Geekomancy by Michael R. Underwood Page A

Thankfully, Sandra brought up Darren’s impending birthday and her grandmaster plans to have a big surprise party at The Shithole, despite his expressed request to not have a party.
    Ree and the Rhyming Ladies dove into planning, assisted by the alcohol, until it was decided that they’d host their own private Rocky Horror Picture Show, with Ree as Frank-N-Furter and Sandra as The Creature, Priya and Anya fighting over who was Magenta and who was Columbia. Assuming Darren didn’t run off screaming, they’d get him into the golden Speedo and could change around the roles or not, depending. Darren was a bit of a stick in the mud, but Ree hadn’t met a likes-girls-sexual alive who could resist the Amazonian Sandra in a shiny gold swimsuit and pasties.
    Just after 11, they packed it in, deciding to go to Anya’s place for bad movies until sleep o’clock, which on such nights could range from 1 AM to 8 AM, depending on the number of rounds of AMFs consumed.
    As the four women walked through the streets, chatting loudly, four vessels and at least twelve sheets to the wind, Ree’s phone rang.
    It was Eastwood.
    Ree realized that in all the fun, she had successfully put him out of her mind. Go, team booze!
    Screw him, I’ll call back tomorrow, after the hangover is gone. So, maybe Sunday, before work.
    She let the call go to voicemail, and two minutes later, he called again. She waved off her friends’ questions, saying that it was her student loan office. After that she got a text, then another. She didn’t even bother reading them.
    Five minutes later, a block from Anya’s apartment, her phone rang again. She held the button to turn it off, but it kept ringing. When she looked up from the phone, she saw Eastwood across the street, giving her a What the hell are you doing? look. He waved for her to come over.
    Wow. She wasn’t going to be able to shake him. Rather than having to subject the ladies to Eastwood, she decided to peel off. “Guys, I’ve got a headache, I think I’m going to call it early.” She got a few raised eyebrows, but they didn’t object.
    “Good night, Blitz,” Anya said as she walked across the street. And now, on top of it all, she was the Blitz.
    Damn you, Jorge Garcia, she thought as her friends walked on. She waited until they rounded the corner, then walked over to Eastwood.
    Stepping up onto the sidewalk, she asked, “So, what now?”
    Eastwood’s seemingly-customary dourness melted into something that could, if you looked at it right, be interpreted as compassion. “I threw you right into the deep end, and it can be nasty. But we need to talk about this case.”
    “Joke’s on you, I’m hammered,” Ree said, wavering to the side and catching herself on a light pole. In a moment of microsobriety, Ree realized that she was perhaps not taking this whole thing very well. Her recent track record of adult decisions wasn’t exactly stellar. Ree blinked a couple of times and straightened herself out, walking deliberately.
    Eastwood didn’t move. “I can deal with that. Let’s go.”
    “You aren’t much for small talk,” Ree said.
    “All of my problems are big problems. No time to talk about menial go-se. Let’s go.”
    “All right, then. To the Dorkcave!” Ree pumped her right hand in the air, rallying.
    “How’d you know what it was called?” Eastwood asked.
    Instead of answering, Ree just laughed.
    Maniacally, for several blocks.

 
    Chapter Six
    Plato in the Dorkcave
    When Ree and Eastwood returned to the Dorkcave, they were greeted by John Williams’s “Binary Sunset” playing on the PA. She looked back and gave him the Really? look, and Eastwood shrugged.
    “I put Williams on loop when I need to think.”
    “Fair enough. So here’s what you need to know . . .” Ree ran through an account of her visit to the Moorelys’, punctuated by her questions, which Eastwood waved off until she was done. She got to the breathless voicemail and sighed. The episode with