Listen by Rene Gutteridge Page B

start somewhere.”
    Corbin returned to the front counter and beckoned them over. He set an armload of boxes down and arranged them in a line. “Here’s what we got. I’ll start with the top gun of the bunch.” He opened a box and pulled out a machine about as big as a toaster. “This, my friends, is the CF-900. It has total RF spectrum coverage and can locate audio transmitters as low as 1 MHz. It’s got a built-in audio filter, search and/or monitor mode, LCD bar graph, and full carrier current detection.”
    Frank lifted the machine, looking it over. “All I want to know is, will it pick up bugs in a sweep.”
    “You betcha. If it’s in there, it’ll find it.”
    “How much?”
    “Twenty-five hundred, normally. But it’s on sale for a hundred dollars off today.”
    Frank set it down.
    Corbin continued. “This is what the professionals ask for. Same brand as what the FBI uses.”
    “Over my budget. You got anything cheaper?”
    Corbin pointed to the box at the end of his line. “Got that thing. A miniature battery-powered scanner for five hundred.”
    “That sounds better,” Frank said. “A little.”
    “You’ll be lucky if this thing picks up a fax machine,” Corbin said, handing the box to Frank.
    Frank decided on a different approach. “Have you seen a recent interest for listening devices here at the store?”
    Corbin smirked. “Is there love and jealousy in the world?”
     
***
     
    “Dad? What are you doing here?”
    “Surprise!” Damien smiled and opened his arms.
    Hunter just stood there, blinking.
    Damien lowered his arms. Surprising Hunter in elementary school got a way better reaction. “Hey, I just thought I’d take you out for lunch today.”
    “Oh.”
    “What? Don’t want to go to lunch with the old man?” Damien tried not to look as insecure as he suddenly felt.
    “Um . . .”
    “You got plans or something? A cute girl?”
    Hunter grabbed his arm and swung him around, pushing him out of the office. “Yeah, fine. We can go to lunch. No big deal.”
    “Great!” Damien wrapped an arm around his son’s shoulder as they walked out the front door of the school. “So how’s your day going?”
    “Fine.”
    “Tell me something, anything.”
    Hunter cast him a forlorn look. “It’s eighth grade. The highlight of my day was that we had a sub in calculus.”
    “You have calculus in eighth grade?”
    “Yes, if you’re an honor student.”
    “Right.”
    Inside the car it was mostly quiet. Outside, the high school was letting out for lunch. Kids yelled and hung out the windows of their cars, blaring their horns at one another. Damien headed for Mack’s Ribs. He reached between the console and pulled out a piece of paper. “Brought you my new puzzle. We’ll publish it next week, but I thought you’d like to take a crack at it.”
    “Pretty Amazing is the theme?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Okay.” Hunter studied it for a moment. “Twenty-two across is too obvious. It’s Pamela. As in Anderson.”
    Damien smiled. “Yep.”
    “Two down. Desirable Berry.” He scratched his head. “Halle?”
    “Wow! You’re good.”
    Hunter shook his head. “This is weird. You’re, like, doing all hot women?”
    Damien swallowed. It was strange to hear his baby boy say “hot women,” but he kept the smile on his face. “Try some more.”
    “Simpson, without googly eyes . . . seven letters.” Hunter laughed. “Jessica?”
    “You’re good. I thought I’d made it more difficult.”
    “So you sat around today and thought of nothing but hot women?”
    Again, the “hot women” remark made him clench his jaw. “Well,” Damien said slowly, “I am a, um, man. And men do like . . . hot women.”
    Hunter was in a full-fledged stare now. “Is Mom on here?”
    “What?”
    “Are you having an affair?”
    “What? No! No! Why would you think that?”
    “Because not once in my whole life have I heard you say ‘hot’ and ‘women’ in the same sentence. You don’t even use those