Chapter 6 | Gideon

"I have an eye for these things, Ted," I called, loudly enough for Ted to hear me through the door. Then I chuckled to myself. "And I know a great deal more about you than your suit measurements."

Ted came out of the bathroom, happy as an arsonist in a house made of matches, and handed me his tie. I had expected that from Ted. And he did look dapper. He was a bit of a dandy right now – all rule abiding and hard working – but he could learn to love the world of greed and immediate gratification; I knew it. I could always sense the type that could be swayed. Ted was unsure of himself. He was, whether he knew it or not, looking for someone to help him build his identity. Someone to help him understand just what Free Will was all about.

After my suggestion to tend to his hair, I left Ted's apartment and returned to the ground floor. My driver had the car parked in front of Ted's building, just as I'd instructed.

I opened the door and slipped into the backseat. "Wait here," I instructed the driver. "He'll be right down."

"Yes, sir." The driver nodded obediently, always happy to oblige. As if he had a choice. In life he'd been a tax collector, which made him the perfect afterlife errand boy.

The other backseat door suddenly swung open and a teenage kid plopped down on the leather upholstery next to me. He wore a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, dark square-framed glasses, and a name tag that read 'Tech Support.'

"Gideon," he drawled. "What's the good word, man?" His sandy colored hair was spiked up in a strategic mess, and he raked a hand through the taunt locks, mussing them further.

I glanced out the window in search of Ted. No sign of him yet. I turned to my new companion. "What are you doing here?" I asked. "I haven't been photographed by any mortals."

"Dude, didn't you get any of my texts?" the kid asked.

Fucking millennials. And this kid wasn't even mortal.

"No, I did not get any of your texts," I told him pointedly, my words accompanied by a significant eye roll. "I've been schmoozing a client. The client. You know which one I mean."

"Wicked," he said. "But that's exactly why I'm here. Since you're handling the most auspicious of all clientele, Lou wanted me to give you this."

From his pocket, he pulled a sleek black cellular device. He held it out to me with an unnecessary flourish.

"A new phone?" I asked.

His lip curled up in a sneer. "Hey, man. Disrespectful. This is the fuckin' Vatican of cell phones. It's practically it's own alter of worship."

His fingers flew across the screen and he pulled up a series of windows for apps I knew nothing about and cared for even less.

"Shnazzy," I remarked. "How do I send a text message?"

The tech kid let loose a dramatic sigh. "Man, you Dark Age geriatric relics... You don't deserve my toys." With a swish of his thumb, he minimized all the windows and pulled up the text function. "Here you go, grandpa. Who you gonna text? Your fraternity bros Brutus and Caesar?"

"Nah, they hate technology more than I do," I replied, ignoring his jab. "Give them a sword, though, and you'll see something worth putting on ViewTube."

"It's YouTube!" the kid snapped at me. "Ugh. I hate you so much right now."

"And this phone isn't the only thing with buttons I can push," I said with a smirk. "Lou wants a progress report — that's who I'm texting."

"Whatever," the tech support kid snapped. His eternal sixteen-year-old face warped into a scowl. "I need your old phone. Log, decommission, destroy. You know the drill."

I absently handed him the retired device. "Sure, sure."

He made a disgusted noise. "You still have one of these?! Dude, this thing needs to be consigned to a dumpster."

"Do whatever you want with it," I said. "But my client is going to be here any second, and I don't want him meeting you tonight. Make yourself scarce, kid."

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun wooing the bellhop."

With a wave of his middle finger, he was gone.

I took the unaccompanied moment send a text to my boss:

Lou—

It's going well.

Ted's a sure thing for our side.

Trust me.

The Chat might not happen until

tomorrow or the day after.

I don't want to overwhelm or

shock him. He seems to be

the excitable type.

I'll update you when it's done.

Gideon

I hit SEND and leaned back against the smooth leather seat, smiling. Ted was a good guy – I liked him. He wasn't a loser, like he seemed to have convinced himself he was, he just needed someone to give him a break. He needed guidance. A reminder of his Free Will. Ted wasn't a lucky guy, and playing the game of life by the rules just wasn't working for him.

He needed a friend. He needed me.

I grinned as Ted emerged from the front door of the apartment building with his hair slicked back. He looked good – for Ted. It sure beat the hell out of that ridiculous burgundy suit he wore to work, anyway.

He waved gleefully at the car, and I opened the door and slid over to make room for him. He pranced up to the door, a corky smile on his thin, narrow face. That's what I loved about the underdogs – they were always so enthused about everything. Try to tempt a guy who's been on top his whole life, and he gives you a bored look and says, "Yeah? And?"

"This is more bloody exciting than the day I moved away from my mum!" Ted declared, getting into the back seat next to me. I noticed his accent sounded thicker when he was keyed up. He ran an appreciative hand over the leather upholstery and grinned at me. "A Mercedes, is this?"

"A Benz, next year's model," I confirmed. "You like it?"

"I bloody well love it!"

"Glad to hear it. Perhaps we can arrange one for your permanent use."

Ted gawked at me with his mouth ajar. "You're bluffing!" he exclaimed. "Nah, get out! You're taking the mickey out of me, yeah?"

I smiled. Too easy. Yes, Ted would choose us — I knew it. Especially since I had gotten to him before the Chairman's agent had.

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