Terry Neale - Jo-el

“Damn, I wish I could do that?” she said, marveling at my sudden transformation. “That would save a ton of time and a lot of money.”

I smiled and then put my arm around her back to lead her to the restaurant. She was impressed that I’d made a reservation and winked noticeably at me as the hostess took her jacket. The table had a spectacular view of the harbor, multi-million dollar yachts backed up to the jetty, beautiful people milling around sporting mullion dollar diamonds.

We ordered drinks, Pippa a Martini, a Black Label rocks for me. Well ahead of five o’clock California time, but what-the-hell.

“How do you know this place?” I asked.

“Came here four years ago, my ex.”

I realized I knew nothing about her. I hadn’t tapped Sally’s database, which pleased me. I’d have to find out the old fashion way.

“So, you’re unattached?”

“For now, yes.”

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

She shrugged, her shoulders bopping up and down with grace.

“I was married for three years. Probably too young, but I didn’t think so at the time. He was a philanderer and I just lost interest in all the lies. We parted more than three years ago. I have a son, Billy. He’s four now. What about you?”

I was just about to tell her about Mary, my mouth was open, but I couldn’t. “I can’t tell you, Pippa. Not who I really am.”

She shook, “Oh, yes, I’m sorry, I am, I won’t ask again.”

The waitress took our order and I excused myself. In the bathroom I bounced back to San Francisco and picked up the Euros. I looked at the notes in my hand and quickly realized I didn’t have enough. The Black Label was seventeen Euros alone. Damn expensive St. Barts. I searched around for my dollars, I had eighty-five dollars, dang that might not do it. I found my wallet and pulled out my cash card. I could go to my local bank ATM, then change the dollars into Euros at an airport or miss one leg and use my cash card to get Euros at an airport in Europe. I bet Superman never had this problem?

I bounced to Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, landing in a bathroom stall that smelled awful. I found the cash machines and inserted my card, it was late in the airport so there were few people around. Declined. Fuck! Bloody fraud systems, just don’t cater to the superhero.

“ Sally, how long have I been gone?”

“Seven minutes, she’d getting worried you’ve left her.”

“Why?”

“No passport!”

“ Right! Don’t exactly need one when you fly Jo-el Airlines.”

Sally laughed in my ear.

“ I think I’ll go back to San Fran. Wells Forgo Bank.”

“You’re the boss.”

I bounced to my bank out of sight. When I walked around to the ATM machines there was a line. Shit!

“ Sally, send Pippa a message, I’m running an errand.”

“Whatever you say, Joey.”

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?

“Haven’t said a word.”

Eventually I was able to withdraw four hundred dollars. I bounced back to the airport in Paris and went to a money exchange, where I changed two hundred dollars into Euros. A minute later I was back in St. Barts, a little frazzled.

“I’m so sorry, Pippa, you won’t believe where I’ve been.”

“No, probably not.”

I told her what happened, without mentioning San Francisco. She laughed.

“I could have paid; I have my credit cards.”

“Thanks, but it’s taken care of,” I said, happily.

We ordered, I went with a jerk chicken salad, hopefully not too much food and another Black Label. Pippa had a fish creole dish that sounded delectable. She declined another drink, said she needed a clear head to assist with the report. We made small talk, she told me about her son, Billy, her father, who was an American diplomat and her mother, who he’d fallen in love with in India. The food arrived, it was superlative. She nestled her drink in both hands, I could see she had a question for me that she found difficult to ask.

“What is it?” I said.

“Where did this unbelievable technology come from?”

I leaned back in my chair and gazed at her face. She was truly a beautiful woman, her dark skin and deep brown eyes had an alluring mystic that reminded me of a wish from a genie and his lamp.

“There’s so much more to tell, Pippa, but I’m not sure it’s the right time. It’s going to come out soon, but it might be dangerous if I told you now.” I updated Pippa with the information I’d given out when she was at the hospital, but didn’t go any further.

“So what is your plan?”

“As I’ve said. I have to prove out what I can do or no one will believe me.”

“You’ve done that.”

“I need to expand the knowledge; it can’t stay only with America.”

“Who else have you told?” she asked.

“No one yet, but I’m meeting with the Brits tomorrow.”

She seemed surprised. “Who exactly?”

“The Home Secretary. I’m going to tell her what I’ve told you.”

“Are you meeting with anyone else?”

“No, but I need to. Pippa, it seems like you’re interrogating me?”

She leant forward and grabbed my hands in hers. “I’m sorry, must be the job.”

“What is your job?”

“I’m on the India/Pakistan desk, I speak both languages.”

Sally interrupted, “ Georgina Lambert wants to meet at ten tomorrow morning.”

“Eastern time?”

“Yes, the Brit meeting is at eleven, eastern.”

“I guess that will work?”

“Okay, I’ll tell her you’ll be there.”

“Where?”

“FBI office, DC.”

“Wait a minute, I thought she was supposed to email Pippa?”

“Pippa’s a bit busy right now, hasn’t checked her email.” Sally laughed.

“Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Get a date!”

“Very funny.”

“Are you talking to your computer?”

I nodded. “She told me that Lambert wants to meet tomorrow morning.”

Pippa searched for her phone in her bag and saw the email. “How did your computer know Lambert had emailed me?” she appeared confused.

“Sally knows everything.” I said.

“Quite a girl.”

“You want to meet her?” I inquired.

“You’re kidding, right? Meet a computer?” Her forehead creased.

“Why not? I’m sure she’d love to meet you?”

“I’ll probably slap her, Joey.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

“Don’t underestimate me, I have my ways.”

“You be nice.”

Pippa twisted her mouth and said, “sure.”

“ Come say hello, Sally.”

“Jeez!”

A minute later Sally walked into the restaurant and every man cricked their neck. She was young Brigit Bardot, pouting maroon lips, long blond hair, black leather mini-skirt, way too short, matching thigh-length boots and cleavage that would wake the dead. My mouth dropped as she came to our table, leaned down and pretended to peck me on the cheek. I’m sure I felt her lips. I should have guessed what she would do. Too late now.

“Pippa, meet Sally, my shy, conservative assistant.”

Pippa laughed and held out her hand. What would Sally do about shaking hands. I waited eagerly. Sally stepped closer and brought her right hand out to shake Pippa’s outstretched hand. Sally’s hand passed right through Pippa’s palm, which made her jump and shriek out loud. I was so intent on Sally’s antics I had no idea if anyone in the restaurant noticed.

“Oh my God!” gulped Pippa, while Sally grinned from ear to ear.