree on a lot of things.
– “How long have you been in Biberton?”
– “Almost two years. I got elected pretty easily.
People around here don’t like people like me, you know... Then they feel guilty
about it, but it doesn’t change a thing. The movers and shakers in Biberton
still resent me for being black, but they made sure that at least one black man
would be on their side.”
– “So they made you their Sheriff.”
– “That’s right... And I’m enjoying every minute of
it!”
Sheriff
Maxwell ate another bacon dog in hardly more than three bites. Scott was still
in awe. If there was something he knew all too well, from his personal
experience, it was prejudice. Being thrown out on the street by his own parents
for being “gay” had to be as bad as being forbidden to take the bus for being
“colored”.
Scott had
known a few black, gay men in the past. He had even dated one for a short time
– his usual date-and-dump time. He wasn’t a racist. As a matter of fact, he
often found black guys very attractive... and Sheriff Maxwell was a most
handsome man!
– “I’m surprised that you didn’t get much fatter
than this, already...”
It was only a comment – Scott didn’t mean to
hurt the man, but Sheriff Maxwell was obviously hurt. He took it like a man and
smiled, still rubbing his belly.
– “I know, I have a hard time putting on real, good
mass.”
– “Is that why you hired Andy as your deputy?”
– “Oh, Andy is such a lucky boy! He’s grown really
huge with us. Too bad he has to leave...”
– “I’m sorry.”
Scott could
hardly eat another bite, but having such a friendly, honest and open-minded
conversation with the Sheriff helped a lot. The feeling had to be mutual, as
Sheriff Maxwell responded to his look and smile with an even larger smile.
– “So you’re working on that dreadful case...
Michael Astern’s death?”
– “Yes.”
– “How is that going for you, so far?”
– “Honestly? Slowly, but I’ve been able to gather a
few interesting elements.”
– “All right. I’ll be honest with you too... Some
people in this town are not too happy about the progress you’ve made.”
– “So you already knew about it?”
– “I wouldn’t know the details, and I doubt that
they do. But I’ve been told to follow your moves. I should hope that you didn’t
notice...”
– “No, I didn’t”, Scott admitted.
Sheriff Maxwell
leaned forward, getting closer to Scott – as close as his round, full belly
bumping into the Formica table allowed him to go.
– “You know what? I like you.”
– “Thanks!”
– “Keep digging, and I hope that you find who killed
that kid.”
– “Okay...”
– “You will probably need my help, soon. Then...
okay. You can count on it.”
– “Thank you!”
Scott was
overwhelmed. The Sheriff leaned back in their booth and waved at the waitress
again. Then he turned to Scott again.
– “All right, here’s what you should do. Why don’t
you come by our house, in a few days? I’ll introduce you to my wife Maria,
we’ll have dinner together and you can show me what you’ve got.”
– “Okay.”
The waitress
was coming back with two trays, once again: cherry pies still hot from the oven,
banana pudding with wafers, fresh doughnuts and tall ice-cream sundaes with
cookies and whipped cream on top...
– “Time for dessert, my friend!”
– “Huh... Okay.”
Scott tried
to ignore the angry growl of protest coming from his engorged belly, while
Sheriff Maxwell was already back to eating and encouraging him.
– “So? Dig in, big boy! Keep digging!”
– “Hmmmph...”
– “That’s right”, Sheriff Maxwell cheered him. “Show
me what you’ve got.”
■ ■ ■
–
“Why did you stop? Keep going...”
–
“It’s getting late, Scott. It’s almost 10PM.”
Phil had
been providing Scott with one of the best massages the plump guy had ever
enjoyed. Considering how good the first sessions had been for him, Scott was
amazed that Phil kept on improving and finding more pleasing ways to relax him
– so much that, while every part of his body touched by the blonde doctor felt
soft and comfortable, some other part of him grew hard and stiff – making him
wish for the process to go on forever, and get to the next level!
– “Oh?” Scott moaned. “It’s okay, I’ll call a taxi
if I miss the bus... Or I can just walk back to my hotel. It’s not that far
away, I know where to go and turn now.”
– “I think we should leave it here for tonight. I
have to be at the hospital in an hour.”
–
“And you don’t have a car.”
–
“That’s right.”
–
“Same time, tomorrow?”
–
“I will be working all night.”
–
“Well, I don’t want to wait until Monday. How about Saturday morning?”
–
“I don’t know... Does it still hurt when you walk?”
–
“It does! We’re making progress, but it’s going slowly.”
–
“I know...”
Phil looked sorry about it. In
all honesty, Scott had been feeling a lot better for a few days now, but he
wasn’t going to give up on being pampered so well, not anytime soon!
It felt unfair that, as the
expression goes, “all good things come to an end” – this was too good to end
like any “good thing” – but Scott had to take a short shower and put on his
clothes.
As he took his jacket off the
rack, a note fell out of his pocket. Phil caught it for him. It was that silly anonymous
note. Scott found it more annoying than ever, looking at it. He should just
tear it apart.
–
“What is this?” Phil asked.
–
“What does it look like?”
–
“It looks like you are being threatened by someone.”
– “Duh...”
Then, out of
the blue, Scott thought that he could tease the dumb blonde guy with the trick
question he had been asking everyone, with no result.
–
“What do you make of the signature?”
–
“These three letters, I.M.N.?”
–
“Yes.”
Phil looked
at them more closely. He looked like he was actually giving it some thought.
– “Three letters are not much to work with, so this must be an easy puzzle... Whoever sent it to you only made it look complex by adding
a little twist to it.”
–
“...Huh?”
–
“This letter here... It’s not a regular N.”
–
“What is it?”
–
“You’re working for a newspaper. Don’t you recognize it?”
Scott looked at the N letter
which had been cut and pasted on the note.
–
“What about it?”
– “It’s not the capital N you would use for words
like News or Never. This one means Number.”
–
“You’re right... How could I miss that?”
– “Then I.M.N should be I.M.N°. Judging from the
other letters in the note, this one was put here on purpose.”
–
“Okay... What then?”
–
“Then the riddle is very simple. M stands for am, as in I am.”
–
“I am... Of course.”
–
“Any guy wanting to threaten you wouldn’t go for less than being Number One, as the short form n°
suggests.”
–
“I am Number One...” Scott repeated. “So what?”
–
“So... I would be more careful, if I were you.”
–
“Why?”
Phil gave him the note.
– “I couldn’t be sure, but I think the signature
should read I am N° One... which would mean, of course, I am no one.”
(To be continued...)
