"Ah, Genome, so here your are," he said.
I thought about denying it but couldn't think of a substantial argument.
"Come in and have a crumpet," he said.
"Thanks," I said but then immediately shook the bean for the barista who is fairly new and probably not yet fully cognizant of the Emperor's style.
"Did you bring that bag?"
"No, sorry, I forgot," I said.
"Well of all the muddle-headed asses," he said adding something about 'Others abide our question, thou are free,' or something like that. Meant nothing to me but perhaps you are familiar with the gag. Then he dismissed me with a weary gesture and called for another Earl Grey before turning back to his waiting audience.
I sat at a table with the Enforcer and Island Irv, as is my custom, and enjoyed a cup of the hot and strengthening until the Duck Man came in strewing the flu like tattered remnants of a bad dream. I decided it was time to head for the horizon and was in the middle of see-you-latering when I heard that familiar voice again.
"Pushing off?"
"I thought I would," I said.
"Can I rely on you not to bungle that job?" he demanded and I nodded in reply. I'm sure you know how it is when the circs demand tactful surrender.
"Tell me in your own words what you're to do," he said.
"Go the the sporting goods store--"
"--on Chapel Hill Road," he said.
"Right, on Chapel Hill Road," I said.
"--and get the large duffle bag. Now buzz off. The door is behind you. Grasp the handle and push."
Weaker men, no doubt, would have been sickened by having their morning cut into like this but there is a tough, bulldog strain in the Genomes that has often caused comment. I stood firm, took three qigong breaths, and walked out into the morning with a light heart, happy to have it in me to perform this little act of duty. Then something buzzed in my pocket causing me to retrieve my personal communication device and look at the screen.
I don't know if you were one of the gang that followed the most recent tale of high suspense and international intrigue involving the adjacent kingdom of the United States but, if you were, then you may recall that the events began with a tsunami of text messages.
At first glance, my phone now had about two dozen of the things waiting for me but closer inspection revealed only three. They all bore the same signature--Gladys, Witch of Woodcroft.
The first read:
'Come at once. Serious rift in fabric of universe.'
The second:
'Received no reply to msg come at once. Come at once. Reply.'
The third:
'What the hell! Why no answer. Must I cast a spell? What is wrong with people these days? Have all the decent men been caught up in the Mayan Rapture? Come at once.'
Again, I remained calm. Three deep qigong breaths and I was centered and ready for all that life might send my way.
I typed a reply and hit the send button:
'Sorry. Static and whatnot. Did you say whiskey or whiskers? Reply.'